Читать книгу Expecting...And In Danger - Eileen Wilks, Eileen Wilks - Страница 9

The Windy City was living up to its name the second time someone tried to kill her.

At least Charlotte thought they’d tried to kill her. Sprawled across the hood of a parked car, with panic pounding in her chest, her hip throbbing, her calf burning and her coat flapping in the wind, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe the driver simply hadn’t seen her.

“You all right, lady?”

She stirred and looked up at the concerned face of a tall black man with a gold ring in his nose, another in his eyebrow, a leather jacket and a Cubs cap on his apparently bald head. Several others had stopped on the busy sidewalk to stare and exclaim. She caught snatches of conversation—“Crazy drivers!” and “Must have been drunk…” and “Where’s a cop when you need one?”

Not here, thank goodness. The last thing she needed was to draw the attention of the police.

“I’m fine,” she said to the concerned and the curious. “Thank you for asking.” She pulled herself together mentally as she climbed off the car. Her knees weren’t sure of themselves, but after sorting through her aches, she concluded she wasn’t badly hurt. The car had missed her, after all. Thanks to the wind.

Charlotte had been crossing the street—with the light, of course. She always crossed with the light. She’d finished her bagel two blocks back and had been holding on to the sack, which was destined for the next trash can. A strong gust had grabbed it right out of her hand. She’d turned, meaning to chase it down so she could dispose of it properly…and saw the car.

It had been headed right for her in spite of the red light that should have protected her. It had even seemed to speed up in that split second between the instant she’d seen it and the next, when her body had taken over, hurling her out of its path.

But maybe that was paranoia speaking. Although it wasn’t really paranoia, was it, if there truly were people out to get you?

“You sure you’re okay?” the man in the Cubs cap and nose ring asked. A hefty woman advised her to call the police; another suggested she go to the hospital; someone else thought she should get a lawyer, though what she’d do with one, he didn’t say. Charlotte took a moment to assure them again that she was fine, though she grimaced over the ruined panty hose—four-ninety-five a pair, dammit—and the trickle of blood running down her leg.

She put a hand protectively on her stomach. A little wiggle inside assured her that all was well, and she drew a deep, relieved breath.

Her backpack. Oh, Lord, she couldn’t afford to lose that. Where—? Kneeling, she spotted it halfway under the car and dragged it out. Her arms felt like overcooked spaghetti.

“Hey, you want me to call someone to come get you?” It was the Cubs fan.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Standing with the backpack slung over her shoulder was a good deal harder than it should have been. Her knees weren’t in much better shape than her spaghetti arms.

Surely it had been a freak accident.

“Better sit down a minute. You’re pale as a ghost. Bleeding, too.”

Irritation threatened to swamp good manners. She hated being fussed over. “I’m always pale. I’ll take care of the scrapes at work.”

“You got far to go?”

“Just up the block, at Hole-in-the-Wall.”

He cast a dubious glance that way, which she perfectly understood. The restaurant was aptly named, an eyesore in an area that had once been solidly blue collar, but was skidding rapidly downhill. The neighborhood was seedy, a little trashy, not quite a slum…everything she’d fought so hard to leave behind.

“You ain’t up to working yet,” he informed her with that particular male brand of arrogance that scraped on her pride like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“I appreciate your concern, but it isn’t necessary.” She started limping down the sidewalk, hoping he would get the hint and go about his own business.

It didn’t work. He kept pace with her. “Don’t trip over your ego, sister. I’m not hitting on you. Don’t care for teeny, tiny blondes with big mouths.” He shook his head. “You sure talk fancy for someone who works at the Hole.”

Her unwanted escort had a pleasant tenor voice with surprising resonance. “Do you sing?”

He gave her a startled glance. “Why?”

She sighed. Most of the time she managed to keep her unruly tongue under control, but every now and then it flew free. “I wasn’t hitting on you, either. I don’t care for bossy males. Your voice reminded me of a tenor I heard sing ‘Ness’un Dorma.’”

“You listen to opera, but you work at Hole-in-the-Wall?”

“You recognize an aria from Turandot, but you poke holes in your body?”

“Smart-mouthed, too,” he observed. “Why you working at the Hole?”

“For my sins.” Which was all too literally true. But she was going to get things straightened out soon, she promised herself for the fortieth time. Somehow.

They’d arrived at the steps that led down to the kitchen. She thanked her escort as politely as she could manage, hobbled down and pushed the door open.

The kitchen was a long, narrow, crowded room. The cook, a stringy old man with limited notions of personal hygiene, gave her a sour look. “Better get moving. Zeno’s in a bad mood.”

“How can you tell?”

He snorted. “You go right ahead and smart off to him today like you been doin’. You’ll see.” He went back to flipping hamburger patties.

Charlotte hobbled to the cubbyhole where employees could leave their things. Dammit, she really did need to mind her tongue. She needed this job, and the Hole—for all its obvious drawbacks—did have three things in its favor. First, it was within walking distance of the cupboard-size apartment she’d found. Second, Zeno was allergic to cigarette smoke, so the entire place was smoke-free. Third, he was sloppy about paperwork and regulations—a definite drawback in terms of health and safety regulations, but a plus for her personally. He hadn’t called any of the bogus references she’d listed on her application, and he didn’t question her social security card—a good thing, since the number wasn’t hers.

A man who was running a bookie operation out of his restaurant really ought to be more scrupulous about following the rules in his legitimate business, she thought as she slung her backpack under the table. She pulled off her coat, giving the shabby, shapeless brown material a look of distaste as she hung it on a hook. Best not to think about the beautiful new cream-colored wool coat hanging in the closet in her apartment—her old apartment.

The rent was paid up until the first. They won’t have sold her things yet, she told herself. Maybe she would still be able to get them back.

“You’re late,” a deep voice growled from the doorway. “Shift starts at five, not whenever you get around to showing up.”

She jumped, scowled and looked at the doorway. Zeno stood there glowering at her. He was a man who could glower well. The paunch, thick eyebrows and bristly jowls gave him a head start in the mean-and-nasty sweepstakes.

Watch what you say, she reminded herself, and reached for the dusty first aid box on the top shelf. “A car nearly ran me down at the light.”

“Late’s late. It happens again, you’re out of here.”

“I would have been a lot later if the car had hit me.” She gave the cap on the peroxide bottle an angry twist. “And yes, I’m all right, thank you so much for asking.”

“If you’re all right, you can get your butt out there and take orders.”

“As soon as I’ve wiped the blood off. I’m pretty sure it’s a health code violation for me to bleed on the customers.” Stop that, she told herself. Zeno was not the kind of tyrant who admired those who stood up to him. He preferred quivering timidity. She pressed her lips together and began to clean the long scrape on her calf.

“Maybe I didn’t explain when I hired you. I hate attitude. What I like is ‘yes, sir, no, sir, right away, sir.’ Got that, you stupid— What the hell do you want?” He turned on the waitress who’d come up behind him, a doe-eyed young woman named Nikki—“with two k’s and an i,” she’d told Charlotte when they were introduced. Like Charlotte, she was blond. All of Zeno’s waitresses were blond. Nikki was the kind the jokes were made for, though.

“Mr. Jones wants to talk to you,” Nikki said nervously. “Table twelve.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say so? And you, Madame Attitude—” he jabbed a thick finger in her direction “—you’ve got five minutes to get out on the floor, or you’re fired.”

She tried to make herself say “yes, sir,” but the words wouldn’t come out. She’d said them to her former boss a thousand times, said them easily, naturally. Because he was a man who deserved her respect. Her throat closed up. Grant Connelly wouldn’t care about her respect. Not now. Not after what she’d done.

She managed to nod stiffly. Zeno gave her one last glare and stomped off. Charlotte threw the bloody swab in the trash.

“What happened to you, anyway?” Nikki asked, her eyes big.

“I had a little accident on the way here. Stand in the doorway so no one comes in, would you?” She had no doubt Zeno had meant what he said about firing her if she wasn’t on the floor in five minutes. Her panty hose would have to come off right here. Charlotte grimaced, but accepted necessity.

Nikki obligingly stood in the center of the narrow doorway while Charlotte took off her shoes, then reached up under her skirt to pull down the ruined panty hose. Her legs were going to freeze on the walk back to her overpriced cupboard when her shift was over…but cold legs were the least of her problems.

“Zeno’s sure on a tear. You’d better put your apron on.”

“It’s pink.” She pitched the panty hose in the trash, fumbled her shoes on and grabbed her order book. “I don’t do pink.”

“We’re supposed to wear the aprons.”

“I know.” Nikki wasn’t a bad sort—a bit dim, and with all the backbone of cotton candy, but nice enough. Charlotte found a smile for her. “Come on, let’s get on the floor before I’m fired.” She moved out into the kitchen, Nikki trailing behind.

“I guess you’re worried that the baby will show if you tie the apron around your waist, huh?”

She froze. “I don’t… What are you talking about?”

“Oh, c’mon. I mean, you’re not showing much, but there’s that little bulge, isn’t there? And when Serena sneaks a smoke in the kitchen, you turn green. My sister Adrienne was the same way when she was carrying my nephew.”

Charlotte got her breath back, but couldn’t make herself turn around. “Zeno’s allergic to cigarette smoke, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t pregnant.”

Nikki giggled. “If he was, he’d be having triplets, wouldn’t he? How far along are you?”

Sighing, Charlotte turned around. Her cover had been blown by a pink apron. “Five months. Please, if Zeno finds out, he’ll—”

“As if I would! Tell Zeno? What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Sorry. I can’t help worrying. I need this job.”

“Then we’d better get moving.” Nikki gave her a gentle shove and they headed for the stairs at the back of the kitchen. The restaurant’s seating was on ground level, the kitchen in the basement. She’d be going up and down those steps a hundred times tonight.

“I guess it’s scary when you’re on your own,” Nikki said. “Did the father walk out on you?”

Was flying to the other side of the country the same as walking out? Maybe not, since he didn’t know about the baby. All at once Charlotte was dead tired. Everything was wrong, and she couldn’t seem to make any of it come right again.

Not everything, she reminded herself. At least she knew Brad was safe. Probably. As long as no one knew where he was. “We shouldn’t talk about this here,” she said. “Maybe you won’t say anything, but if someone overheard…”

“Like that Serena.” She nodded, making her platinum curls bob. “She’d split on you in a second. Good thing she never looks past her mirror.”

Charlotte pushed open the swinging door. “True. Which station do I have tonight?”

“Four. Serena’s on two, I’ve got one, and—hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She hoped. “The tall guy with the shaved head and Cubs cap in my station. The one talking on a cell phone. Have you seen him in here before?”

Nikki cocked her head. “Don’t think so. Why?”

Idiot. Why had she told him where she worked? “He said he didn’t like teensy blondes,” she muttered.

“Who, that guy? He’s kinda cute.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Maybe he likes tall blondes.”

Had it been coincidence that he’d been there when the car nearly ran her down? He’d seemed nice, in a rude sort of way. But he’d insisted on walking with her, and now here he was…. Panic flared. She didn’t know what to do, whether she should run or stay. Charlotte took a deep breath.

She had her backpack. If she had to—if he seemed too interested, or acted funny—she could be out the back door in a flash. “Want to swap stations? You could find out if he likes tall blondes better than dinky ones like me.”

For the next half hour she tried to keep busy. But her nerves were jumping, and each minute jerked into the next in a painfully slow way. Her admirer—if that’s what he was—didn’t make any effort to talk to her. So why was he here? He wasn’t a regular, and he hadn’t spoken to Zeno, so he wasn’t here to bet on the horses, or whatever.

Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. After delivering a French dip, a pastrami on rye and two hamburgers to the third table in her station, she went up to Mr. Cubs Cap.

“Okay,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding. “I want to know why you followed me here.”

“Didn’t.” He pounded on the bottom of his ketchup bottle. “Your ego’s showing again, sister. I was here, I was hungry, I decided to eat. Hey, you think you could get me some more ketchup? This one’s about dry.”

Automatically she took the bottle he held out. “I don’t believe you.”

“And I don’t care. You going to get me some ketchup or not?”

A hand landed heavily on her shoulder. “Never mind, Dix. I’ll take it from here.”

In her dreams Charlotte had sometimes plummeted in an out-of-control elevator. That was what this felt like now—the stomach-dropping second of disbelief sliding into greasy fear and guilt. And, God help her, mixing with the swift kick of desire.

Her eyes closed. “Rafe,” she whispered.

“Got it in one.” His voice was cordial—and achingly familiar. His grip on her shoulder was tight. “I guess that means you haven’t forgotten me entirely, even if a few other things have slipped your mind.”

Slowly she turned. His hand fell away.

His trench coat was long, black and leather. His jeans had probably come from a discount store, but the dark blue shirt would be the finest Egyptian cotton because Rafe liked the way it felt. He’d told her that once. His wavy brown hair was too long, as usual, wild and shaggy. It looked as if the wind had been playing with it.

Or a woman. That, too, would be as usual.

He doesn’t belong here, she thought with a rising sense of panic. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not in a place like this. He was too blasted perfect for a place like this.

The thought gave her courage. Maybe it was a fool’s version, born of anger and untainted by common sense, but she’d take what she could get. She straightened her shoulders. “I suppose you want to talk to me, but it will have to wait until my shift is over.”

“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think it will.” He took her hand and started for the door, dragging her with him.

“Rafe.” She tried to pull her hand free. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t go with you now.”

“Sure you can.” He didn’t slow as he wove through the crowded tables.

People were staring. She set her feet firmly so he couldn’t keep tugging her along like a reluctant puppy, and for a moment it worked. He gave her a hard look over his shoulder and a sharp jerk on the hand imprisoned in his.

She nearly toppled. It was either stumble after him or fall to the floor. He dragged her another few steps. “Dammit, you’re going to get me fired!”

“Do you think I give a flying—”

“What the hell is going on here?” Zeno planted himself in front of Rafe, glower firmly in place.

Charlotte had never imagined she would see Zeno in the light of a savior. “This idiot is dragging me out the door!”

“I don’t want any trouble here,” Zeno said, sparing her a condemning glance, as if it were all her fault this madman was trying to abduct her. “Whatever your problem with her is, you’ll have to settle things when she’s not working.”

“She won’t be working for you anymore after tonight,” Rafe informed him calmly.

“Yes, I will.” She gave one more hard tug, but only succeeded in hurting her wrist.

Rafe went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “She shouldn’t be working here now, not in her condition.”

“What condition?” Zeno demanded.

Don’t tell him, Charlotte chanted mentally. Don’t tell him, please…

Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t know that she’s pregnant?”

“She’s what?” Zeno rounded on her. “Why, you lying little bitch. Is that why you’ve been wearing those puke-ugly sweaters?” He grabbed the hem of her sweater, pulled it tight, and put his hand on the bulge of her stomach.

Rafe dropped her hand. And swung once, clean, short and sharp, his fist connecting with Zeno’s jaw with a solid thunk. The older man’s eyes opened wide in amazement just before he collapsed.

Rafe rubbed his fist. “No touching,” he growled. Then he grabbed Charlotte’s hand and towed her out of there.