Javi grabbed her wrist as she started to shimmy out from under the van. His hand was too warm, his eyes too penetrating. “Why are we here, Veronica? Why are you sleeping on your cousin’s couch? What aren’t you telling me?”
“You first.”
When Javi didn’t answer, she rolled out from under her side of the van and brushed herself off. “Thought so. We should get out of here before he comes back. Thanks for the ride,” she said, getting into her car. She didn’t check to see if his headlights had followed her out of the lot. She didn’t have to. She knew he was there, watching, making sure she was okay. And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if maybe he’d never stopped.
Chapter 6
Vero wasn’t entirely sure what to expect the next afternoon when she arrived at the bank, but it certainly wasn’t this. Darren was in his office, his face once again hidden behind the financial pages ofThe Wall Street Journal. The telltale phone charger cord dangling from the side of his desk was the only clue he wasn’t actually reading the newspaper.
Darren looked up from his newspaper and Vero gasped at the sight. His face was a starburst of colors. His nose was clearly broken, and his lower lip was split. She hoped, for his sake, he still had all his teeth, but she couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t smiling.
“About last night…” she began, genuinely contrite.
Darren reached under his desk for his waste basket and dropped it at her feet. Her jacket was stuffed inside it. He lifted his newspaper back over his face without so much as a word.
So that’s how it was going to be.
There didn’t seem to be much of a point in saying anything else, so she took her rumpled jacket, left the trash bag on his desk, and walked out of his cubicle. As far as she was concerned, he could handle his own damn garbage.
Terence was waiting for her in the lobby, holding a coffee mug in each hand. He offered one to Vero, and she could have kissed him.
“What do you think the Fed’s going to do tomorrow?” he asked her.
She thought about that as she blew the steam from her mug. “Between inflation and the debt ceiling talks, I think we’ll probably see another rate hike.”
Terence sighed. “I was afraid you might say that. The missus and I have been hoping to upgrade to a new house. Guess that’ll have to wait.”
Vero was hardly listening, trying not to spill her coffee as she used her free hand to shake out her ruined jacket.
“I’m surprised he came in today,” Terence said, inclining his head toward Darren’s office. “Poor guy got mugged last night on his way home. Or at least, that’s what he says. I offered to go with him to the police station to file a report, but he said he wasn’t interested in finding the guys who did it.”
Guys? Plural?If Vero hadn’t been harboring some mild guilt over Darren’s injuries, she might have laughed out loud. “There were more than one of them, huh?”
Terence shrugged. “That’s what Darren said, but he might be trying to save some face. Whoever did it messed him up pretty good.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Saw your car here in the parking lot last night. How was your date?”
Vero nearly dropped her coat. “My what?”
He smirked. “You don’t think I see everything that goes on in this place? Darren’s been ogling you since the day you first started here, hounding you at every opportunity, nagging you to go out with him. Then last night, you leave your car here after you get off work, and today, that boy comes in here with some bullshit sob story about a street gang mugging him in his driveway. Meanwhile, your jacket’s in his trash can, and he won’t even look at you.”
Vero bit her lip. She had underestimated Terence. He was more astute than she’d thought.
“Now don’t you go feeling guilty about it,” he said. “If you ask me, that boy probably had it coming. That’s why he doesn’t want to report it. I admire a woman who isn’t afraid to stand up for herself.” He leaned close to her ear and said through a chuckle, “Remind me never to piss you off.”
She slung her jacket over her arm as she watched him go.
With a sigh, she rapped on Philip’s window. He glanced up from his daily crossword puzzle, looking begrudged as he got up to unlock the door for her.
“How’s it hanging, Philip?”
He frowned at his puzzle. “Seven letters. Starts with the letterR,” he mumbled.
“What’s the clue?”
“Also J. D. Robb.”
“Easy. Nora Roberts.” He filled in the answer as she emptied his trash can. The usual suspects tumbled out—Imodium wrappers, disposable eyeglass cleaning pads, an empty box of Metamucil. He snatched up his crossword puzzle and his travel magazines, looking aggrieved as he held them out of the path of her furniture spray while she polished his desk. It was no wonder he was so bound up. The man was sorely overdue for a vacation, and the stack ofCondé Nast Travelerhe’d been collecting clearly wasn’t cutting it.
“You should consider diversifying your reading material, Philip. Maybe try a romance novel once in a while.” He was terrible at crossword puzzles, and he could probably finishGone with the Windin a single sitting for as much time as the poor guy spent on the can.
