As if he’d been listening to her thoughts, her brother knocked on her door and yelled, “Hey, Rosa! I need to talk to you!”
She sucked in a surprised breath and clutched her chest.
“Rosa, come on! Open up!”
“Just a second,” she said.
She affixed a blank expression on her face, walked to the door, and yanked it open.
“Finally,” he said.
“What do you want?”
“I need you to do something for me tomorrow.”
“Like what?”
“Pick up something for me. It shouldn’t take you long.”
She felt a flutter of excitement, wondering if he could possibly mean what she hoped he did, but thanks to years of dealing with him, she was able to keep any of it from outwardly showing.
“Pick it up yourself,” she said. “I’ll be busy.”
“The hell you will be. I need you to do this.”
She glared at him, then said, “Fine. When?”
“Between noon and one.”
He did mean what she’d hoped.
Feigning annoyance, she said, “You said it wouldn’t take long. That’s a whole hour.”
“It’ll take as long as it takes.”
“What am I picking up and where?”
“I’ll give you the details tomorrow, in plenty of time to get there.”
“And then what? Bring it back here?”
“Nah. I’ll meet you.”
“If you’re going to meet me there, why don’tyoupick it up?”
“I’m not meeting you there. I’ll be somewhere else.”
“I suppose you’ll let me know that tomorrow, too.”
“Now you’re getting it.” He reached out and patted her cheek.
She wrenched her head back, said, “Screw you, Ricky,” and slammed the door in his face.
“Dammit, Rosa! You almost hit my hand!” He paused, then said, “Tomorrow. Don’t forget!”
After she heard him walk away, she fished out the throwaway cell she’d used to call Miguel and tapped out a text.
Plans have been moved up to tomorrow.
