Whole Latte Love (The Jewells) Page 8
“Hey, isn’t that Betsy?” one of the volunteers said.
Betsy was a former mortgage banker who lost her job in the recession. She was also a diabetic.
“Whoa, it is Betsy.” Dylan rushed toward the officers. “What seems to be the trouble here?”
One of the female officers yelled, “Stay back.”
“Is she being charged or are you taking her to the hospital?” Dylan asked.
The officer ignored him while the other one cuffed Betsy and shoved her into the squad car, then leaned over and spoke on her shoulder mic.
“Betsy, are you okay?” Dylan headed toward the car. “Say something.”
“I said stay back.” The first officer pulled her nightstick.
“She’s a diabetic. Are you taking her to the hospital?” Dylan insisted, as a crowd gathered. A few people took out their cell phones and began recording.
“You didn’t need to cuff her,” Dylan shouted. “She’s sick and needs help.”
“You’re interfering with police business. Stay back.” The officer sidestepped Dylan and got into the driver’s seat.
“Boo, boo, boo!” the crowd chanted. “Take off the cuffs. Take off the cuffs.”
Are we still in America? Or a police state? Dylan’s blood pressure rose. Betsy wasn’t a drug user. She probably overshot her insulin in anticipation of the free food. Dylan rapped on the window of the police car, trying to get Betsy’s attention.
Another police car pulled up and two male officers stepped out. One yanked Dylan away from the first car which drove off.
The other said to the crowd, “Break it up, break it up. You’re trespassing on university property.”
“This is the people’s park,” someone shouted, and the crowd joined in. “People’s Park. People’s Park. People’s Park.”
The officer who collared Dylan dragged him away from the crowd. “State your name and business.”
“I’m Dylan, and my business is protecting the homeless. That woman is a diabetic.”
“Show me your ID.”
“Why? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“I’m questioning you because you’re interfering with police business.”
“And I’m asking why they cuffed a sick woman without calling an ambulance.”
“Turn around and put your hands on your head.” The officer yanked Dylan’s arm.
It was time to take one for the team. Hopefully the others were busy serving food, and his continued questions would make the police aware about a person’s medical condition before cuffing them.
Dylan reluctantly put his hands up. “My friend needs medical assistance.”
“Shut up.” The officer shoved Dylan against his car, grabbed his arms and cuffed him. “You’re under arrest.”
~ ~ ~
The sun was setting when Carina emerged from the BART station. Her analyst Rob Swindle—what a name—had taken them out for a round of drinks and let them go early.
James and Van had also scored mergers and acquisitions. Heather, the one whose father owned Mesquite Ventures, ended up with fixed income derivatives. Carina shuddered at the stinkeye she received after the assignments were revealed.
She texted Dylan: I’m back early. Got the assignment I wanted. Can I treat you to dinner?
If you could call eight-thirty early. She walked the couple of blocks toward their apartment. There was no reply.
As she rounded the corner, Gordie jumped off his bench, waving both hands. “Dylan’s been arrested.”
Carina’s heart surged to her throat. “Arrested? What happened?”
“I don’t know. They’ll hang him in the tower, maybe draw and quarter him like they did to Mel Gibson.”
“Huh? Gordie, you’re not making any sense.”
“He was standing up to them. Aye, you should have seen him. Standing up to old King George.” Gordie’s eyes popped wide and his hands flapped like a boy telling a fish story.
“Stop,” Carina said. “What happened to Dylan? Where is he?”
“Captured by the dirty Sassenachs. You’re the princess. You can rescue him. Aye, and you’re having his baby. Hurry.” He latched onto her. “You must keep the baby safe.”
Sounded like an episode from the movie Braveheart. Either that, or Gordie was off his meds.
“Let me run upstairs and make some phone calls, I mean, gather the clans.” Carina shook herself away from him. “You stand watch, okay?”
“Aye, aye. They’ll nae git past me.” Gordie saluted her.
Carina hurried to the elevator. Maybe Dylan was hurt and Gordie built a story around it, too traumatized for the truth. Who could she call? She didn’t know any of Dylan’s relatives. She fumbled with her keys and entered the apartment.
She opened the kitchen drawers to see if he had an address book. Nothing but cutlery. Shouldn’t Dylan have used his single phone call to call his parents or whoever his next of kin was? Why was this her problem?
But then, he could be alone. She had no choice but to explore his room. It wasn’t as if she were snooping, although she was technically spying on him for Rebecca, or at least paying him extra attention.
Okay, so she did want to know what was behind his door. Hopefully nothing too creepy. Guilt crawled over her as she twisted the door knob and took a quick peek. The air was musty and had a fruity smell, like stale apples. She flicked on the lights. What a mess!
In case there were any lurking critters, Carina plucked a fly swatter from the linen closet and tiptoed into the room. A large aquarium sat on the dresser, glowing under two tubes of light. It was dry, covered with sand and rock formations. Carina blinked and took a closer look.
A thorny looking lizard was perched on a dry branch. The monster was at least a foot long with ridges over its head and spikes along its side.
Carina’s heart fluttered to her throat, and she tripped over a dumbbell. Her arms circling for balance, she knocked down a plastic terrarium. The lid popped off and a stream of crickets scampered out.
“Ah, ah, ah.” Carina gasped and tore out of the room. She shut the door and grabbed towels from the linen closet and stuffed them in the crack underneath the door to block any attacking crickets.
Her pulse scrambling like ants up a tree, she fled to her room. Crap, crap, crap. She should have moved out. Dylan was not only a possible jailbird, but a freaky insect lover. And now the monsters were loose.
Carina was not a baby. Nope. She wouldn’t let a few crickets scare her, even though her skin crawled, and every time she closed her eyes, she could see the giant lizard puffing up and snapping at her.
She could handle it. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she grabbed her purse.
Need. To. Buy. Bug. Spray. Breathe in. Breathe out. Put one foot forward, then the other. Go to the door and run to the drugstore. I think I can. I think I can.
A text message chirruped on her phone right as she reached the front door. She startled, dug for her phone and dropped it, imagining a giant cricket stalking her.
It was from Rebecca: What’s up with Dylan?
Chapter 8
Dylan’s shoulder joints ached and he couldn’t get comfortable no matter which position he tried. The police had left him cuffed in a holding cell with an elderly man steeped in alcohol fumes and two younger men with sagging pants and tattoo covered arms.
A single metal toilet, devoid of lid or seat, was positioned in the center, right beneath a video camera. Although how anyone could use it while handcuffed remained a mystery.
The minutes ticked by. The old man snored, and the two punks made beatbox sounds which annoyed the hell out of him. Not to mention he needed to take a piss, badly.
He squirmed on the hard metal bench and leaned his head against the concrete wall. It was going to be a long evening. Dylan’s single phone call met with his lawyer’s voice mail. Stuck in court. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, trying to blank his mind from the mixture of snores, grunts and puffing spit sounds in the cell.
Hopefully Carina was having a better day. This morning, she’d been anxious over receiving her summer assignment. Everything about her was squeaky clean. She’d given him a synopsis of her resumé, and the reasons why she should be successful. He bet she never had detention in school or received even a parking ticket. No blots on her record—other than being associated with him.
Dylan scrunched his fist. No use straining against the cuffs. Maybe he should have held back and spoken in a less belligerent tone. If he’d been dressed in an Burberry suit, clean shaven with a business haircut, they might have released Betsy to him and he could have taken her to the hospital himself. He hoped she was all right.
A key jiggled in the metal door, and a police officer stuck his head into the holding cell. “Dylan Jewell.”
“My lawyer here?” Dylan craned his neck as he rose from the metal bench and followed the officer out of the cell.
“You’re being released.” The officer turned Dylan around and uncuffed him. He handed him a bag containing his cell phone and wallet. “Next time, cooperate with the police.”
“I will, thanks,” Dylan said. “About the woman, Betsy? How’s she doing?”
“Sorry, can’t talk about it, but I’m sure she’s being cared for. We always do a medical evaluation.” The officer led Dylan past a pair of steel double doors. “There’s your father.”
Oh, cripes. Not now. His father and sister strode toward him, wearing matching disapproving scowls.
“What did you think you were doing?” Dylan’s father grabbed his arm.
“How’d you know I was here?” Dylan shrugged away from him, feeling grungy from sitting in the sticky cell smelling like a public bathroom, stale beer, and unwashed bodies.
“I got a call from your lawyer.” His father shook a reprimanding finger at him. “Seriously, you need to stop these antics.”
“You stink.” His sister rubbed her nose.
Right, the two of them only cared for appearances. They looked like they’d swallowed tire irons, having to rub shoulders with the less privileged folk at the precinct.
Dylan ducked into the men’s room and his father followed. “I paid for your education and this is what I get? A jailbird? You’re wasting your life making coffee and playing the guitar.”
“I’m living the life I want,” Dylan grumbled.
“When are you going to wake up?” His father palmed his forehead, as if taking his temperature. “You can’t save the poor by feeding them scraps. You have to build businesses so they can get jobs.”
Dylan flushed the urinal and washed his hands. “Someone’s gotta take care of the people who slip through the cracks. The ones who are disabled can’t get jobs.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Dad jabbed Dylan’s shoulder as they exited the men’s room.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Dylan said. “Thanks for showing up. I have to get going.”
“Dad, let’s go.” Kayla tugged his father’s arm. “Don’t you have an important meeting with that video game company?”
“I’m not finished.” His father’s face flushed red as he leaned to square off against Dylan. “If you don’t come back to the firm, I’ll make Rebecca senior partner and executor of my will.”
“What?” Kayla gasped. “You can’t do that.”
“Won’t happen if Dylan takes my offer. But no, he’s busy playing homeless advocate and hanging out with the bums while Rebecca leapfrogs to the top.”
The only thing she was leapfrogging was his old man who couldn’t keep his pants on.
With nothing more to say, Dylan walked briskly as his dad lectured, accompanied by Kayla yipping and yapping about the traffic and appointments.
A few minutes later, Dylan reached his apartment complex.
Gordie staggered from his post on the tiled bench. “Aye, they freed you and Betsy too. They took her to the healer and she’s back under her tree.”
“Thanks for keeping an eye out for her.” Dylan shook Gordie’s hand, catching the tail end of his father’s patrician sneer.
“Dylan, are you listening?” his father shouted. “Take the job in two weeks or I’m marrying Rebecca.”
“Have a nice life, Dad. If Rebecca lets you.” Dylan swiped his cardkey and entered the building. “Kayla, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
~ ~ ~
The front door of the apartment clunked, jolting Carina from her email. She hit ‘send’ and slid her phone into her purse. She hadn’t told Rebecca about Dylan’s possible brush with the law. After all, Gordie was delusional and could have made up the entire scenario.
Carina opened her bedroom door and bumped into Dylan.
“Y-you’re back,” she stuttered. “Where’ve you been?”
“Nowhere.” Dylan shrugged out of his t-shirt and tossed it in the bathroom hamper. “You texted me about dinner?”
“Uh, yes. I mean, I got mergers and acquisitions.” Her gaze honed onto his sleek, smoothly muscled back, his well-defined shoulders tapering to a narrow waist.
“I knew you’d get it.” He turned on the shower. “Two minutes and I’ll take you out to celebrate.”
“Um … well, let me get ready.” Carina escaped to her bedroom, her heart doing jumping jacks. She was going on a date with Dylan Jewell. Whoop! She laid several outfits on her bed. What was she going to tell Rebecca?
Her cell phone buzzed with a text message from Rebecca: What’s Dylan up to right now?
Carina texted: Taking a shower.
Rebecca: Alone or with you?
Alarm bells. Why would Rebecca care who Dylan showered with?
Carina: Alone. I’m in my room working.
Rebecca: Ask him what happened this afternoon. You’ll be surprised.
Oh, no. Did this mean Dylan had been in jail? If Rebecca already knew, why was she asking? Carina’s neck grew hot under her collar. Rebecca could be testing her loyalty.
Carina: I’ll ask later. He takes long showers.
Rebecca: Do tell. [smiley icon with tongue hanging out]
Uh, really, really strange. Could Rebecca be texting while drunk?
Carina: Ok, I’ll let you know more later.
That ought to buy her a few minutes. Carina woke her laptop and googled Rebecca Morley, finding her Facebook profile. She clicked on a glamour shot. Rebecca’s flaming red hair was strewn over a white pillow. Her face was heavily made up with gold flecked eye shadow accentuating her catlike green eyes. Bright red lipstick shone over Julia Roberts shaped lips.
Another photo showed her arm in arm with an older man whose piercing blue eyes looked strangely like Dylan’s. But then, every pair of blue eyes reminded Carina of Dylan.
Rebecca’s timeline was filled with congratulations from friends and an announcement for an upcoming engagement party, probably to the old man. Well, good. At least she wasn’t crushing on Dylan.
Someone posted: Mrs. Rich Jewell, LOL, is that rock big enough?
Rebecca posted: Not when he promised me my own diamond mine.
Rich Jewell? Carina googled him and almost lost her breath. Rich was Dylan’s father and owner of Jewell Capital, one of the biggest dealmakers in technology, fashion, and media concerns.
No wonder Rebecca was interested in Dylan. She was to be his stepmom and was probably concerned about his lack of a career. She clicked on Rich Jewell’s profile, but it was private.
Continuing on her research, she browsed to Dylan’s page. It was full of women posting selfies they took with him, tagging him, or coming on to him in the comments. Gag. How could any self-respecting guy let so many females hang onto him? At least Dylan only did the thumbs up and short replies like ‘LOL’ and ‘Thanks.’
Dylan knocked on her door. Carina shut the laptop, feeling her face flush. What would he think if he caught her snooping?
“Come in,” she said.
The door swung open, and Dylan stood at the threshold, holding the empty insecticide can. “Why did you kill my crickets?”
“You broke their box. What were you doing in my room?” He scowled, his eyebrows lowering.
She took the can from him and dropped it in the wastebasket. “I wouldn’t have gone in if Gordie hadn’t said you were in trouble. He said you were arrested. I was looking for next of kin.”
“Did I ask for your help?”
“No. I was concerned about you being in jail. Is it true?”
He crossed his arms, his jaw tight and his biceps flexing. The evening was ruined. No celebratory dinner, no opportunity to know him better. Nothing but an angry man glaring at her while looking sexier than a shirtless tennis star.
His chest heaved with a deep sigh. “Not one of my better moments, but the charges were dropped.”
“What did you do?” A shiver ran delightedly down her spine. Did this officially make him a bad boy? A bad boy clean from a shower, smelling yummy and cuddly, his hair tousled and ready for tickling and goofing around. Someone her mother warned her about, someone exciting and well … bad.
“Interfering with police business.”
“Where? What happened?”
“They were harassing a homeless friend of mine. Fortunately, she got the medical care she needed. What did you think happened to me?”
“I thought you were hurt. Gordie said the Sassenachs were going to string you up. I’m sorry about your room.” She bit her lip and swallowed. “It won’t happen again.”
He closed in, his presence filling her room. “You were concerned about me?”
“Uh, yeah, I mean if you went to jail, who’d pay the other half of the rent?”
His blue eyes focusing on her lips, he reached out and slid a finger down the side of her face, tilting her chin up. “It’s nice knowing I have a roommate watching my back.”
The spot where he touched tingled, and a warm, delicious feeling expanded in her chest. He trusted her, but oh, was it misplaced?
“I only wanted to help,” she mumbled, flustered.
“I know you did. You’re the best.” Leaning over, he kissed her forehead. “Let’s celebrate your assignment. How about we get a bite to eat before my gig?”