Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(104)

Rosie

Next available taxi comes here in thirty minutes. Where are you? I'm worried. Call me back. Love you.



The rain lashed on me, and I threw my fists at the door, praying that he was there. That he couldn't hear me because of the downpour, or was napping, and that he would answer at any second.

The desperation in my voice threw me off balance. "Hey! Hey, I'm here!"

No answer.

My teeth chattered.

My body shivered.

I was soaked, head-to-toe, with no one to turn to, and my clothes became heavy with the rain. Terror found me in the space between anxiety and dread. I knew what was happening, but couldn't stop it. And as hail knocked on my face like glass, I wished for one thing above anything else.

Don't let me down, Dean. I prayed. Don't be my downfall.





THE EARTH DIDN'T SEEM AS firm under my feet that day. That should have been my first warning.

After wiring the six hundred thousand dollars to Nina's malnourished bank account, she texted me the name of a café across the road and said that he would be there at noon. It allowed me plenty of wiggle room to get to the Hamptons on time. Even if the traffic was insane, the roads were blocked, and the weather was against me.

"I'm taking the rest of the day off. If anyone asks where I am, just say hell," I said to Sue, shutting my laptop and walking past the reception area. I shouldered myself into my Valentino tropical print coat. Sue gave me a sidelong look, and flashed me a smile of the eat-shit variety.

"Have a good weekend, Mr. Cole."

"You too, Miss Pearson." Fuck her. She wanted to do last names, I was game. Nothing bothered me anymore. Sue was nothing but white noise at this point.

I powerwalked my way to the café across the street. The rain was PMSing that day. Furious as fuck. Not half as much as I was probably about to be, but yeah. The minute I pushed the door open and the overhead bell rang it took me back to The Black Hole and to Rosie, so I managed to draw in a deep breath. I was optimistic about Nina not joining us. She got what she needed and had nothing else to coerce me with. She probably forgot my name by this point. Wishful thinking, and all.



       
         
       
        

The café was crammed with businessmen and women trying to grab a sandwich on their lunch break, so at first, I skimmed the room through skeptic eyes, wondering how in the hell we were going to recognize each other. Maybe I should have mentioned that I was big on eccentric designer clothes. There was no overlooking my sick jacket.

I walked past the bar and started looking into people's faces, plates, phone screens, desperate to catch someone who might resemble me.

Three young men in suits. Nope.

Two students sipping coffee with their MacBooks. Next.

An eighty-year-old guy in a three-piece-suit. Like hell. He wasn't Nina's taste.

A thirty-something woman who returned a gaze and smiled red and bright at me. Sorry, sweetheart. Happily taken.

My eyes were frantic, begging to find a suitable suspect, and my heart was doing that thing it did when Rosie took off her clothes before we got into bed.

Then I recognized a head of thick gray hair that made my eyebrows dive down and a chuckle leave my lips.

"Dad?" I walked to a small table at the corner of the room. My dad, Eli Cole, sat there, staring into a coffee cup. "Jesus. You're in town? Why didn't you say? Is that about the Farlon case?" I asked.

He looked up from his coffee and stood up, but didn't say a thing.

Not a goddamn thing.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

I took a step back.

"Where's Nina?" I asked. I was crazy, right? The kind of sick, twisted shit that went through my mind when I assumed Rosie was cheating on me when she was actually at the hospital. My dad was happily married to my mom when Nina got knocked up. Maybe my biological dad bailed at the last minute, and Eli was here to pick up the pieces.

"Sit," he said.

"No." I couldn't feel my face. "Tell me why the fuck you are here and where is Nina."

"Language, Dean."

"Fuck your language, Dad." I righted myself using a back of a chair. "What's going on?"

Panic ran in my blood. This couldn't mean what I thought it had meant. Dad inched closer and put his hand on my shoulder. His squeeze wasn't as firm as it usually was.

"I wanted to tell you when you were in Todos Santos for Thanksgiving … "

"No." I laughed, embarrassed. I pushed him away, feeling like someone punched my nose from the inside of my head. His back hit the wall, and his shoulder bumped into a woman who stood in line and gave us a pointed look. "My life is not a fucking soap opera, and you didn't fuck Nina while you were married to Mom." I said that as a statement, but obviously, this too was wishful thinking. He put his hands up in surrender. "There's a lot to talk about, son. You should sit down."