A/N: This delayed update was never my intention. atm0000: Your honor, girl apparently I murdered my own self because I was completely depleted after the last chapter. One thing led to the next and so I struggled through this installment. member00: I look forward to reading your first fanfic. I know it's coming because you are hilarious and you really get invested. Which is awesome. Readers please try to enjoy. I hope to do better with the remainder of the story. Thank you.
Chapter 7
Rick
Present
I can barely keep still as a war of emotions tears through my heart. The muscle in my neck twitches, my temples throb, and I struggle not to play What if? to understand the repercussions of our situation.
Slowly, under my insistent glare, Michonne backs away from me until she bumps into the door frame.
"Why are we doing this Rick?" she asks, looking depleted. With shoulders slumped, her gaze lowers to the floor as she's analyzing the spillage of our secrets. I could see her visibly summoning a necessary calmness; taking in slow, deep breaths determined to protect herself, this prudence of hers is both a strength and a weakness. "Why are we even fighting? This… is ancient history."
"Because it still hurts," I reply, with a little less tact and discretion. "A part of us both has never moved on."
Her eyes jerk behind me, and I turn to notice her attention being drawn towards her luggage next to the desk with her closed laptop on it. That's the second time she's done that since we've started this confrontation tonight, and my jaw clenches. "Hey," I watch her jump at the sharpness in my voice, "you're not leaving my house just like that. Not until I get the whole truth. Not until I hear everything." And I need to hear everything.
Her spine straightens, and she leans off the wall. "You plan on keeping me a prisoner here?"
"If that's what it takes..." Narrowing my eyes I encroach upon her personal space and she steels herself like a wary cat. Oh, it's on now. But hell, I don't care. This isn't some game. I have every intention to finish what it is I've started, and none whatsoever to allow the love of my life to shut me down again so easily. You could forget that. It was too painful, not to mention absolutely stupid, permitting that to happen the first time. "If you were... in-love, as you say, tell me why did you have a change of heart? Was it something I said, s-something I did?"
As though the revelation of her true feelings towards me wasn't a shock enough, Michonne now rolls her eyes at me sending my blood to a boil, and instantly, I run both hands through my hair.
This woman is so goddamned-stubborn!
She insists on making this discussion as tortuous as it can be. This is insane. Does she want me to beg for her to speak? Fine. I reach out and grab her to me and her eyes grow wide as she gasps.
"Rick!"
"What do I have to do?" I growl. "Please?"
She wins. I beg.
And slowly, I let her go. As my fingers graze down her arms, I can't help the impulse to savor the creamy smoothness of her skin. Desperation to hold her again grips me for a few seconds, and I swallow the startling reaction and take a step back.
'Focus Rick. Focus.'
After a beat or two, Michonne, with much reluctance, now further confesses that on the day after we were together at my cabin, she did in fact come over to my house. Unfortunately, she had bared witness to the encounter between me and my ex, on the front porch. Our interactions, what little she caught sight of, had for her put things into perspective.
"So that's it?" I reply, incredulous, "Why didn't you say something? You didn't know for sure what you saw with Lori."
"I saw enough," she bites back. "Ever since I have known you, you've been with her. You two have history. I couldn't compete with that. You were always going to end up with Lori and it was better for me not to get caught in the crossfire. I was in way too deep as it was and I just wanted out. And I did. Took me a really long time, but I did. I got out. No more hoping for something that was never going to happen. And yes," she sighs, "that day at the cabin was...indescribable. But it was just for one day. I loved you for years; you loved me for a moment. I decided it wasn't worth the risk."
Her eyes, glistening with the depth of her conviction, tug at my heart. For years? She claims she was in-love with me, for years? And yet, she didn't fight for us when we had our chance?
But then again, neither did I.
Is this what this is? Am I fighting now?
It's a risk, but I place my hands on her silky shoulders, hoping my touch would somehow abate this storm brewing between us. She doesn't flinch, which is good, but her breathing quickens so I go ahead and give her a gentle squeeze.
"The thing is," I sigh, "that night, when I was at your house, you seemed to be so conflicted. I felt bad because I thought I made you feel bad…That I came on too strong. You know there were countless times before, when you treated me like I was stupid—like I'd be imagining things whenever something was bothering you. When I'd asked, you'd get cold and distant. Been that way since you were fourteen. Had to nag you to talk to me, and most times you'd let me in. But sometimes not. That night… I should've pushed harder, I shouldn't have let our love go to waste. Something was bothering you, and I—I don't know why, but I let it pass."
"You were unsure."
"About you? No. But you seemed to have made up your mind about me. And I was heartbroken. That's the God's honest truth."
Michonne bypasses where I stand and sinks down on the edge of the bed.
I join her, scooting away the cardigan she'd tossed across the comforter. "And Lori…" I continue, "you're wrong about that, in so many ways. Her coming over was unexpected and we got into it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means she was having second thoughts about us not being together. Harmless at first, but then the conversation took a turn and we started to argue and she got upset. I needed for her to calm down before she got back on the road and something bad happened. And yes, she kissed me and I let her because it was a difficult discussion for the both of us. Lori doesn't make the best decisions when faced with hard situations. She isn't a bad person. It pained me to see her so hurt."
During the time we'd spent apart, Lori started seeing someone else. In a matter of a couple of weeks she realized it wasn't a good fit, it made her give serious thought about her future and our long-standing relationship. The funny thing was, at the time I had been seriously thinking about my future too.
That entire day, waiting for Michonne to come home to me, I had spent hours in front of a computer screen researching what track scholarships were available for colleges in New York. Which then lead to me scouring the classifieds, looking for jobs, pricing apartments so that Michonne would have an option and wouldn't have to endure the misery of living with her father. I was practically planning our lives together.
Being with her in the cabin was simply magnificent. Never thought it was possible to experience such a deeply satisfying connection. I replayed every detail, every sensation, every moment spent making love to my adorable and sexy best friend again and again. The encounter etched in my mind and carved into my soul. It was that beautiful. How in one second Michonne's face would light up with girlish giggles, and in the next her gaze would darken with womanly desire was mesmerizing and incredible. She was incredible. Her loving tenderness, her enthusiasm to melt into me was like a drug and I wanted more. Our chemistry was explosive.
My heart shriveled like a dry leaf when she sent me that stupid text.
Michonne shifts, pinning me with her large dark eyes. "And what about me?"
My brows furrow. "Did I tell her about you, about us? No, I didn't, because you and I hadn't talked things over yet." Even though I'd recognized a long time before that Michonne and I were the ones who were more alike. "It wasn't necessary because what I had with her was over."
"Except it wasn't, Rick." She grabs the sweater balling it up rather than fold it. "By next summer you two were back together, and that just confirmed that my decision was the right one." Although she's nodding with certainty, the intonation of her voice went up into a question.
"No," is all I could say as I rest my hand on top of hers. "Lori and I happened because I needed to move on. Because what you said before, about my feelings for you only existing for a moment, that's the furthest thing from the truth. Was in-love with you prior to us becoming intimate. Had been for a long time."
Michonne's fingers went still. Her whole body did. "How—How much time?"
I sigh and let my head rock back.
"How much time?!" she demands, springing to her feet. "That summer? A few months? Six?"
"Over a year. Maybe two? I don't know."
She smacks my shoulder and I spit it out. "Your junior prom, okay. You remember that?"
"Yes," she whispers.
"When you called me last minute to take you to the dance, I was excited, yet, extremely nervous and I, I didn't understand why. But then I got there to your house... and Michonne, you looked so beautiful. Like a queen. With that pink and blue dress on, your tiara, and everything. I swear I wanted to kiss you right then and there and steal you away somewhere secret to keep you all to myself. That's the moment I realized how crazy I was for you. It was petrifying. But if I could go back…"
"Don't." Her eyes squeeze shut. "Please don't."
I chew on my bottom lip as a reel of images from that night flickers on in my head. Me, sweating like some green kid, unable to stop staring at her the whole night. Her, scowling because I was making her feel uncomfortable, and threatening that if I didn't quit leering she was gonna let me have it.
And boy did I want it. I wanted her, something fierce within my bones.
"You spilled your drink on my dress," Michonne says, wrinkling her nose as the occasion also flashed through her mind. "I was pissed off at you."
"Yeah, you were. And I did, didn't I?" I stroke my beard and smirk. "But I made up for it by paying for the dry-cleaning bill, didn't I? And outside of that we had a fun time, I made sure of it. I felt so grateful for the jackass who dumped you that night."
She holds up a stern finger to my face. "He... did not... dump me. His brother had the flu and—"
"And he ditched you, Michonne. Quit kidding yourself," I give her a reassuring smile. "But don't worry, I took care of that dick the very next day."
Her head jerks back. "Wait…no," a mischievous grin fights its way across her lips, "The sprayed painted graffiti on his Honda? That was you?"
"Me and Tyreese," I nod. "Nobody messes with my girl and gets away with it. Wasn't about to let that shit slide."
Tilting her head she gives me a 'real mature Grimes' disapproving look and I shrug. That jackass had it coming to him.
"What about you?" I ask, lightly brushing cheek, "When did your feelings change for me?"
Her smile falters as her almond-shaped eyes skip sideways and her body starts to fidget.
So, naturally, I move in closer.
I'm taking a chance here by intimidating her. But I can't risk her closing up, or shutting down again. I need for us to move forward. I need to move forward. For too long I've been trapped, my growth stunted because to a certain degree I've been unwilling to take an honest look into our past and search for the freedom from our secrets. I tilt her chin upwards and peer into her hauntingly beautiful eyes. I smile, letting her know that she's still safe.
But she casts her gaze downward in an expression of unwilling surrender. "My feelings, were always the same. Right from the start."
My hands fall to my side and my feet stumble back a step or two. My stomach bottoms out and for a few moments I'm unsure on how to respond or what exactly I should do.
'What? Always?'
Michonne hardens her jaw. "You must've known." Her voice wobbles and tears spring to her eyes. "Wasn't it obvious?"
My mouth runs dry. "No."
"Rick, please." Her lips fold, and her expression creases into one of disappointment. "You intentionally flirted with me over and over again to get your way because you knew you could. I'm not stupid. Actually, I was—for you. But I wasn't stupid."
"That was me acting on my attraction towards you. I didn't know your feelings always ran deeper for me."
"Yeah right, you're so full of shit."
"Excuse me? I'm full of shit?"
She shakes her head while shuffling past me, "Forget it. I'm not doing this anymore."
I reach out to draw her into my arms but she flinches back. "Hey. Wait, just wait."
"What?"
'Two steps forward...one step back.'
"There were times when you—your eyes—would look at me differently. Soft, and adoring. I saw that and I'd think…"
She slaps me in the chest. "That I was pathetic?"
I grab her elbow. "No! Would you stop putting words into my mouth? Jesus Michonne I thought that you were trying to show me something…a secret ," I shrug, " I don't know, I chose not to dwell on the meaning because what I did know was that I had Lori. So even though I liked that look, a lot, to a great extent I ignored it. I had to. Even after your prom and everything changed for me. I'm not that guy."
"Until you were, because you screwed around on your wife."
I wince at her scathing remark. "That was different!"
She drops her face into her palms and sighs in frustration. "I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're turning me inside out."
A wave of regret washes over me and I soften my tone. "No, I'm the one who's sorry. Truly and deeply. Never would I purposefully play with your emotions like that as though I didn't care. Because I did care. You were one of the most important persons in my life and I have missed you."
"I've really missed you too." She grips my elbows. "But, the reality is, or was, our relationship, our lives were too complicated for my 18 year old brain to figure out. I was scared of being abandoned. I did not want to be a placeholder and then sidelined with a mortgage and three kids."
"You thought I would be so callous to hurt you like that?" I respond, offended. "Michonne, you and I, we were nothing like your parents. I wished we could've tried. Things could've been so different."
"Different doesn't necessarily mean good, Rick. Besides, you've got Carl, and I had Andre. We would never, ever trade for a life without them."
"Of course not. I won't even contest that statement." But again, the haunting question of 'What if?' hangs like a weight around my heart and it's hard not to wonder about an alternate reality where neither one of us messed up. The certainty in her eyes, however, make me push those fruitless thoughts aside… for now. Instead I tilt my head and smirk to lighten the mood. "And three kids? One is such a handful, maybe we could've had two."
Michonne throws her hands up exasperated. "You're missing the point."
"No, I hear you. Loud and clear." My arms fold across my chest. "But that was then. What about now?"
"Now? First of all, I don't think what I felt for you was real. Just a crush. It was all in my head, wasn't it? True love is when two people have a connection and aren't afraid of it. I was too young to understand that then, but I get it now. I shouldn't be afraid of you Rick. But somehow I still am. Standing here, my heart is racing."
I take her hand and place it on my chest. "Mine too. But I'm not afraid. I'm excited. And for me it was real—what I felt then and what I feel now."
Grasping her other hand I press our fingertips together. The chemistry and energy is still charged between us. She leans forward. She feels it too.
"This time," I say, "could be our chance to figure it out, show all our cards and get it right. Please, don't you want that? Something more than friendship?"
She stares at me wide-eyed, her mouth opening and closing without a word making it past her lips.
Those lips…
The next thing I know my tingling body inclines me to dip my head and brush my mouth against hers. A surge of electricity zips between us rendering me breathless. With a low growl, I gather her into my arms. The strength of her body yields to mine willingly and now pure elation rockets through my insides. My gut untightens, my muscles relax, as Michonne returns my kiss ardently. The reintroduction to the shape, the thickness, and the taste of her lips, flood my senses with vivid memories. My heart is set on fire.
The heat of her breath fuses with mine as our mouths part offering deeper access to each other's souls. Her fingers stroke my jaw, my pulse quickens. With a swift tug I align her hips with mine and she presses in. Another growl erupts from the depth of my kidneys and greedy desire vanquishes all rational thought. I walk her backwards to the edge of the bed, her long fingers fly to my biceps and she grabs on as my arm locks around her back lifting her onto the Ivory colored sheets.
A moan vibrates from her throat—smooth and melodic—and passes into mine. Damn she's perfect. Michonne's petite frame feels so warm and inviting pinned beneath me. How many times have I fantasized about her this way? Too many. Her dips her curves are exceptional and I want to touch, and be touched, by every inch of her magnificent body. I nibble, pull, suck and thoroughly explore her luscious mouth leaving her gasping for air.
"Oh my god," she pants, "Wait. We should pause." A shaky hand comes up to her forehead.
I slide my fingers between hers and kiss her sleek digits. "You okay?"
"It's just…What are we doing?"
I breathe out a laugh. "Getting caught up I guess."
"Yeah… I guess."
"This wasn't my intention. Not exactly. You wanna stop?"
She nods pressing a palm against her heaving chest. "What you said this morning about a fresh start, I liked that. If you really want to, then I'll try."
I nod. It's too much too soon so I climb off of her.
"I'm hungry... and exhausted."
"Bad combination."
"I know."
My eyes dart across to the alarm clock. 11:26. "If you'd like, we got some crackers and juice, I could get that for you."
"No, I'll get it. Actually, I could really do with a glass of Moscato." She sits up fixing her top.
"Or how about burgers? We could catch the late shift at Wendy's before they close up for the night."
"It's not necessary."
"Hey, I could eat too. A large fries is sounding mighty tempting right about now. Going at it with you is taking a lot out of me." I step back and hold my hand out to her. "C'mon."
She studies me for awhile before she agrees. "Fine. But I'm getting a strawberry shake and I'm not sharing." With an upturn curl of her lips she surrenders her soft hand to my grip and I relish her light touch, holding on as we walk out of the bedroom.
"Ain't nobody got time for no shake Michonne. I want beef, in a bun, with pickles, lettuce, and everything. A large coke, some onion rings, extra fries... I want some damn food woman. You betta keep your hands to yourself."
She chuckles tilting her head. "I'm not trying to get a heart-attack."
Standing out in the hallway, I reach for her and pull her to me. There's a wild thudding behind her rib cage matching my own heartbeat. "Really?"
"Really?" She blushes. "But I will take at least one fry."
I chuckle because I know I'm gonna have to upsize.
MICHONNE
My ex-husband liked to comment that I was often the perfect model of composure. He admired my ability to remain cool and calm under the most trying of circumstances, regardless of the nature of the upheaval. And he was right.
Growing up as the eldest, in a single-parent house, required me to adopt this trait of emotional temperance. It became key when, out of nowhere, my family fell apart and life as I knew it blew up into chaos. When, at thirteen my mother needed me to take up the reins of second in command in order to assist with the adjustment, whilst regaining some semblance of normalcy for the sake of my much younger siblings.
For most of my life, keeping a cool head has always guided me and kept me sane. Always.
But last night, Rick demanding that we 'just have it out,' unraveled me within seconds like frayed laces.
Like damn. How in the name of Black Jesus did I end up on my back with Rick kissing the heck out of me?
How in the world did I even stop?
'Not good Michonne. Not good. At. All.'
Without warning my phone rings, dragging me out of my spiraling thoughts. From under the sheets my arm stretches across to the night stand and my hand slaps around until I find the annoying device. Peeping out from my cocoon, I notice that it's barely 6:30 yet an unknown number flashes on my screen. Strange, but okay.
"Hello?" I answer in a whisper.
"Good morning. Miss Moretti?"
I pause, not immediately recognizing the voice. "Who's this?"
"Sorry if I woke you, this is Miss Espinosa. From the bank?"
I sat up against the headboard. "Oh. Yeah."
"Was wondering if you gave any thought to that coffee?"
"Honestly, I did. I'm interested."
"Great. Perfect. I have some free time this morning. So if you'd like, we could meet up at Sherri's on Ashby and 3rd. Is that good for you?"
"Sure. Give me a couple of hours. Actually, how about nine?"
"Nine it is. See you soon."
.-.-.-.
After we drop Carl off to school, Rick drives me over to Dupont hotel's parking lot to collect my car where it's been sitting for the past three days. Both spots alongside my vehicle are unoccupied, so he pulls up on the left. Half of the spaces, marked by white lines, are empty, and other than the few people walking in and out the nearby stores, the surroundings are practically deserted.
Although Rick doesn't agree one-hundred percent with me having this impromptu meeting, he isn't entirely against it either. So, he quickly dispenses advice about what I should say and what I shouldn't say, what I should do and what I shouldn't do. How long our conversation should take, where I should sit, and so forth and so forth. Like the average woman whilst any man is talking, I am multitasking. At least in my mind I am. With the use of the sun visor mirror, I paste on my lipstick, smoothen the front of my blue button-down shirt, tuck in my bun, all while mulling over the bittersweet revelation that's been taunting me for the past ten hours—Rick Grimes loved me.
For two years.
And I had no clue.
Huh, go figure. An underwhelming response I know, but honestly that's the most I could come up with at this moment. What am I supposed to do with that disclosure? Maybe I'm in shock. But not Rick. No, now he wants more, thinks it's our second chance, but what I think is that I need time. Logically, I should take some time. So much has happened, and is still happening, not to mention my four year relationship with Shane only recently ended. To get involved with someone else so soon, is that wise? But this isn't just anyone else, is it? This is Rick. My Rick. And it's impossible to be around him for more than a second and not feel everything. To not remember everything. And now he's so smug because now he knows. Truthfully, a part of me envies his sense of surety.
Rick glances past my head at the sound of a beep unlocking a car door. "Maybe I should tag along. You know safety in numbers."
"Don't think she's gonna knife me in a coffee shop."
He laughs, holds my hand and rubs his thumb across my skin. "Hey." Even though he smiles the earnest expression of concern is hard to miss.
"I'll be okay," I throw in a single nod of confidence. "We're just gonna chit-chat. And besides, I have the phone's recorder on just in case."
My reassurance has the desired effect. Rick goes quiet for a few seconds and he moves on. "I was uh, thinking… maybe we should go out and have dinner some time."
"Like a date?"
"Not like a date. An actual one. In a few days, this could be over, I'll take you home and we could see about that fresh start we talked about." Rick leans closer and kisses me lightly. "Mmm. Cold, sweet, salty." He licks my breakfast off his lips.
I giggle, liking that his taste also lingers on the surface of my mouth. "Onions. Gross." I tease.
He smirks. "Sorry."
"No you're not. But it's fine."
This grown man's face reddens. He presses his lips to my shoulder and I kiss the crown of his head. He looks up, his eyes now hooded, tempted, and tempting.
"Don't. Don't do this to me," I groan, my hand clutching my stomach to calm the flapping wings inside.
Rick smiles with an arched brow, not taking my comment as a request but as a challenge. He could do better. Nudging my chin with his nose the sexy bastard trails kisses from the corner of my mouth to the edge of my jaw on one side, tilts his head and repeats his attentions to the other. He then cups my face and feather-kisses my eyelids? Not what I expected. But okay… I chew on my lower lip to hold back from laughing.
Shifting his position to get comfortable, Rick leans closer to my seat over the handbrakes and uses his index finger to slowly trace the outline of my face. From the top of my hairline, to my temple, down to the curve of my jaw, and sweeps forward to the arch of my chin. I remain quiet through his peculiar inspection. A bit confused, curious, and also aroused goddammit.
I start to pull away but the swirling heat between our bodies, combined with the musky smell of his cologne, the fresh scent of his shirt, detains me, invites me to stay and indulge in this intimate moment. For a second I cave in to my urges. My fingers stroke the warm skin on the side of his neck and the steady throb of his pulse above his collar picks up. My hand drifts downwards pressing into the hardness of his chest and snakes even lower to his stomach right at the buckle of his belt. His breath hitches. Not only am I conscious of this current sparking between us, but I'm letting him know I enjoy it. "Rick?" It's almost silly like a dream, isn't it?
The rough pads of his thumbs caress my cheek bones in answer, before running a path back to the contours of my lips. My eyes zero in on his beautiful mouth and I almost fall forward to capture him again. To taste him again. But he holds me back. My gaze flickers up and I notice the fascination of his expression, the tender appraisal in his eyes, the appreciative smile, and it…it stirs a strange but familiar feeling within me. I feel cherished. The fondness of Rick's touch makes me feel like I am of value to him.
A shiver ripples through my heart, and reflexively I pull back.
'You're going to lose yourself Michonne. Do not sink back into this man. Not so quickly.'
Rick cocks his head to the side perplexed. "Hey, I just want you to be safe, okay? Call me when you're finished."
The fluttering in my stomach kicks into overdrive with a teaspoon of nausea. I clutch my bag and jump out of the car. "Okay."
-.-.-.-.-
I beat Miss Espinosa to the 'hole-in-the-wall' coffeehouse. According to my lawyer's instructions, the best seat to take would be at a corner table keeping the entrance in my direct line of view. While I wait, I scan the trickle of customers traipsing in and out the fairly new establishment. Each more cheery than the other, ordering their typical espressos and hot chocolates and fresh baked cookies and muffins.
Me, I opted for a bagel and black coffee. I know, I know gluten and all that. Plus the freshness of these beans is highly suspect. The java hut I frequented in Astoria, was consistent with their robust brews. Although, they had a more of a 'we paid a high end interior designer to give us a homey rustic style,' look to it. Here, in this tiny brick walled space with its coffered drop ceiling, framed family photos, and vacation mementos—not to mention the single worn out leather seat in the adjacent corner—it looks more like we're literally in Sherri's house. Her full life on display. For all to see how easy breezy her existence has been.
Soon, I'll be back to my own life. In my own house. With my own family portraits and worn out couch. Comfortable, familiar, and safe. Today, all I need is just enough information to submit to the THPD and set them on the right path to solving Annabella's case.
I fiddle with the buttons on the elbow length sleeves of my shirt, and glance once more at my mobile...9:15. Where the hell is this woman?
As if on cue, to my right the door bell chimes, when finally the elder Espinosa sibling comes strutting through the front entrance, dressed in all black. While she squeezes past the line of tables jammed next to each other, I pretend to be sending a text message as I put my recorder on and slip my phone into my bag.
She greets me with "Hey, sorry for being late. Traffic," and eases into the chair right across from mine.
I shrug and shake my head. "Not a problem."
Her red, full lips curl into a smile which never quite made it to her eyes. Those pretty eyes with their thick lashes were very much like her sister's, yet, something akin to malice blazed behind them.
"Glad you decided to come," she says, swooping her long, dark ponytail through her hands. "Wasn't sure what you thought about my offer."
"Is that why we're here? For us to talk about personal loans?"
She scoffs. "Right. Actually, I wanted to thank you again, for making it out to the funeral. That was nice. My sister wasn't really… how can I put this?" She glances up at the elderly couple seated hand in hand four tables away and then back at me with a smirk. "A good girl. Only those of us who were close to her knew the truth. Knew what it was like to be burned by her."
Well let's get right into it, shall we? I sit up straight and casually nudge my bag to the middle of table. "Meaning?"
"Meaning we weren't too surprised by how she went out."
This cold-hearted witch…
"And you wouldn't happen to also know exactly why she went out like that, now would you?"
She sidesteps my question. "Spoke to my mother a couple of days ago. She mentioned a lawyer stopping by asking questions on your behalf, said he's aiding the police to speed up their investigation."
"Isn't that what we all want?"
She smiles at my bewildered expression. "You hardly spent time my sister, Miss Moretti. Must have been devastating to witness such a brutal attack. Most people would choose to quickly put that behind them."
"I couldn't keep her alive," I respond, forcing down the lump of guilt lunging into my throat to choke me. "Should've reacted sooner, quicker."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Which is why we have an offer."
I withdraw from her icy grip. "Who's "We"?"
The instant Rosita opens her deceitful mouth to respond, "We" waltzes into the cozy shop. Like a cheesy scene from a low-budget, 1980's movie, the latest customer makes his arrival a grand production.
"Well goddamn! It sure smells mighty fine in here!"
I pull my bag into my lap trying not to show my disconcertment. Despite having seen his picture once, there was no doubt in my mind that this 6 ft. something, broad-shouldered man, in a blue pin striped suit was no other than Negan Vincenzo—Rosita's manager and possible co-conspirator.
The young brunette behind the cash register, with the hand written name tag strategically placed on her double-D chest, lights up. "Oh, hi! Mr. Vincenzo. What a nice surprise. We haven't seen you in quite some time."
"Well thought I'd drop by and see how things are coming along Sherri," he says.
"Always such a gentleman. Can I get you anything? Anything at all?"
"Those pecan cookies sure look scrumptious sweetheart."
"They sure taste scrumptious too. I'll bag a few for you, on the house."
"Oh that's not necessary," he protests.
"Now, now don't be silly," Sherri persists. "Anything for the man who made my dreams come true. You did right by me when I needed to get this place off the ground." She gestures to the space.
"Stop you're making me blush." Suddenly, he "notices" Rosita and me seated in the corner. "Well looky here. Miss Espinosa… fancy running into you this morning. Today's your day off, isn't it?"
I shake my head at Rosita. "You can't be serious. Are you two for real?" Is this bitch trying to sabotage me? After making me overpay on this crap cup of coffee? She should've taken me to Starbucks at least.
"Ooh." He places another chair next to mine, turns it backwards, and straddles it. "Who's your spicy friend?"
"Mr. Vincenzo, this is Michonne," Rosita answers, "The woman I told you about. Michonne, meet my boss Negan Vincenzo."
"Oh that's right." He offers me his hand. But of course I don't touch eel so instead I fold my arms across my chest, and glower at the slippery-looking man. "Miss, Michonne, Mor-retti." He wraps his arm around the back of his seat and hovers closer. "One of our fine, loyal clients. It's nice to finally meet you."
A tight smile is as much as I could manage. I'm not here to play along in any sham would these two shady characters.
"Hmm," Mr. Vincenzo leans his head back trying to read me. "The strong, silent type. I like that in a woman. Now, aren't you the same one who happened to be the very last person to see Rosita's not-so-fine sister alive? How unfortunate."
"Apparently for all of us it is." I glance back and forth between them. "Isn't it in poor taste to speak ill of the dead?"
He frowns. "That may be so but…I have certain investments which I believe you know nothing about—"
"Sir." Rosita raises her hand to silence him and he draws back.
"Cut the crap! What do you want? " I ask.
"Michonne—May I call you Michonne?" he asks.
"No."
"Great. Now Michonne," His grin grows wider, "if you could just keep an open mind—"
"How are you acquainted with your employee's little sister?" I interrupt. "Do you have any idea who that man was who killed her?"
Negan feigned disbelief. "What? Is that what you think? That we had something to do with that lunatic who stabbed Annabella right out in the streets? No."
"Because that was just stupid," I say.
"Correcto mundo!"
"Negan!" Rosita raises her voice and again he zips it as though she's yanked his leash. Her gaze locks with mine and I don't see a shred of sincerity. "We don't know anything about that."
I smirk and shake my head. "I don't believe that for a second. Why else am I here?"
"Now you cut the crap." She slaps the table and points and accusing finger in my face.
"Ssh, ssh, ssh. Calm down babe." Negan gently holds her hand but she pulls away. I glance at his wedding ring and recalls the info collected that yes, he's married, but Rosita is definitely not the name of his wife.
What the hell is going on? I take that as my cue to get myself out of there. "Whatever it is you're offering, not interested." I push my chair back, but Mr. Smiley pants sticks out his long leg blocking me.
"Don't be so rude darling," he drawls, and specifically not in a sexy way. We're only here to chit chat, come to an understanding. We're not monsters."
I hook my bag on my shoulder. "Sorry, I have someplace else to be."
"Like where? Your lawyer's house? Your Mother's? Or are you heading over to see Richie Rich your boyfriend? You know what I heard… Walsh junior is something of a play boy. No wonder things didn't run so smoothly between you two. Especially as he such a regular patron now over at Tulip's. Wonder how Papa Mayor feels about his progeny frequenting such a disreputable establishment?"
"You mean a whore house," Rosita pipes in.
"Watch your language Rosy."
Okay, so point taken. These two have done their home-work and this is a warning. I need to get to Rick now. "Whatever Shane does in his own time is his business." I push past Mr. Vincenzo's chair, but again he stops me by grabbing my wrist. I pull away and glare at him.
"What about Semaj Remodeling Services? Is that any of your business?" he says.
My eyes go wide at the mention of my mother's company.
"According to our statements on her business account…things don't look too great." Rosita says.
I grit my teeth. "What are you saying?"
"Just that they could be better, Michonne… or worse," she says, also rising to her feet squaring her shoulders at me. "That's entirely up to you. Think about it. We'll be in touch."
Slanting my body away from hers, I resist the overwhelming impulse to slam my fist into her smug face. Instead, I shove my way past this callous, unfeeling woman, not giving it a second thought as to what exactly I should do next.
-.-.-.-.-
Driving down Third Avenue with my posture rigid behind the wheel, I took a few calming breaths before dialing Rick's cell phone.
"Everything went okay?" he asks, as soon as he answered the call.
"I think you were right," I admit. "Actually you were. Should've let you come here with me." As I stop at the red lights at the corner of Greensburg, I decide to make a left for the central district, instead of a right which leads me back to the 'burbs of Burkeside. "Rick I can't return to your house. As a matter of fact, I'm driving straight to the police. You should meet me."
"Wait, just wait. What happened?" An instant panic colors his voice. "Come to my office first, I'm still here. You and I we'll talk, then if you still want we'll head over to the department together. Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay." I lean my forehead against the steering wheel grateful for his support, but also uncertain about my choices from the past two weeks up until this point. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'll be there shortly." Just as I look up to the now green signal light my back door suddenly opens. My body jerks forward with acute fright causing my phone to drop from my hand to the floor. I shriek when in my rear view mirror a pair of dark, inhuman eyes under a baseball cap meet mine as a man slides into my back seat.
"Don't make a sound," he orders, shoving a cold pistol into the side of my neck, "Just do as I say and drive."
A coldness hits at my core and my entire body trembles. I nod at the recognizable intruder, whilst tipping the accelerator. Hoping and praying Rick was still on the line listening as I drive off with Annabella's murderer.
