Page 100 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

Her eyes sweep over my still wet clothing and my shivering body. “Okay, come on. Let me find something dry for you to wear, and we’ll call the police.”

She moves to a display case behind the bar and grabs a large white sweatshirt with the bar’s logo emblazoned on the front, then digs under another shelf and pulls out a pair of shorts of the same material. “Here. Put these on. There’s a ladies room right through that door. I’ll call 911.”

“No, wait. I need to make a call first. To my father. Please. No police.”

She hesitates with her cell phone in hand. “No police? Why not?”

“My father’s in a motorcycle club. They never involve the police. He’ll get my friend back.”

“I know about them. We have a toy run every Christmas. Always get a good turnout, too. We have a bike night every Thursday night, but we don’t get any of them bad clubs.”

“They’re not a danger to you. I swear. They’ll be so grateful you helped me. Please. Just let me call my father.”

“All right, but I don’t want any trouble.” She passes me her phone, and I dial my father.

Just when I think he’s not going to pick up for a number he doesn’t recognize, he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Daddy, it’s Fiona.”

“Oh, my God. Thank God. Where are you? Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m okay. I’m at a bar called The Rusty Pelican. I was kidnapped, Daddy. I got away, but they still have Tori. We have to help her. You have to hurry.” I know I’m rambling and take a breath.

“Where is this place?”

I tuck the phone and ask the woman the address. She gives it to me, and I relay it to my father.

“Okay, baby. You stay put. We’re coming.”

We disconnect, and I pass the woman her phone back. “I’m Fiona, by the way.”

“I’m Bev. Where’s your father coming from?”

“San Jose.”

“San Jose? Lord, that’s gonna take him an hour and a half to get here.”

“Knowing my father, they’ll make it in under an hour.”

“Still, we got some time to kill. You hungry? I bet you are.”

“I am, thanks.”

“Here’s a plastic bag you can put your things in. You go change out of those wet clothes, and I’ll make you a plate. I need to fire up the griddle, anyway. My regulars will start arriving in about forty-five minutes.”

Taking the items, I find the bathroom and strip out of my clothes, even my wet bra and panties, then slip into the dry things. The shorts are the same material as the sweatshirt and have an elastic waist. They’re a little loose, but they won’t fall off. The sweatshirt is big on me, but it’s soft and warm.

I study my reflection and try to finger comb my damp hair. I’ve got my father’s olive skin and dark hair, but I’ve got my mother’s eyes. I frown at the bruise along my jawline that’s now turning purple and yellow. God, I hope Tori is okay.

Opening the door, I find a stool at the bar.

Bev has a large glass of orange juice and a cup of steaming coffee waiting for me, plus there’s a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers.

I hear her humming in the kitchen area and the sizzle of something on the grill. Soon the aromas carry to me.

When she returns with a platter of eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast, I smile. “Thank you.”

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