Page 48 of Brittle Heart

“Cindy!” I call out toward Donny’s office, where she’s been hiding out all night. “Could you take care of closing, please? There’s an emergency,” I say, pulling on my jacket.

“Again? All right, but you owe me twice now,” she says.

I roll my eyes but manage to shout a quick “Thanks!” before heading out through the bar’s back door.

Roberto could rot in the drunk tank forever for all I care, but his arrest could cause serious complications. Chiara might end up in foster care, and my chances of getting her back would be slim to non-existent. My situation hasn’t improved since the last time they rejected me.

* * *

Clay

Josh fiddles with the radio while I drive through Harlem, trying to find a station that doesn’t play country music. He only manages to make it worse.

“Stop that shit. Are you nervous?” I quickly glance at him before returning my focus to the road.

“No. It just feels too quiet, I guess,” he responds.

I nod. Tonight is unusually calm. During our recent late shifts, we’ve made it a point to request the patrols near or in Harlem. Neither of us would admit it, but ever since we saw how Carolina lived, we both felt a need to ensure the streets around her house were secure. The fact that I’m driving around her neighborhood again confirms what I’ve desperately tried to deny.

I care about this girl.

I’m not entirely sure in which way yet, but I care enough to want to personally ensure her safety at night. That’s more than I’ve ever felt for any woman except Sophia.

Fuck.

As I think about this fuck-up, I notice movement to my right. Turning to see what it is, I spot a black ponytail swinging as a girl sprints down the street.

“Is that…” Josh starts, seeing the same thing.

“It is. Is someone chasing her?” I quickly scan the street from where she came from, but there’s no one in sight.

“No, it looks like she’s running toward something. Follow her,” Josh says.

I’m already doing so, but I step on the gas to keep pace with her. “Why is she running at this hour?” I ask, but he’s bracing himself against his seat belt, ready to spring out of the car if necessary.

We tail her around a corner, only to see another police car parked in front of a bar. Two cops are confronting a middle-aged man, and Carolina doesn’t slow down until she’s standing protectively in front of him. Her chest heaves, and she is panting hard, but her arms are outstretched in a stop motion.

It’s odd. The shortest woman I know always ends up in front of others, attempting to shield them.

“Which officers are they?” I ask, trying to make out the faces of the policemen.

“Taylor and Del Moro,” Josh answers with a grimace.

“Fuck, let’s go.”

We exit the car and approach the tense standoff. The guy who seems to be the bar’s owner stands nervously at the entrance, his eyes darting between our colleagues and Carolina.

“I’ve got him now. There’s no need to take him in. I promise to get him home safely,” Carolina says, her voice steady, still panting slightly.

“I don’t think so,” Taylor responds. “He’s caused a lot of trouble and is a risk to everyone around him. We need to take him in.”

Del Moro, meanwhile, smirks cruelly at Carolina.

“Look at him…” she motions over her shoulder, “… I’ll have to practically drag him home. He’s in no condition to hurt anyone but himself, and I promise to make sure he won’t do that. You’re done here. Thank you for your service.”

I suppress a smile at her sassy tone, but Taylor remains unfazed and reaches for his handcuffs.

“No.” Carolina’s eyes fill with panic as she turns to Del Moro. “Martin, please,” she says, clearly struggling with the fact she has to plead with him, but he merely grins.

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