The Love Losers (Unlucky in Love #3)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ROSIE

Well, shit.

Here’s the proof that I really am a love loser: the most romantic moment of my entire life is going to end with me being arrested.

A tall, lanky male police officer stands in the door with a flashlight pressed to his gut. A smaller figure stands behind him and to the side. His partner.

My brothers are going to kill me.

“I own this building,” Anthony says as he lifts his hands in the air, and I do the same. “I used my key to get in.”

“Sure you did, boss,” says the lanky officer. “I guess that’s why there are signs of wear on the lock. Now, come on out of there. Both of you. Hands up. Lift ’em to the sky like you mean it.”

I know better— a toddler probably knows better—but part of me is tempted to run for it. Instead, I set my teeth and step out past the officer, who smells distractingly of Bubbalicious gum, and his partner. Anthony follows me out.

Once we’re both outside, the taller officer closes the door to the warehouse. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asks in a condescending voice, shining his flashlight directly into our faces.

“No, but I am aware of my rights,” Anthony says, sounding every inch Anthony Rosings Smith, heir to a fortune. He looks it too—his chin is raised slightly, his very fine jawline on display. “I’m free to enter and leave my own property as I see fit. And my lawyer will certainly have something to say about you blinding my friend with your flashlight.”

He’s doing what he did inside of that bar earlier—taking charge. I’ve seen him vulnerable and uncertain, but he’s good at this. Probably better than he realizes. Maybe it was being raised in that big house, knowing there was a fortune waiting for him at the end of the rainbow. But I could hardly hold that against him given he’s using his ability to try to protect me. It calms my racing heart.

The officer huffs out a breath, but he does shift the flashlight away from my eyes, leaving behind little sunbursts at the edges of my vision.

“You said you own the building?” says the second officer. Now that I’m not being blinded, I can tell she’s a woman, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her hair and eyes are dark, nearly black.

“Yes,” Anthony says through his teeth. “And if you’ll allow me to show you my identification, you can easily verify that.”

The female officer gives her male counterpart a significant glance.

“You’re doing it again, Jolene,” he says with a sigh. “These here are criminals, and we don’t owe them the benefit of the doubt. What honest business goes on in a dark warehouse at midnight?”

I almost burst out laughing, because he’s right, really. It was a sketchy thing to do. But it felt like Anthony and I were flying. It felt like the bond between us was pulling us together like the ribbon on a gift.

“What were you doing in there?” she asks us directly.

“Like I said,” Anthony answers, his tone defensive. “It’s my property. What we were doing is our own business.”

“You’re making it sound like we snuck in there to have sex or do blow,” I say, laughing now, because I can’t help myself. Sometimes nerves come out as laughter, and they feel better that way, even if it’s always made people assume I’m a dumb blonde.

“ Were you ?” the woman asks pointedly.

“No, we were just dancing to ‘Time After Time’ in the dark. It was on my bucket list.”

“Not that again,” the male officer says with a groan. “After that movie came out, everyone has a damn bucket list. Half the crime in this city is bucket-list related. If I had my way, I’d outlaw that movie.”

“Movie? What movie?” Anthony asks.

I shrug. I haven’t heard of any bucket list movie either, but then again, I’m not much of a movie-goer. It can be physically painful for me to sit still for an hour and a half to two hours.

Whatever it was, it clearly left an impression on this officer. Maybe he would have preferred it if we’d been doing blow.

“Can I take out my wallet now?” Anthony asks, probably very ready to be done with this situation. Maybe he’s regretting what he said earlier. Maybe he’s already decided I’m too much trouble.

The thought sends nervous pinpricks dancing across my heart.

“Yes,” the woman says, just as the man says, “No.”

“Yes,” she repeats more adamantly, and her partner sighs and waves for Anthony to proceed.

He pats his pockets down, his mouth pursing to the side. I already know what he’s going to say from the look that passes through his eyes, which is an oh, shit expression if I’ve ever seen one.

“Well?” the male officer says, hitching up his belt.

“I must have left it at my office,” Anthony says. “But I have the key. I can show you.”

“Now, son, I wasn’t born yesterday,” the man says, rocking on his heels. “Any fool can steal a key and go down to the Home Depot to have a copy made. It means all of bupkis if you’ve got a key that works.”

“You just accused us of picking the lock,” I point out.

“Even if you didn’t break in, you still entered, ma’am.”

My punch-drunk brain supplies a that’s what she said.

“Google me,” Anthony says through his teeth. He sounds both high and mighty and tough, like Mr. Darcy had a love child with the cop from Die Hard . “You’ll have no difficulty finding my picture. I’m Anthony Rosings Smith. I run Smith Investments, and I personally own this building. You have no more right to arrest me and my friend than you would someone who’s sitting in their own living room.”

The woman pulls out her phone and then flashes the screen at her partner. “Looks like him.”

He shakes his head. “What could you be thinking, Jolene? That man don’t look a thing like him.”

“It’s the beard,” I say, my heart racing again, because if they take us into the station, the first thing they’ll do is run our fingerprints. And that would be bad. No, it would be a disaster of epic proportions.

“He grew a beard,” I repeat. “And he’s one of those guys who had it come in thick.”

The male officer lifts a hand to his face, covered in patchy scruff. Oops. “What I mean is it hides his face,” I continue. “I’ll bet he can show you some photos on his phone.”

“We’re not here for a slideshow, ma’am,” the man says, letting his hand fall. “We were called in about a disturbance, and sure as shit on a shingle, the two of you were here in a dark building. Now, maybe breaking into a building was on your bucket list, but that don’t make it right. You’ll have to face the long arm of the law just like the rest of us.”

“We’ll get this sorted out at the station,” the woman tells us, giving her partner a sidelong look as if to silently communicate it’s the only way this jackass will be satisfied . “I’m Officer Richards, and I’ll personally see to it.”

Anthony nods tightly but says, “I’ll want to call my lawyer as soon as we arrive.”

Panic beats into me. It weaves its hands through my hair and digs its fingers into my skull. We’re going with them. And when we get there, they’ll take our prints.

They’ll take our prints.

Mine will reveal the truth: that I’m Rosie O’Malley, not Rosie James. Declan, Seamus, and I are technically missing persons. And if that alert is triggered, we’ll be found…

And if we’re found…

As if he hears my thoughts, the Shit on a Shingle officer says, “Now, I’ll read you your rights—”

My breath starts coming in pants, my palms get slick with sweat, and—

Anthony takes my hand and squeezes it, just as Officer Richards tugs her partner a few feet away and says in a very audible undertone, “Nutman, the chief said we’d be on night shift next week too if you bring in another false arrest. We just need to verify that this man is who he says he is, and if they’ll come with us willingly, there’s no need to escalate the situation.”

Two things. One, this man’s name is Nutman? The universe can be cruel, but it can also be kind, bestowing unexpected gifts in the worst moments of your life. Two, I want to give this woman my first child.

Okay, maybe not my hypothetical child. But I’ll send her a fruit basket or a bouquet of Claire’s cookies. I’ll send her so many flowers her porch will sag under the weight. I’ll draw her a shitty picture and frame it.

“We’ll come willingly,” I say, just as Anthony firms his jaw and repeats, “I own this building. It’s my building.”

But he must see the desperation in my face, because he takes one look at me in the dim light cast by the stars and his face changes—losing the aggrieved upper-class edge. He nods slowly. “It’s an unnecessary inconvenience for all of us, but we’ll come.” His hand squeezes mine slightly in reassurance, and I squeeze back, and for a moment, I let myself pretend everything’s going to be all right.

They hustle us into the backseat, and Anthony attaches my belt for me, probably because I’m breathing fast again, my exhales more like gasps. When he’s done, he takes my hand and soothes his thumb over my knuckles. “It’s okay,” he says softly as Officer Richards pulls out of the parking lot and she and her partner start bickering about the best way back to the station. My money’s on her.

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” Anthony continues, his hand still on mine. “My sister Emma’s a lawyer, and she—”

“Nicole,” I say, sitting up straighter, my worry lessening the second the answer hits me. My brother would flip his shit if I called him, and he’d be more likely to make a scene than get me out of one. But Nicole has wiles, and her sister is in love with my brother. She has to help me. Maybe she can even be coerced into keeping all of this to herself. “Nicole…she and Damien know people in this station, and your sister is a full two hours away. I’ll bet they can help us.”

He considers this, then nods. “They can vouch for my identity. I filled out paperwork when I hired their agency.”

We don’t say anything else until we get to the station, where Officer Richards leads us back to her desk. Officer Nutman peels off to get coffee for himself and his partner, but he promises he’ll return for our “interrogation.”

“You can make your call now,” Officer Richards says, pushing her phone toward us.

“You can call her,” Anthony tells me with a nod.

I look her number up on my cellphone and then dial it. Maybe she’s at Declan’s house right now. Maybe they’re drinking around a bonfire, and she’ll announce to everyone that Wild Rosie is in trouble again, and this time she got arrested. And then…

“This better be worth it,” Nicole grumbles into the phone. “I was about to fu—”

“Nicole, it’s Rosie,” I burst out, aware of both Anthony and Officer Richards listening in. “Anthony and I are at the Asheville police station. We need someone to come tell them who he is.”

“Does he have amnesia?” she asks. “Why don’t you tell them?”

“We did! We were inside this warehouse he owns, and I guess someone called the cops. He doesn’t have his ID on him, so they didn’t believe him when he said he owns the building. We need someone to come help us, but please, please, please don’t tell my brother.”

“What were you doing in the warehouse?” she asks, pouring plenty of insinuation into it. “Does this mean you want to marry Anthony? You know, I had this elderly aunt who used to say a guy would never buy the cow if he got the milk for free, but I think she was just a bad lay. If you ask me, most of the world’s problems can be solved by good sex. Get him hooked, and he’ll go all in. Good strategy.”

My cheeks heat, but I ignore her. “Will you come?” I ask, very aware that our conversation is probably being recorded. Nicole would know that, too, of course, but Nicole also doesn’t care.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be there in five.”

“And please don’t tell my brother. I don’t want him to worry.”

A pause hangs over the line as Officer Nutman approaches the desk with a single cup of coffee.

“They only had enough left for one,” he tells his partner as he takes a gulp from the cup.

Officer Richards looks like she’d enjoy murdering him slowly and creatively.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” Nicole tells me over the phone. “There’s more to this than big brother-little sister shit, and we both know it. I’m going to get you out of there, and then you’re going to tell me everything.”

She probably expects me to object, but I don’t. Because I intend to tell her everything.

I’ve already decided she might be the only person in the world who can help me.