“Actually,” Beth began, “Anne is my—”
“Great to see you!” he interrupted, offering a hearty handshake before she could continue her explanation. “Mindy still asks about you, I’ve gotta tell her we were on the same train. Where you heading?”
“Uh, Tucson.” It was hard to keep her balance, for some reason, the train felt shakier than usual. “But, Mr. Roth—”
“Jake,” he protested, when suddenly the floor jerked underfoot and Beth felt herself lurching sideways. He caught her, then stumbled himself, and the floor seemed to sway in the other direction.
She grabbed the table, which felt solid for a fleeting moment, until something slammed into the man beside her and sent them both staggering back. Then, as another passenger cried out in alarm, she heard a harsh, grinding shriek of metal and his warning shout, “Anne, hold on, we’re gonna crash!”
No, surely they’d just hit a rock or something—but even as she fought for such reassurance there came a heart-wrenching scream. Beth froze in panic, felt the floor give way beneath her, and looked up to see the wall of the train collapsing on top of Jake.
And herself.
Would Beth be smiling?
Maybe, Rafe decided as he unlocked the scarred wooden door with its Legalismo sign, he should hold the flowers in plain sight when she got off the train. He’d stopped on his way to work for the kind of bouquet people gave visiting celebrities, a comparison she’d probably blush at…but he needed to show her how much she mattered.
After their grim parting last week, without even a phone call since her plane landed in California, he needed to prove to Beth she was still the most important person in his life.
So he’d made reservations for a homecoming dinner tonight, and—
“Hey.”
The kid’s voice was elaborately casual, but he recognized the desperation that would lead someone to camp outside a law office at this hour of the morning. And he’d be glad at any hour to talk with Oscar Ortiz, who reminded him so acutely of himself at fifteen.
“Bueno,” Rafe greeted him, then saw the gun in his waistband. Rather than risk losing the kid again, he made a show of fighting a yawn. “I was just thinking about getting some coffee. Walk with me?”
He wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee in spite of the August heat, because as long as they stayed on the street he could avoid enforcing the No Drugs/No Weapons policy that ruled the clinic. So when Oscar shrugged, he locked the door and started down the cracked sidewalk toward the nearest bodega.
If he could ease Oscar out of Los Lobos the same way he’d gotten himself out of the Bloods…
“You still lookin’ to meet Cholo?” the boy asked, and Rafe shot a quick glance at his watch. This could be tight, because he had to leave for the train station in plenty of time to meet Beth. Yet he couldn’t ignore the chance to strengthen a potential bond with the leader of the second biggest gang in the area.
Oscar evidently saw the glance, though, because he immediately withdrew the offer. “Lawyer’s got places to be.”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. No sense trying to save the conversation now, and as long as he kept things straightforward there might be another chance later. “I’m picking up my wife. She’s taking the train in from L.A.”
The kid gave him a suspicious glance, even as he swiped his hand across a bench with a rival gang’s chalk-marked emblem. “That’s not the one that crashed, is it?”
A train crash? No, he would’ve heard.
“It was on the radio,” Oscar reported, evidently seeing his disbelief. “Some big wreck out in the desert.”
No. Not Beth’s train. There had to be, what, half a dozen trains between here and Los Angeles? More than that. There had to be.
But even so, he felt a cramp of fear in his chest before reminding himself that Beth was surely fine, that he wasn’t losing anyone he loved.
Not again.
Never again.
“She can’t be on that train,” Rafe told Oscar, who shrugged and looked past him toward the police car at the corner. “Not Beth.” Not his wife. “She’s fine.”
The kid shrugged again, as if unwilling to comment, and Rafe felt his body tightening with the same reflex he used to feel before an attack.
“It’s a mistake, that’s all,” he said. The radio probably reported things wrong all the time, and some station must’ve been trying to stir up excitement by announcing a train wreck that had never taken place. “I just need to straighten it out.” A simple phone call would do the trick, and for the first time he found himself wishing he’d given in to Beth’s request that he carry a phone for those nights he worked late.
“The radio—” Oscar began, and Rafe cut him off.
“I’ve gotta find out what happened.” There, a pay phone across the street. No one there, either, which—if the phone still worked—would save him the two minutes it’d take to run back to the office. He sprinted for the phone and felt a surge of relief at the sound of a dial tone, then fumbled in his pocket for change.
Beth was fine.
He just had to—
Damn! Two nickels and a couple of bills, which meant he’d have to hit the bodega for change and then—
“Here.” Oscar dropped a handful of coins on the ledge beside him, then sauntered away as Rafe fumbled with the quarters. Where to call, somebody, who, the train station? Right, they would know, and from memory he dialed the number he’d called at dawn to confirm the nine-thirty arrival from Los Angeles.
Somebody had to know, he told himself as he listened to the phone ring. Somebody there would tell him everything was fine, that Beth was fine—she had to be fine, he wasn’t losing her. She had to be safe.
“The nine-thirty from Los Angeles,” Rafe barked at the clerk who answered the phone. “My wife is on there, and—”
“Sir,” came the reply, “there’s been a…a delay…and we’ll have all the information here. If you’ll please come—”
“No, I just need to know, is she all right?”
A hesitation.
“Sir, please come to the station and—”
He slammed down the phone. This wasn’t working, but everything would be fine. Beth would be fine. Okay, maybe they were having some problems, but he could fix that. Get everything straightened out, make her understand they still had plenty of time for a baby. He could fix anything, he just needed to find out what was—who could—
Morton, he remembered. The cop who’d helped him, under the radar, a few months ago when those kids needed a word.
Morton could find out. Except, damn it, he’d left the number back at the office.
Rafe
