Rena picked up her stuffed puppy and hugged him to her chest. Carlos had won it for her on their first date, and though she would never call herself a sentimental person, she found it brought her some comfort now. Carlos had named the puppy Felipe, but Rena had always felt the dog was a girl and secretly called her Penny, after Rena's best friend as a child.
Sighing, Rena threw Penny into the case with the rest of the things she was planning to take with her. Hearing a shoe shuffle on the floor in the hallway made her heart thump hard, thinking that Carlos had somehow found her. She calmed instantly when the ranger, Pete, peeked into her room to check on her. Besides, Carlos was dead; she saw his body not ten hours ago.
"Ready?" He asked, in a patient voice. Rena looked down at her whole life in the suitcase and sighed.
"Yeah"
Rena left the suitcase on the motel bed. The ranger would bring it along, as he always did. She stretched her long body upwards, reaching for the ceiling in an attempt to relax herself. But there was no way she could relax until she got back to her own home, and her own room.
Rena seriously doubted that her brother had sold their family home in her absence. Which reminded her; she needed to call Roger and tell him she was coming back. She walked out of the musky room and right onto the parking lot.
Seeing that Pete wasn't there yet, Rena sat down in the ranger's Lincoln and closed the door, waiting for him to accompany her. When he finally made it back to the car, he sat down and gave Rena a warm smile.
"Can I call my brother now?" Rena ventured. "He should be off work now"
"Sure," the cautious man replied, handing her his phone.
Rena dialed the number of the only family she had left and felt her heart drum as she listened to the phone ring. The ranger had pulled off and hadn't even left the parking lot when Roger picked up.
"Hello?" Roger calmly answered the phone, and when Rena heard his voice she let out the breath she hadn't known she's been holding. She explained what was going on with some amount of anxiety and without pause.
"He's dead?" Roger sounded stunned and relieved.
"Yeah.", was all she could manage.
"Well come on home." Roger said, and then bade her goodbye.
And that was all Rena needed to hear before she let out the first cry she'd had since learning that she could be charged as an accessory to Carlos' crimes if she refused to testify in court.
The ranger pulled up in front of Rena's house about seven hours later.
"Don't go far, the US attorney will still need to tie up some loose ends." he said quietly, "but congratulations."
"Thank you so much, Pete."
Rena noticed that he made no effort to get her bags this time, so she opened the back door of the car and retrieved her own things. With a wave to Pete, she left him there, watching her enter her home for the first time in almost a year.
Rena went down her mental checklist once more. Skirt straight, shirt tucked in neatly, and small leather briefcase all ready for her first day at work. With a whoosh, she let out her breath, while she put on her jacket. It had been hell for her those first few months home. She'd shut herself in and refused to take calls until Roger and his wife Bethany took the hour and a half drive down to talk some sense into her.
Roger was, as always, pragmatic and tried pointing out to Rena that her fears were unfounded because Carlos was dead. Bethany, however, was Roger's polar opposite. She explained to Rena that fear exists only in one's mind, and reminded her that if she and her brother could survive the loss of their parents, then Rena could survive anything. The visit was both productive and heartwarming. Rena knew that though Roger was telling her to get over it, his taking the time to actually drive down to see her showed considerable concern for her on his part.
So now here she was, on her way to work for the first time ever since the bookstore in college. Though their parents had left a fortune for them on which to survive, Rena had planned on working after school. She was only nineteen when she got caught up in her whirlwind relationship with Carlos, and when she'd graduated, she took a year off to spend with him.
It turned out to be the best year of her life. Followed by the worst eight months since her parents died in the plane crash. The man who she thought she knew and loved was a drug trafficker, who would steal and kill to protect his enterprises. It slowly dawned on her that she was in a committed relationship with a felon. Luckily for her, the FBI snatched Carlos up before he realized Rena had figured him out. Unluckily, however, was the fact that she had unwittingly assisted Carlos on many overseas deliveries. But now she had her own life back, and most of her things from the FBI.
The US attorney had promised she would get her car back eventually, but he hadn't returned it yet, so Rena decided with a burst of optimism to walk to the downtown bank. She would get there early no matter what, and she even had time to stop for coffee and a peek at her newest BDSM novel on the way.
Unfortunately, her favorite local café had since closed, and the only other option was the chain coffee shop across the street. There was no way in hell she was going to get to read her smut at this hippy-dippy shop, though.
'Ugh.', she thought, already annoyed as she fought her way inside, past the myriad patrons waiting for their orders. She was going to be on time, but just barely at this rate.
After almost four minutes of waiting in line, Rena finally stepped up and ordered a cup of Kona roast, black. The cashier looked at Rena like she'd sprung a new appendage.
"We don't carry Koona or whatever here."
And then the barista, without waiting for Rena to modify her order yelled, "Next!"
Rena stood at the counter, stunned, but not for long. She turned on her heal and began to storm off in search for a manager when her progress was suddenly stopped by a body colliding with her own. Rena was bumped back into the counter and lost her footing. Large hands were instantly under her arms and holding her up.
"Hey, you ok?" rumbled a deep, rough voice from somewhere above her.
