Chapter 21: In Los Angeles, Stealing a Car is Safer Than Taking the Bus!
As for filing a restraining order against Rose in court?
The idea died the moment it surfaced in Sean's mind; he unconsciously curled his lip in a wry, self-mocking grimace.
Come on—he could already hear his colleagues absolutely losing it with laughter.
A Sergeant-level LAPD officer forced to petition the court for a restraining order against his own stalker girlfriend?
If that leaked, the whole division would laugh until they cried, and he'd be the prime water-cooler gossip topic for the next decade.
He knew all too well the incestuous relationship between law enforcement and the Los Angeles court system.
He'd bet his pension that if he filed paperwork at the courthouse at ten AM, by noon some Starbucks-clutching busybody—probably one of the station's biggest blabbermouth dispatchers—would swagger up to his desk, eyebrows waggling suggestively:
'Hey, Sergeant Horace, quite the ladies' man! Need a court order to keep your admirers at a safe distance now?'
Just imagining the scenario made his temples throb with a stress headache.
Whatever mess he'd created, he had to suck it up and handle it himself.
As compensation for Rose actually following the established ground rules:
'May share Sean's bed without clothing, provided she showers first and changes any sheets she dampens by whatever means necessary.'
'Once per month, for exactly one day, she may publicly present herself as Sean's girlfriend.'
Feeling utterly defeated, Sean raked a hand through his brown hair in frustration.
'You made your bed; now you gotta lie in it.'
(You screwed up; now you deal with the consequences.)
Across the table Judith sipped her orange juice, the anger in her eyes now laced with unmistakable, reluctant fear as she studied Rose.
This woman is absolutely terrifying.
To win her brother's affection, she first manipulated her way into befriending his sister?
That obsessive determination, that calculated methodology, that omnipresent surveillance—made Judith, a woman herself, genuinely shudder with unease.
Sean grabbed a KFC drumstick and bit into it aggressively, chewing hard.
That Colonel Sanders flavor—crispy! Not bad; the breading was crunchy, the meat juicy. Solid fast food.
Swallowing, he lifted his gaze to Rose across the table and asked in a deliberately casual, neutral tone:
"When did you arrive today?"
Rose, halfway through her second slice of Domino's pizza, paused mid-bite, then flashed a saccharine-sweet smile, eyes sparkling as they locked onto him, voice soft and musical:
"Darling Sean, I came over last night!"
"How—did you drive or...?"
Sean pressed; he hadn't noticed her Honda Civic parked anywhere near the property. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, hot sauce coating them, then naturally licked them clean—anything less would waste good flavor.
"I took the Metro bus!" she chirped cheerfully, as if that were perfectly normal behavior.
Judith nearly choked on her orange juice, staring at Rose in complete disbelief.
Sean licked the last remnants of sauce off his fingers, brows knitting together in professional concern and genuine shock:
"In Los Angeles? On public transit—at night?"
He leaned slightly forward, scrutinizing her like an errant teenager and stated emphatically:
"You would've been statistically safer grand-theft-auto-ing any random beater parked on the street!"
After six years patrolling the streets of Los Angeles at night, he'd witnessed every face the city could show after sunset.
To a six-year veteran cop of those nocturnal hours, the city's crime statistics painted a starkly different picture between day and night.
Nightfall transformed the city's rhythm into something dangerous and predatory.
Evening violent crime rates ran 30–50 percent higher than daylight hours.
Any moment a crew wearing red bandanas and Bloods colors might burst from an alley, Glocks drawn, screaming:
"Motherfucker! Run your pockets now!"
Sean abandoned the idea of cracking open a Corona and said firmly to Rose:
"Did you leave anything at your place? I'll drive you back home."
He wouldn't risk letting her navigate Los Angeles nightlife alone; for his own peace of mind and basic human decency, he would personally escort her back to her Malibu apartment.
A fleeting, triumphant smile curved Rose's glossed lips—her calculated gambit had worked perfectly.
Another opportunity for alone time with Sean!
Internally elated, Rose headed upstairs toward Sean's master bedroom.
"Where are you going?" he called out, watching her beeline straight for his private sanctuary again.
Glancing toward the living room to confirm Jenny was completely absorbed in My Little Pony and couldn't overhear, Rose answered playfully:
"Going to roll around naked in your California King!"
Reading his utterly helpless expression, she quickly backpedaled with mock innocence: "Kidding—I just need to grab my socks, silly!"
Watching her ascend the stairs, Judith propped her chin on her hand, expression completely unreadable as she asked Sean quietly:
"She absolutely meant that literally, didn't she?"
Sean refused to take the bait; his eyes briefly met Rose's retreating figure. He knew the truth.
She absolutely would do exactly that.
More than once, lying alone at night in his own bed, he'd detected a faint lingering scent—some woman's perfume definitely not his own—ghosting through his expensive Egyptian cotton sheets.
It felt like that creepy Spanish thriller Sleep Tight; the hairs on the back of his neck still bristled at the memory.
Two people sharing one bed, one blissfully unconscious of the intrusion—just the concept sent genuine chills down his spine.
At least he knew the identity of his nocturnal visitor; otherwise existence would feel like living inside a low-budget Lifetime horror movie.
Footsteps descending the hardwood stairs snapped him back to reality—Rose was coming back down.
His gaze automatically dropped to her feet: white cotton athletic socks... wait, why did that Nike swoosh pattern look so familiar?
Aren't those... from my drawer?
He was ninety-nine percent certain those were his socks.
Forget it. He looked away dismissively—whatever, not worth the argument.
Clothing items in this house vanished and mysteriously reappeared like supernatural phenomena anyway.
A freshly laundered pair of gym shorts could disappear from the dryer, then days later materialize back on the folding table with ghostly precision.
He'd long since stopped being surprised by Rose's particular brand of klepto-romantic behavior.
After several days, once her scent and body-wear marks faded sufficiently, the borrowed items would quietly return to their original locations.
Seeing her reach the living room level, Sean stood immediately, adopting a brisk, businesslike demeanor:
"Let's go—I'll drive you home to Malibu." His tone was deliberately flat, neither welcoming nor hostile.
Yet Rose paused at the bottom of the staircase, turning not toward him but facing Judith directly, chin resting thoughtfully on her hand, wearing an enigmatically complicated expression.
With an absolutely flawless, pageant-quality smile she cooed sweetly:
"Judith, sweetheart, would you like to come along to Malibu with us?"
Judith, still mentally processing the absurdity of the entire situation while nursing her juice glass, straightened abruptly in her chair, eyes widening:
"You... actually want me to come?"
her voice dripping with utter disbelief.
Rose's smile only intensified, eyes radiating completely manufactured sincerity as she answered, clear and utterly unruffled:
"No—I was just being polite to your face."
Are you kidding? A rare opportunity for exclusive one-on-one time with Sean—who would voluntarily bring an awkward third wheel?
The dining room plunged into awkward, suffocating silence; even the ambient evening light through the windows seemed to freeze, the wall clock's second hand audibly ticking off the brutally blunt dismissal.
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