Her Man in Manhattan

FOUR



His attitude sucked.

‘What is his problem?’ Miranda asked as she paced her bedroom floor with her cell phone glued to her ear.

‘He’s rude, overbearing and obviously doesn’t know his place,’ Crystal replied.

‘Obviously, but that’s not what I meant. It’s like I’ve done something to him way worse than making him open a stupid door.’

‘He’s supposed to open doors.’

‘He is.’ Miranda agreed. ‘It’s courteous.’

‘It is. And how dare he speak to you that way?’

‘I know, right?’

Having allowed her the customary five minutes to rant, Crystal called a halt with ‘Can we stop being the mean girls from high school now?’

‘Do we have to?’

‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘You were never that girl. Now take a deep breath and tell Auntie Crystal what the real problem is.’

Miranda stopped pacing and dropped heavily onto the end of her bed. ‘I don’t like him.’

‘You liked him on Friday night,’ Crystal crooned.

‘That’s when he wasn’t a brick wall standing between me and—’

‘All those nasty sex fantasies you had about him over the weekend?’

Flopping back onto the soft covers, Miranda blinked at the ceiling and sighed heavily. ‘There are at least three people I could have called who’ll tell me what I want to hear right now. And yet I still called you. Why is that?’

‘I’m your reality check,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘The only reason you don’t like him now is because he’s switched sides. Up till this morning he was part of your dream to do what—or who—you want, whenever you want. Now he’s part of the system keeping you in servitude.’

‘I hate that,’ Miranda admitted reluctantly.

‘Of course you do. No one likes to have a sex fantasy ruined by reality. We all prefer to live in hope.’

‘I was really hopeful,’ Miranda said wistfully.

‘And I really wanted to hear all the sordid details over lunch,’ her best friend complained. ‘I can’t believe you let this guy outwit you.’

‘I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.’

‘You learnt from the best.’

‘You’re a bad influence.’

‘I am,’ Crystal said with pride.

‘Which if you recall is part of the reason you’re not my father’s favourite person.’

‘He’s just never gonna let that reality-TV-show thing go, is he?’ she said in a tone that suggested she’d rolled her eyes. ‘You were on camera for like, five seconds.’

‘Might have helped if I wasn’t dancing on a table at the time.’

‘Does he have something against people having fun?’

It was an old debate. One Miranda knew she would never win with Mayor Kravitz. As far as hizzoner was concerned Crystal was a publicity nightmare: rich, overindulged, and for a considerable amount of time, out of control. She might since have moved on to a lucrative career of celebrity endorsements but when her fame stemmed from notoriety...

Frankly Miranda found it a little insulting he thought she could be so easily led. If she chose to she could get into trouble all on her lonesome. She didn’t need help. What she needed was the freedom to do what she wanted without her actions becoming fodder for the gossip hungry.

The thought added to her restlessness. She needed to get out for a while before the walls started to close in. Turning her head on the covers, she checked the alarm clock by her bed. ‘I’ll be at your door in a half hour.’

‘Are you going to rant some more when you get here?’

‘Probably,’ she admitted.

‘Awesome. I’ll open the wine. By the time you arrive I should be two glasses more sympathetic to your plight.’

Miranda wriggled upright, tucked her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans with some cash and pushed her feet into a waiting pair of deck shoes. Twisting her hair into a ponytail, she grabbed a baseball cap from one drawer and sunglasses from the collection in another. Ready for action she opened her bedroom door and checked the hall. Once she confirmed it was empty her lucky music talisman started playing in her head.

It wouldn’t be the first time a combination of wits, observation and an extensive study of spy movies was put to good use. As a result she knew to time her progress downstairs; to wait for the turn of the security cameras to take advantage of blind spots. She also knew the best window of opportunity for escape was at shift-change time, when the security details gathered to hand over the baton. At the foot of the stairs she stopped and held her breath, waiting for the last squeaking footsteps to disappear into the back of the house before she jogged across the foyer.

As usual the kitchen was deserted.

A bubble of exhilaration formed in her chest as she made it to the short hallway at the other side of the room. Tantalizingly close to the exit and secure in the knowledge she had an ally on the gate outside, she allowed the music in her head to become a low rhythm on the tip of her tongue. But as she reached for the handle a loud crunch made her still.

When she turned around Detective Party Pooper was leaning against the larder door with an apple in his hand.

‘The Mission Impossible theme is appropriate,’ he said with his mouth full.

Miranda gritted her teeth. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Overtime,’ he replied with a nonchalant shrug of broad shoulders. ‘Reckoned I’d keep an eye on things till the rest of the new detail is up to speed.’

How diligent of him.

She noted his appearance: the lack of a jacket, the loosened tie below an unbuttoned collar, the rolled up sleeves over tanned muscular forearms. When her pulse sped up she ignored it, refusing to have a physical reaction to his presence when she disliked him so much. Instead she focused on how quickly he’d settled in—standing there as if he owned the place and had been there forever.

‘I’m trying to decide if this counts as another strike when you haven’t left the building yet.’ He nodded firmly. ‘I’ll get back to you on that.’

When he nudged off the wall and went into the kitchen Miranda fought the need to growl. She hadn’t thrown a hissy fit since she was eight and denied a puppy, but it was tempting after a day in his company. Aiming a longing glance at the exit she sighed heavily and retraced her steps. He was standing at the island in the middle of the room when she walked in, casually flipping over the pages of a newspaper.

‘No disguise,’ he commented without looking at her. ‘Means you were going somewhere people know you.’ Another page of the newspaper flipped over. ‘Narrows it down some...’

Miranda swore she would never kiss another handsome stranger. She’d learned her lesson. They could turn into frogs. Now if her fairy godmother could just drop a bolt of lightning out of the sky and incinerate him, she promised to be a very good girl for a very long time. Even if she’d already been there and felt she’d earned a break.

In the absence of magical intervention she considered the options left open to her. She’d be damned if she was retreating to her bedroom. Neither was she staying for a friendly chat over coffee the way she used to with the members of the team she’d liked. Giving him anything resembling an order obviously wasn’t going to work and she sincerely doubted any attempt at negotiation would end in anything but a migraine.

‘I was going to stretch my legs,’ she said when the silence began to bother her.

He shook his head as he turned another page. ‘Lying sways you closer to strike two.’

‘I’m glad the trust part of this relationship is going so well.’

‘Stop treating the guys in this unit like idiots and they might trust you a lot quicker.’

Miranda bristled at the accusation. ‘You’ve been here five minutes. You don’t know anything about—’

‘How many of them do you reckon you got fired?’

‘I...’ Miranda faltered and frowned at the hesitation. She hadn’t got anyone fired. If she had she would have done something to fix it. ‘The bodyguards who left the mansion chose to leave.’

‘Ever ask yourself why?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Mac said he missed riding in a squad car.’

She’d liked Mac. He was a straight-up guy. Happily married with a young family, he’d done a lot of community policing when he left the academy and said he wanted to get back to it. They’d joked around about the squad car but when it came down to it he missed being in a position where he could talk to people. She understood that but was sorry to see him go. Unlike some people, he’d been really good about letting her make unscheduled stops for shopping or lunch when she needed to take a breather. On his last day she’d given him season tickets for the Giants because he loved football so much. She leaned back against the counter and folded her arms. Detective Smarty-pants knew squat.

‘Yeah, those things are a real sweet ride compared to the low-spec models you have parked outside.’ His gaze lifted. ‘Don’t know much about guys and cars, do you?’

‘I’m reliably informed there’s a little more to your job than the toys which go with it.’ She nodded at the gun holstered at his lean waist beside his shield. ‘It would be nice to think they don’t hand those out to everyone who thinks it’s cool to carry one.’

When he studied her more intently the memory of how he’d looked at her in the alley that morning entered her mind. For a second she’d thought he was going to kiss her again. A few hours in his company was all it had taken to dissolve her fantasy. At least she’d thought it had. But for that long stretched-out moment—as irritated as she’d been by him—she’d wanted him to kiss her.

He raised his right arm and tossed what was left of the apple through the air. As it dropped neatly into a swing-top trash can at the end of the counter he grabbed his jacket off the countertop. ‘Come on, then.’

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Said you wanted to go for a walk, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t need your permission.’

‘No,’ he said in a low voice as he turned towards her. ‘But since you don’t get to go alone, either I go with you or you go back to your room—your call.’

‘Even if it’s not on the itinerary?’

‘Why do you think we stick to that schedule?’

Miranda lifted her gaze to the ceiling. ‘Gee, that’s a tough one.’ She looked into his eyes again. ‘But I’m going to guess it’s so I know where I’m supposed to be at certain times of the day.’

‘There’s another reason.’

She batted her lashes. ‘So the people I’m going to see know I’ll be there?’

‘Try again.’

‘So you know where to drive me?’ She pouted.

She didn’t mention it was the tip of an iceberg that could sink her if she thought about it too much. Every moment of her day was planned to the last detail: when she got up, what she ate for breakfast, the visits she made to places her parents couldn’t slot into their busy days. She clawed back control where she could—getting to choose her own wardrobe had certainly been a leap in the right direction—but it wasn’t enough any more.

It hadn’t been for a long time.

‘Every place on that list is checked by an advance.’

Oh, for goodness’ sake. How long did he think she’d been doing this? ‘They search every room, run any necessary background checks and organize escape routes. When they’re happy they brief the security details who in turn plan the route to and from the venue.’ She raised a brow. ‘Are there bonus points if I can tell you everyone’s call sign?’

‘Don’t take losing well, do you?’

‘If I’m about to go for a walk in the park when I want to, how have I lost anything?’

‘Guess it depends on whether or not that’s where you were headed, doesn’t it?’ he challenged in return. ‘And I didn’t say anything about the park. The grounds of the mansion will do.’ When she didn’t reply he tossed his jacket down. ‘But if you don’t want to go out...’

‘Fine,’ she snapped as she turned on her heel and headed back towards the exit. Getting out of the house was better than nothing. ‘But don’t feel you need to make conversation to pass the time.’

‘Just remember if you rabbit it’ll be the last time we try this,’ his deep voice rumbled in warning behind her.

Miranda looked over her shoulder. ‘Rabbit?’

‘Run,’ he translated as he rolled down a sleeve.

It was as if he spoke a different language. She pushed the door open and stepped outside, the last throes of a humid summer surrendering to the first hints of autumn in the evening air. Where was he from?

The silent question opened the floodgate for a string of others. She wanted to know how long he’d been a cop, where he’d been before he transferred to the Municipal Security Section, what age he was, if he had a family.

As she crossed the gravel to the lawn another thought occurred to her. Since the absence of a wedding ring meant nothing she didn’t even know if he was single. Asking him would be the obvious solution if he was remotely in the region of forthcoming—the fact she still didn’t know his name being a prime example. If she found out he was married she would have several names for him; none of them nice.

Ramming the baseball cap onto her head, she frowned beneath the cover of the peak. Considering how much of her mind was occupied by thoughts of him even when he was right there, she didn’t have a choice. She had to get to know him better. Ordinarily it was something she enjoyed: talking to people, listening to what they had to say and getting small glimpses of lives that were so much freer than hers.

With him it felt different, more necessary to her survival, most likely because the silence was starting to turn her into a crazy person.

She just needed to figure out a way of getting him to start a conversation when she’d told him not to.

Had to pick now to follow an order, didn’t he?