Daring In The City. Jo Leigh
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into her hands, and there was no holding back the great racking sobs. Not just because he’d stolen her money, but because she couldn’t...
God, the expectations of her family had been so important to her, ever since she’d excelled in high school. Before that, really. From a young age, her father had called her The Great Branagan Hope to whoever would listen. He’d laughed, but she knew he’d meant it. The nickname was hauled out with every A, every award, every success she’d earned.
And she’d been brought to her knees on her first day of what was supposed to be her greatest venture yet.
The humiliation was as hard to swallow as the betrayal. She was dizzy by the time she got control of her sobbing. But she hadn’t stopped shaking. And it was only then that she remembered she’d left her other bag downstairs.
She took a minute to gain her balance after she stood. When she could walk, she went into the bathroom to wipe her face. Instead of finding a towel, she found toilet paper sitting on the floor. With exactly four sheets left on the roll.
She’d find that son of a bitch, and she’d kill him.
Finally, she started making her way back down the four flights of stairs. It wasn’t until she hit the second floor that she noticed a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk.
Two policemen were standing near the broken elevator, their flashlights shining exactly where she’d left her bag. The distorted sounds of their walkie-talkies made her stomach churn.
Hell. She’d been gone too long. They’d found her unattended bag. In New York City. Great. At least there’d be plenty of toilet paper when she was shipped off to Gitmo.
She flew down the stairs. “Wait, wait. That’s my bag. I couldn’t carry it up with my other giant suitcase and I only meant to leave it for a second but my business partner stranded me and took all my savings. But I swear there’s nothing dangerous inside, and I can tell you every single item in there. Just please don’t send me to jail.”
The two cops stared at her, their hands close to their weapons.
“Honestly,” she said, trying to catch her breath, but since her chest was squeezing her lungs flat, it wasn’t easy. “My name is April Branagan, but the name tag on the duffel is Eloise Wooster. I borrowed it from my aunt. You can call her if you want, and she’ll confirm it. I didn’t want to use my name and address because this is a temporary rental, so if it got lost, it could have been lost forever, and it’s got all my underwear and a lot of my business clothes.
The good-looking cop put up his hand, stopping her. “Look, we have no choice about this. Any unattended bag left under suspicious circumstances requires a protocol—”
“But it’s not suspicious. I swear. I’m standing right here, and if you unzip it even just a tiny bit, I can tell you what you’ll find.”
“This is a residential building,” the shorter cop said. “A lot of people could be at risk.”
She looked at him. Then at Hot Cop. Then at all the people who seemed way more interested in the drama than the danger, and she burst into tears. Big, sloppy sobs she had no control over. This was the worst day of her life, and it was becoming more horrifying by the minute.
“You can’t tell my mom, okay,” she said, crying the words. “I told her I was fine. That I could handle this. She can’t afford bail or a flight from St. Louis, not when Cassie’s just moved back with her kids.”
“Just look in the effin’ bag,” someone from the crowd said.
She wasn’t sure who it was, but it was so nice, it made her cry even harder.
“Yeah, give the girl a break,” someone else, a woman, said.
“You think pretty girls can’t be terrorists?”
She thought she might throw up. As it was, her nose was running and, of course, she didn’t have any tissues with her. “There’s an outside pocket,” she said, snorting disgustingly. “There are tissues in there, and—” She hiccupped.
Hot Cop said something she couldn’t hear to his partner, who pulled up his walkie-talkie, turned away from her and started to speak. She couldn’t hear what he said, either, but she figured he was calling the bomb squad and she’d end up at Rikers Island, just like on Law & Order.
Then Hot Cop bent next to her bag. He unzipped the side pocket and pulled out the little pack of tissues, showing it to his partner, who nodded.
As she was blowing her nose, which took most of the pack, Hottie unzipped the duffel. He held up the flap so she couldn’t see and said, “Tell me what’s in here.”
“A pink bra and panties, and a white bra and thong, and four more panties—yellow, green, white and lilac—and under that is my kimono robe and then my sleep shirt with the bunnies on it, and the red one with the black lace—”
He pulled out each item, holding them up one at a time to show his partner. And the rest of New York, who seemed to be four deep on the sidewalk, cheering. Hooting. Whistling.
That was when she caught all the phones. Was there even one person who wasn’t filming this? With her face looking as if it had gone through a gang initiation and her thong swinging on Hot Stuff’s finger?
She sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. Put her head in her hands. All her energy abandoning her in one exhale.
The shorter cop suddenly loomed in front of her. “I still need to file an incident report,” he said then glanced back. “Vinny, why don’t you clear the area.”
Vinny—mercifully taking leave of her duffel bag—stood, gave her a smile that looked a little too much like a leer and then the other officer started firing questions at her. Which was way, way better than the alternative.
LUCA DIDN’T GET back to his new place until just after 8:00 p.m. It had turned blustery, and he rubbed his cold hands together as he entered the Mercury Building.
He’d told his folks about his plans. Of course they’d known he was moving out, but they were as surprised as Tony had been about his decision to put off the internship.
Naturally, they’d argued. When did they not argue? But their reaction was what he’d expected. They, like Tony, weren’t thrilled, mostly because they’d believed he wanted that architecture license more than he did. Still, two years was a long time to commit to a life that he wasn’t certain about.
At the moment, however, his family was the last thing he wanted to think about.
Finally. He had his own place. Tomorrow his bed and wide-screen TV would be delivered, which meant tonight he needed to make sure the path was clear to the stairs. The guys who’d helped him take over the scaffolding and supplies hadn’t been choosy about where things landed.
He saw that the elevator was in service again, but he took the stairs anyway, breathing in the mingled scents of the city and hints of the lives lived down the hallways of each floor. The second and third floors had three apartments each, all occupied. The fourth floor had two exceptional apartments—each of which had two levels.
And now that the annoying Wes was gone, Luca could finally start remodeling—after he got rid of all the guy’s shit. At least he’d vacated early. That was the main reason Luca had pushed up his move-in date.
Walking into his new home gave him goose bumps. Maybe it was stupid, but he’d waited a hell of a long time for this moment. It would have been great to stay over tonight, but not without a bed. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Freedom. Silence. No surprise neighborhood women showing up at dinner. No more playing arbiter among his mother, his father and his grandmother when they got into arguments about what shows to watch on cable. No more questions about where he went at night, who he was with.