Angels and Outlaws. Lori Wilde
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she wanted to kill herself? Well, that was just dumb. What she wanted was to get back inside, find a blow dryer and a hot latte.
Cass started to reach up a hand to push her damp hair off her face, but the movement made her teeter precariously on her high heels. She glanced down again, saw firemen running around blowing up one of those big inflatable jumpy thingies stuntmen used in the movies and positioning it directly below her.
The building seemed to sway.
Horns honked. The crowd was shouting up at her, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying above the rumble of the fire engines and the wind whistling around the corner of the brownstone.
“Look at me, Cass,” Sam said, his voice low and soothing.
She snapped her gaze to his rugged face, grateful to have something, anything to look at besides the traffic below.
He pinned her to the ledge with his eyes. They were solid and deep. How could she fall as long as he was looking at her like that?
You won’t fall, his expression declared. I won’t let you.
And for some unfathomable reason, she believed the promise on his face.
“Let’s talk about it,” he gently cajoled.
“Okay.” Why not? Anything to get her mind off the fact that she was inches away from cracking her skull into multiple pieces.
“Is this about a man?” he asked.
Wasn’t that just like a guy to assume she’d want to fling herself to the pavement over some man? She was half tempted to tell him it was about a woman simply to see surprise spark his eyes.
“FYI,” she said. “I have absolutely no intention of jumping.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s very good. So this is just a plea for help. To get someone to listen. To have your pain heard.”
“Nooo.”
Who was this guy? And where in the heck had he come from? She hadn’t ordered a touchy-feely buttinsky psychologist to go. What she wanted was some big, strong strapping hero to throw her over his shoulder and walk her safely off this damned ledge.
She eyed him.
Under the circumstances she shouldn’t have noticed his short sandy brown hair, obviously styled by a discount barber, but the fashionista in her wouldn’t be stilled. A great haircut would go a long way in accenting his interesting cheekbones and some blond highlights would coax a bit of color into his desert gray eyes.
He leaned out the window. His shoulders were broad and his chest strapping. No matter what idealistic sentiment he might have just expressed in order to keep her from jumping off the ledge, clearly he was not by nature the sort of man who got in touch with his inner feelings or indulged in hundred dollar haircuts.
The set of his shoulders, the nonchalant way he was dressed in rumpled khakis and an untucked button- down blue chambray shirt told her he was a working class Joe. Salt of the earth, this one.
“What is it about, Cass?”
She raised the hand she’d fisted around the scarf.
“Ah,” he said. “I get it. You’re up here for a cause. Taking a stand against some political or economical or social injustice.”
“Nooo.”
Boy was he off base. She would have shaken her head but she was afraid the movement would make her even dizzier then she already was.
“I’m listening, Cass. You can tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Well, gee thanks for the concern, Sam, but nothing’s bothering me.”
“Then why are you on that ledge?”
He looked so sincere, so worried for her safety that she felt a little silly saying it. “I came out for the Hermès.”
“Pardon?” He appeared confused and she realized the problem.
“I’m talking about the scarf.”
“What about the scarf?”
“It blew off my neck.”
As Cass watched, his face changed from earnest to perplexed. “Let me get this straight. You climbed out on a window ledge for a scarf?”
“Eight stories really doesn’t seem that high until you’re out here.”
He was looking at her as if she was the most foolish woman on the planet and actually right now, that’s exactly how she felt.
“It’s a Hermès,” she explained.
“For a scarf?” he repeated.
“A very expensive scarf.”
“Lady,” he growled, all trace of the understanding, considerate, suicide-jumper-talker-downer vanishing, “you’re nuts.”
“Gee, that’s not very nice.”
“What kind of shallow, narcissistic, materialistic, egocentric…”
“You can give it a rest. I get the picture. If I’m a jumper then you’re all sympathetic and helpful but if I’m just…”
“Blond,” he supplied.
She glared. “I was going to say rash.”
“This is way past rash and well on the road to foolhardy.”
Cass sniffed. He was right, but she didn’t have to admit it. “Apparently we don’t share the same value system.”
“Hell,” he said. “I don’t think we even share the same solar system.”
“Be that as it may,” she said snippily, “I did come out here and now I’m too nervous to climb back in, so if you’d be so kind as to please go find a nice fireman or policeman to come rescue me, I’d appreciate it.”
“I am a policeman.”
“You don’t look like a policeman.”
“I’m a detective. I don’t wear a uniform.”
She groaned inwardly and rolled her eyes. Just her luck. She’d drawn a cop who was a bad dresser with an attitude to match.
He held out his hand. “Come back in.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Every time I try to move I get dizzy and start to lose my balance.”
He eyed the ground and then cussed under his breath.
What? Panic shot through her. Did he know something she didn’t?
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why are you cursing?”
“If it weren’t for you I’d be having Starbucks and Krispy Kremes right about now.”
“Shoo,” she said, but didn’t dare motion with her hands. She’d already moved around too much. “Go on. Go shoot your cholesterol through the roof. Sorry to ruin your day.”
“Hang on. I’ll come get you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Tough. You’ve got it.” With that, he grimly thrust himself out the window and onto the ledge.
She felt his movements vibrate straight up through the concrete precipice and she tensed. He had a pragmatic way about him, the aura of a man doing his duty whether he liked it or not.
She didn’t like being his duty.
He came toward her as casually as if he were walking his dog