Love Story (2 page)

“I’ll let you talk if you promise not to scream.”

She nodded vigorously. Then realized she recognized the voice. When he loosened his grasp, she spun around. “What the
fuck
do you think you’re doing?”

He blinked. Twice.
“Christ, I had no idea who you were.” He gestured to her outfit. “In that getup.” His gaze lifted to her head. “And I thought that you were wearing a wig. Hell, are those blue streaks in your hair?”

“None of your business. I wonder, Mr. Caseman”–she’d inquired about him—“who appointed you the museum’s watchdog?”

He frowned. “Never mind me. What are you, some kind of Jekyll and Hyde?”

There was truth to his statement. But she didn’t know why she blurted out, “As a matter of fact, I am. My alter ego, Lizzie, came out tonight. Elizabeita works at the Met. What’s your story? You’re too prickly and, I don’t know, self-confident, for a workman.”

“You don’t need to know anything about me. I was leaving before the museum closed and saw you skulking down the corridor. I didn’t
recognize you.”

“I was not skulking. I came to pick up the laptop I left here. Why the hell did you grab me from behind?”

“I thought you were breaking into the office.”

She held up the keys.

His gaze narrowed on them. “Then why didn’t you use those against me. Don’t you know any self-defense?”

“I’ve never taken a course, but I can fend for myself.”

“Famous last words.”

“How would you know that?”

“Not important. Consider taking one.”

Indignation rose inside her. “You know, this is the second time you’ve been rude to me. I have a good position here and am respected.”

His brows rose. “Are you saying you could get me fired?”

“I could try.” Though she never would.

Cocking his head, he studied her. “You’re really ticked off, aren’t you?”

“When I’ve been assaulted, yes.”

He sighed. His brow furrowed tightly for a few seconds. “You’re right. About both times. I don’t know why I’ve been so surly with you. I apologize.”

She hadn’t expected that. “I accept.”

“But do yourself a favor and try not to be alone back here at night. Because of the emails. And the possibility of a stalker.”

“You know about that?”

“All the
employees were briefed. Not only the salaried positions.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She turned to unlock her door

“I’ll wait and walk out with you. Get you into a cab.”

Frustrated by this man, she retrieved her computer while he stood in the doorway, then let him follow her. The stars beamed down on them as they left the building. “I’m outdoors now. You can go.”

“I’ll get you a cab.”

“I…I’m not going home. I forgot to eat and I’m starved. So I’m going across the street.”

“To Jinxes?”

“Yeah.”

“Have the Reuben sandwich. They’re the best in the city.”

“You can go now.”

He glanced around. The employee entrance always seemed safe to her. It was well lit now, as darkness had fallen. But tonight, the deserted area was a little spooky. Which probably was why his
brows knit even more. “I don’t like leaving you alone out here. And I’m hungry. Maybe I’ll go across the street, too. Don’t worry, I can sit in another booth.”

Nick had his reasons for following this young woman to Jinxes. First, he’d found her in a compromising position, and his gut told him that he should investigate her further. Her story made sense but could be a cover-up. Elizabeita Ludzecky might be connected to the months-long email trail, which had recently become threat-like. Her transformation into Ms. Punk made
the possibility even more likely. Besides, that’s why he was here, why he was playing workman at the museum.

So he was right behind her as she entered the restaurant. She took a booth and he sat at the counter. He could practically hear her fume, and for some reason, her reaction made him smile.

“This is stupid,” she called out. “If you’re not going to leave, you can come sit with me.”

Rising from a stool, he slid into the booth across from her. Though she was young, she had an interesting face, as if she’d…experienced things. And now the impact of those cat eyes wasn’t lost on him. Her hair hung to her waist. Inwardly, he chuckled at the funky clothes. Mellie liked that kind of attire, too. “Here we go. All cozy.”

“Don’t get any ideas. My mother taught me not to be rude.
Maybe we can talk, and I can figure out why you’re so cranky.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s uppity.”

A waiter came to the table. “Anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a beer,” she said. “Whatever you have on draft.”

“Same here,” he told the man. “So,” he asked when they were alone, “tell me about yourself.” That might help his quest to figure out who was targeting the Met.

“Maybe.”
She arched a brow. “If you go first.”

How much to say? From previous experience, he knew to stick to the truth as much as possible. “I’m forty years old. What are you, about twenty-two?” Hell, he could be her father.

“Twenty-six. Year wise. In living experiences, I’m a lot older.”

Their beer arrived and she sipped hers. Her shiny dark pink lipstick left a half circle on the glass.

“What does that mean?” he asked. She was thoughtful. “My family’s had a lot of issues that I prefer not to talk about.”

“Family as in nuclear family or extended?”

“I don’t have a nuclear family. I probably never will. My gang of sisters, brother, nieces and nephews are enough.”

The brew went down smooth in his parched throat. “Kind of soon to make that decision, isn’t it?”

Instead of answering, she said, “Your turn. Family?” “Big, too. A couple of sisters and brothers. Mother, aunts.” And a daughter. But he wouldn’t mention her.

“You’re pretty old never to have been married.”

“I was married.” Grief passed through him like a familiar ghost, even after all this time. “We went to…school together. She died. And that
I
prefer not to talk about.”

“Fair enough.”

When the waiter came back, Nick pointed to the menu. “We’ll both have Reuben sandwiches. What would you like with yours?”

“You’re something else.” She smiled up at the waiter, who beamed at her attention. “French fries, thanks.”

“College?” he asked when the guy left.

“Yep.”

“In art history?”

“Two degrees, actually. I double majored in art history and museum curating. Then
got a Masters of Art in the Humanities.”

“Seriously? Did you start when you were twelve?”

“I graduated high school at seventeen, college in three years. Another two at grad school, and one year interning in Europe. Your turn.”

“No college.” The police academy, though. Which, at one time, he’d been proud of. “How about we discuss something else? What do you think is going on at the
museum?”

“Whatever it is, I’m not worried about it.”

“No? How come?”

“Because I refuse to live my life in a state of perpetual anxiety. I think cautiousness is highly overrated.”

Hell, that’s all he needed. Evel Knievel in leopard tights and blue hair. He reminded himself that she could be a lot more than that, too.

They walked out of Jinxes together.

“What are you thinking?” he asked her.

She looked up at him. In this light, he seemed more approachable. He’d been easygoing at supper, too. “I can’t believe I had a good time with you.”

“It was probably the two beers.”

“And the wine I had earlier.”

“You had wine earlier?”

“Uh-huh. Which is why I’ll let you put me in a cab.”

“Damn.” Nick stepped out onto the road and held
up his hand. He had an air of command about him. She noticed, too, that he was over six feet tall, broad shoulders, and no fat anywhere on his body. His brown hair was a bit longish and his beard scruffy. In the diner, the blue of his eyes had reminded her of a summer sky.

The cab stopped, and he opened the door.

“Like I said, I had fun.”

“Me, too. Now, get in.”

“Back to grumpy,
I guess.” She slid into the cab.

He said, “Move over.”

“What?”

“Move over.”

She did. And he got inside with her.

“What are you
doing
?”

“You need a keeper. Give him your address,” he ordered, slamming the door. He seemed unhappy about what he was doing. But a little thrill went through Elizabeita. She wasn’t unhappy at all. So she told the cabbie where to go.

“Hmm, pretty
swank for an assistant curator,” he said, presumably recognizing where she lived. You got some other income? Like a trust fund?”

She snorted. “Hardly. I come from humble beginnings, which I’m proud of, by the way. But I do have a very generous, rich sister. She got married, moved in with hubby and is letting me live in her condo.”

“Hmm.”

“You sound like you don’t believe me.”

“No, I do.”

When they arrived in the financial district, Elizabeita fished in her purse for money.

Nick pulled out cash from his pocket. “I got it. You insisted on paying for dinner.” He said to the cabbie, “Keep it running. I’ll be right back.”

She was simultaneously exasperated and intrigued by this man. So she exited the cab without protest, as did he, and they walked to the door.

As they stood in front of the building, she peered up at him. “I believe I’m safe now from the boogeyman.” She angled her head to the inside. “There’s the apartment concierge, right there.”

“Are you always this sassy?”

“Lizzie is.” She chuckled. “I had fun tonight,” she repeated.

“Me, too. Thanks for dinner.”

“Anytime.” In the streetlamps outside the building, she noticed his
hair was messy, probably from the window being down in the cab. “You’re not bad looking for an old guy,” she said, flirting.

“Excuse me?”

On impulse, she looped her arms around his neck. His hands lifted to them, but before he could break her hold, she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

She meant it to be only a sassy kiss, but after a few seconds, he moved in closer. Banded
his arms around her. And kissed her harder. Elizabeita fell into the embrace.

Quickly, too quickly, he drew away. “Hell, woman, have you no sense, kissing a stranger?”

She gripped his biceps for balance. The kiss had been unnerving. “I have sense, and besides, I know you, after three hours at the diner.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“So long as you’re not the emailer
or stalker, I’m fine with what I found out about you.”

“I could be either.”

“Nah. You’re too straight arrow. You have kind of a military bearing.” She took out her keys. “Now, go home before we get into a fight.”

“Hell,” he repeated as she unlocked the door and went into the building. He watched her. She knew because she could feel his hot gaze on her back.

And liked it.

Eddie,
the concierge, was at the desk. “Ms. Ludzecky, hi.”

“Hey, Eddie.”

He gestured to the door. “Everything okay?”

It was a personal thing to ask. But she said only, “Yeah, sure. Good night.” She headed for the elevator, and once again, she could feel a man’s gaze on her back.

Nick let himself into his house on the Upper West Side a half hour after the foolish, feisty
woman—no
girl
—kissed him on her doorstep. He still couldn’t believe she’d been so brash. More so, he couldn’t believe he’d allowed it. Participated in it. But there was something so fun and fresh about being with her and about the kiss, like he was young again and making out on a doorstep with a girl he just met.

As it was eleven, the big, roomy house he’d grown up in on the west side of the
city was quiet. His great-grandparents had bought the structure in the early 1900s and passed it on to his grandma and grandpa, then his own parents. It was a terrific place to live. Making his way back to the kitchen, he opened the fridge, popped a beer, and headed upstairs. When he eased open the door to Mellie’s room, the world receded. She slept soundly, on her side, like her mother used to.
Her blond hair and light complexion, the exact opposite of his dark hair and Italian looks, except for his blue eyes, fanned out on the pillow. She stirred, so he shut the door and started down the hall.

Since his mother’s light was on, he knocked, and after a moment he heard, “Come in, honey,” he went inside.

She was sitting up in bed, looking younger than her sixty years. “It’s late,
Mom. Anything wrong?”

“No, I got to reading this biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. It’s fascinating.” Irene Casella had taught history at NYU before she retired to help take care of Mellie. “How was your night?”

Nick came farther into the room. “Interesting.”

“I wish you could tell me what you’re working on.”

“All I can say is it’s with the new task force I joined.”

“I know,
dear. Secrecy about work, like your father.”

He warmed at the thought of his police-officer dad. “Mellie behave herself?”

“Always. You should see her on the computer. I’m amazed.”

“You kept an eye on her with that, right?”

“Of course. You put parental controls on it, too, Nicky.”

“I know. I worry.”

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t stay up too late.” He leaned over and kissed
her forehead.

“What’s that I smell?”

“Beer.”

“No. Perfume. Were you with a woman? Because that would be fine with me and Mellie. It’s been five years.”

“I was working, Mother. Good night.”

“’night, son.”

Holy hell. He smelled like perfume? Once he was in his huge room—suite actually—he dropped down on the small sofa, turned on the TV and stretched his legs out in front
of him. But superimposed over the rerun of
Law and Order
was Elizabeita Ludzecky throwing herself at him. He’d been so preoccupied trying to decide if her story, that her sister had given her the condo, was true that she’d caught him off guard. Truth be told, he’d been off-kilter the whole night. So he hadn’t stopped her in time when she’d put her arms around his neck. Then he’d gotten into the
whole thing. Now he could remember how she smelled, how she fit herself to him. And something stirred inside him. Which wasn’t a good thing.