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When Andrew Roman had thought enough time had passed, he left the company of Pam and her friends and sought out Sandra Benson standing at the bar, schmoozing with the bartender.
“Miss Benson?”
She turned around to look into the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. “That’s me.”
He stuck out his hand, knowing it was corny but lost in the moment.
“We met a few years ago at a Christmas party at the mayor’s house.”
“Andrew Roman,” she said. “Of course I remember you. Gracie Mansion. It wasn’t one of my best moments, but it was memorable.”
“Nothing that happened that night was your fault,” he said, looking into her eyes.
Her ex-boyfriend, a cop, had come to the party uninvited and drew his weapon, shooting and injuring several influential guests, including Sandra’s boyfriend, before getting killed.
“I suppose not,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “It feels like a million years ago.”
Asking the bartender for a Coke, he nodded at an empty, isolated table close to Pam’s veranda. “Would you sit with me?”
“Okay. I’m not sure I want to spend more time on that period of my life, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I agree. I was just trying to justify talking to you. That we had really met.”
“You could have just introduced yourself,” she said, smiling. “That would have been enough.”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Well, where do you live?”
“I live here now. Babylon. On the beach, across the street from Shore Pizza, which accounts for my full figure.”
“Ha! You’re gorgeous.”
“Well, thank you. But that’s where I live. Where do you live?”
“In Manhattan,” he said somberly. “I’m getting sick of it.”
“Yes. I was born and raised there. The last two years took a lot out of me.”
“What do you do for a living?” he asked. “If I remember correctly, you were a partner in Jack Smith’s firm.”
“I was. Randy Braddock bought me out. Drove me out, I should say. There was an attempt on my life, threats, the whole nine yards.”
“Did that ever come across my desk?” he asked, frowning.
“Oh crap, you’re the DA!” She laughed out loud. “So you’ll know all my dirt. And trust me, there’s a lot.”
“Sandra, I promise you, I won’t go snooping in the archives.”
“I’m not sure I believe that, but I’ll try,” she said, still laughing.
Like she was on her death bed, her history zipped through her head, including accusing Ryan of raping her, that she was a suspect in the death of her ex, Tom Adam’s wife when she was married to Sandra’s current friend with benefits, Michael Bennett, CEO of New York Medical Center. The list included the assault on her by one of Randy Braddock’s henchmen that could never be proven. She knew they wanted her dead because it was cheaper than paying her to leave.
Sitting with the Manhattan DA at Pam’s party was about as incongruous as it got. But he was hot and handsome, and she had just said she needed some new blood.
“How did you happen to come to Pam’s party?” she asked.
