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“Can I join you?”
I turned to find a cute girl with curly brown hair eyeing the stool next to me. She was short and curvy like my sisters, with a button nose and tits that would probably entertain any man for at least a few hours. She licked her lips. Yeah, she was looking for something. A little trouble. A little fun.
Outside, thunder shook the city. In here, I was unmoved.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I said, trying for friendly, but distant. “I’m waiting for someone.”
She pouted a little, then took off to the other side of the bar to ask another man the same question. And here I thought I was special. I snorted and turned back to my drink, Frankie’s taunts floating back yet again. A little tail was just the thing for this strange mood, and here I was, turning it away. The question was why.
Big brother, you know why.
Good God, I couldn’t escape that know-it-all, even here. But she was right. Dammit, she was right.
I did know why. The problem was them.
It was a case I’d been working on the side for months. The investigation against John Carson was one my boss had refused to take officially, though he had hinted that he wouldn’t stop me or one of the investigators if we wanted to look into it. It was one of those political tightropes. If nothing came of it, or worse, if I got into a bit of hot water, the DA would be able to claim he had nothing to do with it. But if we had a part in nabbing the bastard, it was a damn nice feather in his cap.
Because John Carson was a bad man. One of the worst. A business tycoon who worked in ammunitions of all things, which made him best friends with half the U.S. armed forces and a good percentage of congress and the intelligence community. He owned several labs located around the old Navy Yard and south Brooklyn, which put him right in our jurisdiction.
He was also a psychopath targeting two personal friends.
I had known Jane and Eric de Vries for close to five years. During that time we had been at most friendly acquaintances. But after the two moved to the city to get married and caught the ire of John Carson—who happened to be Jane’s biological father—they needed help from someone they could trust.
Frankie was right about something else. I couldn’t stay away from a challenge.
So, as I’d stepped in to help the de Vrieses, I’d also gotten to know them better. And tonight, I really couldn’t get them out of my head.
It wasn’t like that. Okay, sure, I had a thing for Jane back in the day. But that was a flash in the pan. A momentary crush, long since passed, even if Eric had been a bit threatened by it. But I’d never really thought much of either of them until I’d gotten involved in their case. When I really started seeing them together.
They were lightning. Pure kinetic energy. It was in the way Eric couldn’t stop looking at his wife, the way she seemed completely drawn right back to him. They were opposites. A marriage of fire and ice. And yet, they also seemed made for each other. I’d never seen anything like it.
Everyone is fine with store-bought pasta until they make it from scratch. I was starting to feel like relationships worked the same way. Like I was missing out on something I hadn’t even tasted. Some of my best friends had it. Their friends too.
Why couldn’t I?
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I muttered as Jamie returned.
My friend shrugged. “Beats me. That girl was hot. She would have left with you in five, ten minutes tops. What’s with the brush-off?”
“I don’t know. Something about her.” It was a stupid answer, but the best I could come up with. “No one in New York has any style anymore, do you notice that? Everyone looks homeless.”
Jamie just raised a brow. “You’re in a mood tonight.”
“Those college kids, for example,” I continued, gesturing toward the people he had been serving. “Look at them. Jeans that don’t fit right. Shitty sneakers. Not one high heel. Not a single collared shirt. Where’s the pride, huh?”
“Careful, Zo, you’re starting to sound like my grandfather.”
I shrugged. “If I sound like mynonno, I’m better for it. I refuse to sink to the bottom of the barrel. His generation had standards, and so do I.”
“Well, Shirley Temple back there didn’t look like she jumped out of a dumpster.” Jamie started polishing a glass. “You know what the problem is, Zo. And it ain’t her shoes.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
Jamie held up his left hand. “Pretty sure she needs a ring on that finger.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start with that, man.”
“You asked,” my friend retorted. “Tell me, when was the last time you picked up a broad who wasn’t married, engaged, or in a serious relationship, hmm? And we’re not just talking one-night stands to get your rocks off. I’m talking about a woman you werereallyinterested in.”
