Lost and Found (34 page)

A chance look over my shoulder has me thinking there’s a guy following me. I swear I can smell the perfume I rigged to douse whoever came in through the window. And what are the chances that two people would need to get on the same subway in a huge rush on a Saturday afternoon? My brain tells me the chances are good, this being Manhattan, but my heart and soul are telling me the chances are zero. This guy is out to get me. I think I recognize him from the jewelry store, the one where my purse got jacked.

My heart is beating so hard it’s like it’s trying to escape my chest. The guy got in another train car, but he doesn’t fool me. He’s going to try and grab my purse again. For a few seconds, I entertain the thought of just letting him take it.
Ha, ha! Joke’s on you, asshole! Now try and get rid of that bad karma!
Unfortunately, I know how karma actually works, so this plan is crap. You can’t trick karma from your side; you can only do the right thing, and the right thing is not letting some thief do the dirty work for me. The right thing is getting James to see reason, and that’s what I’m going to do. That’s the only reason I’m going to see him again, not because the idea of being with him makes me feel safer than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

As soon as the doors slide open, I dash out onto the platform. My thighs and butt muscles are burning by the time I make it up to street-level. I don’t even look back before taking off at a full-out sprint. I have six blocks to go since I didn’t want to risk trying to make a transfer onto the line that runs a block from Trump Towers, and the sandals I have on were not made for running.

Checking over my shoulder, I see someone running behind me.
I knew it!
It’s a man. A skinny one. I’m sure he’s the guy. I can smell his sorry ass from here.

Adrenaline gives me a shot of energy and I surge forward. My breath is burning in my chest, but I can’t slow down. I have to get to James before this thief reaches me. James will save me. James will make everything all right. I believe this with all my heart. Even my brain’s on board. I’m better off with him next to me when shit is going down. After seeing him with his niece, I know he’s a man I can count on went shit is getting real. And it doesn’t get any realer than a thief chasing me down the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon on Fifty-Seventh Avenue.

Chapter Sixty-Six

“COME ON, CASSIE GIRL, TIME to go.” I lift her up, mindful of the diaper bag over my shoulder that’s heavy enough to take out a medium-sized house cat. It keeps wanting to swing around and knock things over in my condo. I’ve already broken a vase and a statue.

I’ve seen mothers loading their kids into cabs, loaded down with the junk that kids need, and I’ve never questioned their skill sets. Now I’m in complete admiration. All I have is one baby, one diaper bag, one carseat, and one stroller, and I’m a goddamn mess. Why did I think going to The Met was a good idea? Oh, yeah. Right. Because I’m going stir crazy inside this condo and I have no reason to go hang out with Leah anymore.

There. I said it in my head. I want to hang out with Leah. I dumped that ring in her fishbowl and got rid of my problem. I could have told the doormen that under no circumstances were they to accept any packages or let any people up to my condo, and I’d be rid of her forever. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Forever seems like way too long a period to not be seeing her again. Six hours ago is too long. That’s how long it’s been since I walked away from her table at the farmers market. Why did I do that without asking her to dinner first?

Oh well. What’s done is done. I have a date with my niece and she probably could do with some culture, so The Met it is. They have a special exhibit on French impressionism this month, so we’re in luck. Two paintings from our family’s private collection are on loan for it, so she might as well start learning about her legacy right now. Are three-month-old babies too young to learn? I don’t think so. I plan to hold her up in front of every painting just in case. It’s better than staring at the four walls in here waiting for Cassie to vomit on me again. I’ve gone through three shirts already today and have taken to wearing a dishtowel permanently on my shoulder.

I call the elevator up and then pull out the red stop button inside. An alarm starts going off. It’s quiet at first but then gets more annoying. The first things in are the stroller and the carseat. I follow with Cassie in one arm and the diaper bag hanging from my other hand. I press the stop button in and the alarm turns off. The elevator begins its descent a few seconds after.

I grin down at my baby girl. “See that? We can do this. Just a day at the museum, right?” Sweat trickles down my hairline near my temple. I lean over to wipe it on my shoulder and realize the dishtowel is still there. I drop the diaper bag on the floor in time to rip the thing off me as the elevator doors open. I use the rag to dry off my sweaty face before reaching down and grabbing the diaper bag. I fling it out into the foyer in front of the elevators.

“Need some help, sir?” asks one of the several doormen who man the space near the elevators.

“That’d be great, thanks.” I reach for the stroller next.

“Let me do it, sir. You look like you have your hands full.”

I lift my hand and realize the dishtowel is in it. I wave it around. “Great. Thanks. Yeah, grab that carseat if you would. The thing is heavier than it looks.”

“Not a problem.” The guy lifts it like it’s an empty shoebox. I decide then that I might need a little more time in the gym. I’m going to work on balancing exercises, where I carry dead weight in one arm and lift things with the other arm. If I’m going to be watching Cassie more often, I’m going to have to develop those muscles for sure.

She lets out a bleep of noise, and I’m not sure if it’s a happy sound or an I’m-about-to-get-pissed sound. I stare down into her face as I squat to grab her diaper bag. “No crying, Cassie. This is Trump Towers. They have a very strict no crying policy.”

The doorman snorts as he grabs the stroller and carseat, waiting for me to tell him where to go with them. “If that were the case, half the residents would be outta here,” he says.

“Lot of crybabies in the building?” I ask, walking towards the entrance to the Towers.

“You could say that. We tend to call them emotionally fragile, though.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” I know some of the people who live here, and I also know they wouldn’t take kindly to being called crybabies, even if that’s what they are.

“Can I call you a cab, sir?”

“Actually, no, I’ve arranged for a limo service to be out front. I’m taking my niece to The Met.”

“That’s nice.” He makes sure the doors don’t close on Cassie and me as we walk through. “I didn’t know babies like art.”

“Let’s hope this one does,” I say, “because if I don’t get out of my condo and into the real world soon, I’m going to go crazy.”

He laughs. “Good luck with that, sir.” He deposits my baby gear on the sidewalk next to the limo that’s idling there. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I dig around in my pocket and come out with a ten. “No thanks. Here. I’ll see you later.”

“Not me, sir. I’m off in an hour. Good luck.” He takes the ten and tips his head at me before going back inside.

The driver gets out and busies himself with loading the gear into the trunk. When he’s done, I give him instructions on how to install the carseat. I feel like a parent, knowing how it’s done. I’m surprised by the feeling of pride that gives me.

A parent? Me? I never thought about it much before. I figured I’d end up with a woman who didn’t want kids, and I would have been okay with that. Now I’m not so sure. Every time I try to picture myself with another woman, she looks just like Leah.

I lean in and strap Cassie into the carseat. The driver gets into the car as I stand and turn around, making sure we have all our things loaded before we leave. The idea of being in The Met without ten diapers, wiping clothes, three cans of formula and bottles, bottled water, five changes of clothing, baby ibuprofen, and four dishcloths has me panicking.

I’m distracted by the sound of someone running. A streak of yellow is coming at me from the north.

“James!” she yells.

It’s Leah and she looks like she’s being chased by an axe murderer the way her eyes are bugging out and her hair is flying all around her.

I hold out my arms to stop her from bowling me over and brace myself for impact.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

AT THE CORNER OF FIFTH and East Fifty-Seventh I make a hard left. I can see Trump Towers just ahead. If I can just make it to the lobby, I’ll be home free. My legs are so sore and slow it’s like I’m running in quicksand. The adrenaline has worn off. This is my worst nightmare come true; I’m so close, and yet so far...

Someone grabs my bag from behind and tries to yank it off me. I twist around in mid run and let my arms do whatever they want. Windmill! Slap attack! Ow that hurts!

My hand makes contact with someone’s face and he shouts. It’s enough of a shock that he lets me go. I’m free!

People all around are staring at us with expressions of horror on their faces. I’m furious that it’s all they’re doing. Yes, people! Muggings do happen in Manhattan, just usually not in your neighborhood!

I take off running again, no thanks to any of these Manhattanites, another shot of adrenaline giving my legs an extra kick of speed. I’m almost there … almost there…

I catch a glimpse of a limo outside the Towers and a guy is standing outside it, looking at me. Recognition dawns and my heart soars into the clouds. I’m saved! My prince is here!

“James!” I scream, putting my head down and giving it all I’ve got.

I’m so intent on going as fast as I can, that I don’t give any thought to how I’m going to stop. He’s in front of me way before I expect him to be and I’m not prepared.

“Ooph!”

He grunts and takes me into his arms, both of us falling backwards into the side of the car. His body takes the shock of our impact, but I feel no pain.

“Holy shit,” he says in a strained voice. “That hurt.”

I’m still amped up on brain-drugs and fear of death. “Hurry up! Hurry up!” I push on his middle, planning to fold him in half and then jump into the limo after him. “Get inside!” I turn my attention to the front of the car. “Go, driver! Go!” I’m still not in the car but I’m willing to jump into the open window if necessary. I need to get me, James, and his sweet little baby niece out of here before someone hurts us.

“Leah, relax!” James clamps down on my arms with what feels like bands of steel.

I look over my shoulder, sure I’m going to see a guy standing there with a gun pointed at my back.

The sidewalk is empty, save for one old lady in a linen pants suit and a bright blue and red scarf.

I pause in my scramble to get into the car. “He was there,” I say between huffs of breath. Sweat is pouring down my back.

James pushes me away a little and stands up straighter, positioning me so that I’m between him and the back seat of the car. The door is open and I’m in the entrance. From my new spot I can see Cassie’s carseat inside and her in it. She’s looking at me and pouting.

“She’s upset,” I say, worried she’s about to cry. I wipe the sweat off my temple with a trembling hand.

“Maybe because a crazy person just tried to hijack our car,” James says, a hint of humor in his voice.

I swallow with effort, my throat as dry as sand. “It’s not a joke.” I’m angry at him now, my chest still heaving. “I was being chased by someone. A thief. A mugger. A mugger thief.”

“In the middle of the afternoon? On Fifth Avenue?”

I take a few deep breaths and let each one out with a loud yoga hiss as I scan the immediate area. “He trashed my apartment and followed me on the subway.” I huff and puff a few more times to keep my brain from blacking out due to lack of oxygen. “I barely got away. He grabbed me over there.” I point to the corner a block over. My whole arm is shaking so I put it down quick.

James looks out into the distance. “Did anyone see it happen?”

“Hell yes!” I’m pissed all over again remembering it. “Several people, in fact. But did they do anything? No. They just stood there with their fat mouths hanging open.”

“All right, come on.” He pushes on my shoulder. “Get in the car.”

“Where are we going?” I have to wipe the sides of my face again. The sweat won’t stop coming, and I’m tingling all over.

“We’re going back to your place to get your things.”

I was about to get in, but then I stop, bracing my hand on the hood. “No, wait! We can’t go back there.” Several images are racing through my brain, the foremost one being that I would rather eat frog eyeballs than let James see my apartment. It was bad enough before, but now it looks like it should be condemned. For real condemned, not theoretically condemned.

“Why not? Did you already file a police report?”

“No.” I pout as I realize I’m losing ground for my argument that staying here is a better idea. I probably should have done the police report thing first. The asshole probably left fingerprints. “I think I might be a little obsessed with this ring thing,” I admit. “My first thought was to get it back to you so all this bad shit can stop happening to me.” As I say it, I realize it’s a bit of a lie. My first thought was that I was safer with James. The ring thing came to mind a second after.

“The ring is doing this … is that what you think?”

“I don’t
think
it, I
know
it. And you do too. This thing has The Devil’s smudge on it.”

He laughs. “The Devil’s smudge. Is that a thing now?”

I shove his shoulder. “It’s always been a thing. Stop laughing at me. You know I’m right.”

His smile dies off and he puts his hand on my cheek. Part of me wants to move out of range because of the sweat, but I stay. I stay because he’s touching me and it feels nice. I want to throw my arms around him, but I control myself.

“I do know what you’re talking about,” he says. His hand slides down to my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go to your place, file a report, and then go to Cartier and get rid of that thing once and for all.”