Page 54 of Caper Crush
“Okay, I’ll come over. What’s your address?” I skirt around a hot dog cart.
“Uh, right now?”
“Yes, I’m a spur-of-the-moment kind of gal. Plus, I’m in your neighborhood.” Or I will be in a few blocks. “Edmund just dropped me off. Why? Are you doing something?”
“Yes, I do work. And April is tax season, so I’m particularly busy.”
“I’m sure you’ve got it all under control. And you probably need a break. Have you had dinner yet?”
“No.”
Not much of an invitation, but that doesn’t deter me. “Great, we can have dinner together.”
He gives me his address. I’m a few blocks away. Broadway disperses into the wider, quieter streets of Tribeca. A subway whooshes by under the grates in the sidewalk. Now we’re in the land of neo-Greek façades with huge, Grecian columns surrounding glass-windowed art galleries, fire escapes climbing down the front façades, and metal steps leading up to entrances. An orange-and-purple abstract painting lights up one of the art-gallery windows. The artist was an MFA student a few years ahead of me at Columbia.
The bright-pink façade of a donut shop beckons ahead. I should come bearing gifts, and donuts create a lighter touch, especially sprinkled, pink-frosted ones. Which one will he choose among the pink, chocolate, and white frosting options? Plain chocolate is my bet, but he has shown hidden depths before. I can’t even contemplate the possibility that he doesn’t eat donuts, even if he doesn’t take sugar in his coffee.
Chapter twelve
Thedonutsfailtodeescalate the situation. William lets me in, and I present him with the donuts. He still looks upset that I met the nefarious connection.
“Levain Bakery cookies for Vinnie and donuts for me,” he says. “Do I detect a pattern here? Did you give Mr. Nefarious cupcakes?”
“I wish I’d thought of that.” I slip off my shoes in the foyer and follow him into his living room. He puts the box of donuts down on his rectangular dining room table.
And now two dogs bark excitedly around me.
“I didn’t realize you had dogs.” One is a black-and-white border collie, and the other is an Australian shepherd.
“Sora and Pochi. Sit.” He ruffles their fur. His fitted, cashmere V-neck outlines his firm chest and broad shoulders.Focus, Miranda.
Dogs are an even better distraction than donuts. I sit down on the wood floor and pet them. Sora licks my face. William’s apartment gives off a cool, minimalist vibe, at least from this angle. Two blue, abstract paintings hang on the wall behind the TV. That’s a relief. I like his taste in art. A black-and-white photograph of a crowded street in what looks like Tokyo is on another wall. A white couch sits in the living room area, a square coffee table in front of it, a tatami mat to the side. Two sitting cushions lie on the floor opposite. Sliding glass doors lead to a terrace in front of his living/dining area.
“You have a terrace?” A terrace in New York City is next level.
“Yes. How could you have gone to meet criminals in some sketchy part of Brooklyn?” His jaw is tight. “Did you at least tell Officer Johnson?”
I have to crane my neck to see him standing above me.
“I told Tessa to track me on her phone.” Sitting on the floor is not a commanding position. I take a seat at the table and open the donut box. I pick up a pink one with sprinkles and take a bite. It’s best to have a full mouth when called upon for questioning.
Pochi curls up on his dog pad by the couch. Sora rests her chin on my thigh. I pet her again.
“This painting is not worth your physical safety.” He shakes his head and turns away for a moment.
I give a little shiver.That murderous glare when he cursed me.“You heard the police. ‘This is a victimless crime.’ So the thief isn’t going to hurt me. He wants money.”
“And I heard you grumble that you certainly felt like a victim.” He sits next to me.
The man has the hearing of a bat. He probably uses echolocation to move around unlit rooms.
“What now?” he asks.
“What?”
“You’re looking at my ears strangely. I was worried when I couldn’t reach you because I knew you were off meeting them with Edmund.”
Damn. The man can read me. But worried? That almost sounds like he cares. It’s probably not specific to me though. It’s probably part of that Secret Service vibe he has going on—the protect-women-and-children code. Let’s hope I fall in the woman category and not the child one.
