Manhattan Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance Book 2)

by Gibson, Mira

  But it hadn’t negated the lead that Kevin had established after running down the Russian’s license plate.

  Alexi Vishnevsky.

  He was a low-rung thug working for the Avandeyev crime family, or so the paper trail Kevin had traced had revealed. Avandeyev operated out of Coney Island, but was known for killing and dumping bodies all over Manhattan.

  Tasha hadn’t just witnessed mere manslaughter or a straightforward crime of passion. She had seen something that could potentially bring down a network of hard-core criminals.

  And Sergeant Reilly had seen fit to look the other Goddamned way.

  Or was being paid to...

  Though the sun was lowering over the Hudson and casting a stark orange glare across the pier, the line of cars, and a row of benches facing the water, Kevin still recognized Tasha’s silhouette from where she sat on one of the benches.

  As he neared her from behind, he glanced at his shirt and jeans, confirming his plain clothes were both tight and crisp enough that he didn’t look like a slob, not that he’d be able to do a thing about it if he did.

  “Hey,” he said, almost breathlessly.

  She lifted her misty eyes and though her expression revealed that she was intimidated and maybe a good deal pissed, she also seemed relieved he had shown up.

  Rising from the bench, she said, “It was the same guy.”

  “Who stole your camera,” he supplied.

  “I thought you got his plate. You couldn’t arrest him for stalking me?”

  “I couldn’t find him,” he said quickly. “Not with managing my tours. But I know who he is.”

  The fact didn’t calm her, but seemed to incite her frustration.

  “So when are you going to arrest him?”

  “It might not be that easy.”

  “Oh,” she said, letting out a laugh, which told him that she doubted he was still on her side.

  “Listen,” he cut in. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you. This isn't going to be easy.”

  Her expression hardened as she met his gaze and the way her brows drifted up indicated she was in the process of checking out. “So what form is it this time?”

  He didn’t know what to say. He was off duty and knew she was being sarcastic.

  “I literally just blew hundreds of dollars on that thing,” she vented. “I shouldn’t have even had to buy a second camera.”

  When her emotions got the better of her, she swallowed hard and forced a deep breath, and her rationale, her control had him instantly endeared.

  Without thinking, as if his body was functioning without his mind, he pulled her in, wrapping his arms around her, and it wasn’t until he felt her warm, soft body pressing against his that he realized she might have needed a hug as badly as he did.

  Like a dope, he said, “It’s a 501-C4. I’m a theft expert.”

  She let out a shuddering breath, but he couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

  He loosened his grip, stepping back so he could gaze down at her big brown eyes. “I feel like a jerk.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I feel responsible and terrible,” he said. “Let me buy you a camera.”

  Skeptically, she furrowed her brow. “You’re not going to buy me a camera.”

  “I will,” he insisted. “If you promise not to come around here to take pictures.”

  The joke at her bad luck didn’t quite land, but she smirked anyway.

  “Seriously,” he told her. “We can go right now.”

  “Careful,” she warned. “Because I will take you up on it.”

  “I want you to.”

  She held his gaze for a moment and her question was so full of skepticism that it came off like a statement. “You want to buy me a camera?”

  “I want to right a wrong that shouldn’t have happened.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a yes,” she pointed out with a slight curl of her lip.

  If that were a smile, he’d take it.

  Reassuringly, he added, “I’ve got the guys name. I’m off tomorrow so I’m going to check out his address. If the guy who shoved you and snatched your camera really is the same guy who’s been following you-”

  “He is,” she cut in.

  “Then he’s not going to sell your camera or smash it. It’ll be in his possession and I’ll get it. But if you don’t want to wait...”

  “When you’re off tomorrow?” she asked, locking onto the finer detail. “Why can’t you pursue this when you’re on duty?”

  He glanced down at her hand. They were standing close and it only took the slightest lean for his fingers to brush hers, as he whispered, “We have a lot to talk about.”

  As they walked east, crossing three avenues, and ducked down into the subway station to head south to her preferred photography store, Tasha voiced her concerns about the blood she thought she’d seen on the pier and the lengths these people were willing to go to scare her. She rattled off question after question, which ranged from her day-to-day safety and the overall likelihood of her stalker being caught. Though Kevin listened intently and did what he could to calm her fears as they stood pressed up against one another in a subway car packed tighter than a can of sardines, he wasn’t yet ready to explain the truth of the matter, that Tasha could very well be in the cross-hairs of a highly skilled and dangerous criminal organization.

  As they entered the photography superstore, Kevin guiding her through the doorway by gently touching the small of her back, the sheer scope of the place momentarily blew him away. It never ceased to amaze him, these sorts of hidden treasures—massive stores he’d never known were there in the first place. She made a beeline for the escalator and when they reached the second floor, she walked briskly to an aisle with an overwhelming quantity of photography cameras on display.

  “I was literally just here,” she complained, selecting the camera and lens that she wanted.

  His instinct was to close the gap between them, press his lips to her cheek and perhaps dare to work his way towards her mouth, but the lights were too bright, the other shoppers too loud. If they had a first kiss—and it was certainly something he’d been thinking about since meeting her—the setting really shouldn’t be a crowded aisle.

  Downstairs they joined the end of a long line running along a zigzagging grid. As they inched forward, he sensed Tasha leaning towards him, perhaps making an excuse of how crowded it was. At times his hand hovered around the small of her back and twice his lips brushed her big curls when she turned her head, looking away. There was something sweetly domestic about weathering the storm of a shopping line with her, and he realized that this simple act was as close as he’d come to being on a date in what felt like years.

  They hadn’t spoken in minutes so to break the silence, which was so tense with what felt like a sexual build up that if he didn’t say something, he would be in danger of making a move so bold he might never live it down, he commented, “I take it I shouldn’t ask how your photos are coming along for your exhibit.”

  She made a playful display of glaring at him then a cool smile formed across her face and she teased, “I’m telling you, don’t even.”

  At long last, it was their turn to step up to the counter and when Tasha reached it, she set her shopping basket on the counter and said, “Remember me?” then shot Kevin a peeved glance that soon burned into something smoldering.

  He held her gaze, as the cashier rang up the items and announced the total.

  It was like being hit in the face with a pail of ice water.

  He stared at the cashier and blinked. The figure was so high it hadn’t sounded English and he found himself coughing, having swallowed saliva down the wrong pipe.

  “There a problem?” Tasha asked.

  “No, no,” he said, clearing his throat and pulling his wallet from his jeans. “No problem, just...”

  “Shocked?” she guessed with alarming accuracy. “At least you’re not getting déjà vu.”


  He offered the cashier his credit card and a tug of war ensued.

  “Sir,” said the man behind the counter.

  Reluctantly and screaming mental swears, he released the card.

  Tasha was smiling to herself.

  “You’re loving this.”

  “I’m appreciating it,” she corrected. “And it is a little funny. But seriously,” she added, making a point to look him in the eye. “You’re saving my ass.”

  “And you’re staying away from the pier,” he insisted, collecting his card and signing the slip that the cashier had placed on the counter.

  After Tasha grabbed the large, plastic bag containing her items, they set off for the street.

  Dusk was falling over Manhattan. The buildings that lined the avenue twinkled with interior lights. And the air smelled crisp with the dropping temperature.

  Kevin was about to suggest they get a drink and go over all he'd learned about the case when Tasha turned on her heel, pressing up against his body and angling her face so near his that his heart punched out of rhythm.

  The pessimist in him thought he was misunderstanding the gesture, but when her lips met his—soft and full and tender—all doubts were flushed from his mind.

  In fact, he was incapable of thought, feeling the ebb and flow of their mouths opening and angling with an intensifying kiss. He wrapped his arms around her waist, unsure of how tightly to hold her. He wanted to squeeze her hips, graze his hands down her thighs and up her back, but they were in public and this could merely amount to an overzealous thank you. But when she draped her arms over his shoulders, deepening the kiss and breathing heavily as though something about him was giving her ideas she might not be able to fight, he knew that whatever was mounting between them was real and they both needed it.

  The quietest moan escaped her before she urged him back, resting her hands, her long fingers against his chest, as he cradled her hips close to his.

  “Was that too much?” she asked, her mouth curling into a playful smile.

  His brows shot up and he was shaking his head before he knew it. “No, not at all.” After a moment of holding her, gazing down into her eyes, feeling a surge, a need to kiss her again, he asked, “Was that a thank you?”

  “Sure,” she said easily just to mess with him. “And it was also because you're cool.”

  “I'm cool?”

  She frowned, debating. “Yeah, I think so.” He didn’t have to ask why, she was already supplying her reasons. “You care. I don’t know why you care about me,” she said, as if she didn't want to seem presumptuous. She wasn’t being presumptuous as far as Kevin was concerned. “You have a good heart. I trust my instincts when it comes to these things.”

  He let out a rocky breath, his conscience suddenly nagging him. If she trusted him, then he owed it to her to clue her in on the big picture so he suggested, “Can I buy you a drink? It’ll give us a chance to talk... a chance for me to get you up to speed.”

  Grazing her hand up his arm, the heat of her pouring through his jacket and warming him in a way that could make talking in a productive manner a damned challenge, she said, “A drink sounds good, but I don’t want to be out on the street.”

  He smirked. “I meant we could go to a bar.”

  “I don’t want to be in public,” she clarified. “But we can have a drink and talk.”

  He cocked a brow, studying her face. The tension between them was so taut with electricity—arousal burning—that he knew if in a private setting, talking might be the last thing on either of their minds so he said firmly, “There are things I need to tell you.”

  "Good,” she said softly as if the sheer fact of his company had set her mind so at ease that she had forgotten a man had essentially attacked her not an hour ago. “You can tell me at my place.”

  Kevin, he warned himself. If you get in her apartment, you can’t start thinking with your dick.

  “Or if you’d prefer a bar, that’s fine. Just walk me home after-”

  “No, your place is fine,” he blurted out.

  The smile she shot him was full blown and caused him to stiffen in his pants, but thank God his expression wasn’t giving him away.

  She took hold of his hand and they started walking north towards the subway.

  He only hoped the train car wouldn’t be so crowded that they would have to press up against each other with the sway of the tunnel...

  But then again, that might be nice.

  Chapter Seven

  As soon as Kevin followed her into her studio apartment, she realized how cramped it was and tried not to feel embarrassed.

  He waded gradually into the space, coming to the foot of her bed where it met the loveseat, and slowly pivoted, taking in the room.

  At least it wasn’t a mess, though her desk was covered with photography prints she planned on scrapping.

  “Can I get you a beer?” she asked, figuring a cop like Kevin would prefer a blue-collar beverage over whiskey or wine.

  “Sure,” he told her, glancing over at the window.

  As he neared it, inspecting the lock and leaning into the glass to perhaps check out the fire escape, Tasha rounded the wall that separated the main room from the kitchen and grabbed a Lagunitas IPA from a six-pack in the refrigerator. After scraping the lid off with a bottle opener, she plucked a long-stem wine glass from the cabinet over the sink, found a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge, and poured herself a generous glass, then returned just as Kevin frowned at the loveseat.

  She’d done her best arranging the furniture in her apartment, but there were no chairs near or across from the loveseat and the thing definitely wasn’t wide enough for two.

  Handing him the beer, she invited him to have a seat. Her desk chair was far from comfortable, but as he lowered onto the tiny couch she grasped the wooden chair by its back and carried it over.

  When she sat adjacent to him, he took a long haul of his beer and glanced at the coffee table where a stray coaster was resting beside her laptop. He slid the coaster near and placed the bottle on it.

  “I don’t think you should be alone,” he said frankly.

  She smiled, at first assuming he was referencing their kiss, but his expression seemed serious. His brows were knit together and his posture—hunching forward, elbows on knees—indicated the situation might be far more dangerous than she’d thought.

  Her smile faded as she said, “I live alone. I’m constantly running all over the city by myself. I have friends, but we all have our own lives. They can’t be with me all the time.”

  “The guy who’s been following you is named Alexi Vishnevsky. From the digging I managed, I learned he works for the Avandeyev crime family and though no connections have been made between Avandeyev and what you witnessed on the pier... there are no coincidences.”

  She was stuck on crime family and it was a long moment before she asked, “So they’re too big to touch? They’re above the law?”

  “They’re not above the law,” he assured her. “But...”

  He grabbed his beer from the coffee table and drank. When he lowered the bottle, he didn’t return it to the table, but set it between his legs, leaning back.

  “I think Avandeyev might have his hooks in the precinct.”

  He had alluded to as much when they’d met at the diner, but his point, the implication, hadn’t landed then like it was now.

  “So he really is above the law,” she pointed out. Because she was uncomfortable or perhaps overwhelmed feeling at her wits end, she found herself letting out a breathy laugh.

  Kevin stared at her.

  Her laugh twisted into a futile groan until she took a sip of wine, which quieted her, but didn’t do a thing to calm her nerves.

  “He’s not just following me to intimidate me,” she guessed, thinking out loud. “He’s... what? Going to kill me?”

  He fell silent, but it was a clear enough answer.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I thin
k he’s tracking you to find out your schedule, when you’re with people, at work, when you’re alone. I have to assume he knows you live here and knows where you work. He probably has a good handle on when you go out by yourself to take photos.”

  “But...” she cut in, yet her point didn’t flow easily out of her. She composed herself, drawing in a deep breath and drinking more wine. “If this Reilly character is dirty, if he took my camera to cover the whole thing up, then what are Vishnevsky and Avandeyev worried about? I’m no one.”

  “But I’m not,” he said. “I’m a cop and I chased Vishnevsky last night.”

  Stunned, she felt her eyes widen and almost blamed him, but how could she? He was the only person who cared about her and the bottom line was that someone had been killed at the pier and if Kevin was the only cop actually doing something about it, then that was commendable not deplorable.

  “If Reilly really is covering this up, if he’s collecting some kind of payment to keep whatever Avandeyev and his men do quiet, then the crime family is obviously going to have a big problem with the fact that I went after Vishnevsky. I don’t know how Reilly is going to come down on me for this or when, but he will.”

  “I’m not really hearing a solution here,” she said, trying not to sound terrified.

  “There isn’t one, not yet, which is why I need you to stay safe, stay around other people, don’t wonder off on your own.”

  Again, she laughed, but this time it was out of frustration. “No one is available to spend hours with me as I take photos around the city.”

  “It’s not forever, just for a little while.”

  “I don’t have a little while,” she shot back. “I’m not going to put my life on hold.”

  She’d lost his attention. His gaze was fixed on her knees and when he reached out to touch her jeans, she leaned forward to see what he was looking at.