Eye Candy Read online

  “Whoa,” I muttered. “She was really messed up? I mean, after . . .”

  Colin nodded. “She quit her job. She’s seeing a shrink. I don’t talk to her as much as before. I always get her machine. She never calls me back.”

  We started eating again. The food was exceptional. But it just lay heavily in my stomach like a rock. I was too tense to enjoy anything.

  I told Colin my 9/11 story, but it wasn’t as interesting as his. I was on my way to work on Twenty-third Street. I climbed out of the subway and saw this huge, white plume of smoke in the sky downtown. And I really didn’t think anything of it, figured it was a fire somewhere. So I just walked the rest of the way to work.

  “I guess that was like my last innocent moment,” I said. “The world totally changed after that, didn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I know I changed a lot. It’s weird but my whole attitude changed after that day. I know it sounds dorky, but I think I became a different person.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “What was your new attitude?”

  A smile spread slowly over his face. “Grab what you want when you want it. Don’t wait for things, because you don’t know how long you really have.”

  He kept his eyes on me, waiting for my reaction. I could tell that he had said those words before, in that very same way.

  Grab what you want when you want it?

  Why was he studying me like that, staring so intently, that smile stuck on his face?

  “That’s an interesting attitude,” I said finally. I decided to challenge him. “And what have you been grabbing lately?”

  He laughed. “Grabbing a movie and dinner?”

  “No, really,” I said. “Be serious. You said you decided you should grab what you want and—”

  “Well, I went after a better job. And I got it. And . . . I got out of a bad relationship that had been dragging on for months.”

  I swallowed. “I see . . .”

  “Before, I know I would have let it drag on. But this time I didn’t. I go after what I want now. And do you know what else I want?”

  “Coffee and dessert?”

  He didn’t laugh. “No. You.” His dark brown eyes locked on mine. All the humor left his face. Suddenly, he was totally intense.

  A short laugh escaped my throat. “Colin, this is just part of your new attitude? You want to grab me now?”

  I didn’t mean it to sound so hostile. I wanted it to sound playful, but it just came out wrong. I could see the hurt in his eyes.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Grab you? Lindy . . .” He slid his hand over mine. “Yes, I’d like to grab you,” he said softly. “Because I really think you’re . . . terrific.”

  I didn’t know how to reply. What was going to happen tonight? I couldn’t sleep with him tonight. The thought made my stomach churn. But what would happen if I said no?

  “Come back to my apartment, Lindy. I missed you so much this week.”

  I pulled my hand out from under his. What could I say? How could I say no and make it sound like a yes?

  “Coffee and dessert?” The waiter appeared, saving me for a few moments. He lifted our dinner plates off the table. “How about a nice espresso?”

  I stared at Colin. “Not for me, thanks.”

  “We’re finished. We really enjoyed it. Just bring a check,” Colin told him.

  Colin finished the wine in his glass. Then he turned back to me. “I think you and I could be really good together. I mean, I don’t want to sound . . . Look, I really want you tonight. I want us to really be together, Lindy.”

  Wow.

  I wanted you, too, Colin—until Ann-Marie described the guy who slashed her.

  I bit my bottom lip. “I . . . can’t. Not tonight. I’m sorry, Colin. Get that hurt look off your face. You know I like you, too. But . . . I can’t tonight.”

  He smiled, tilting his head to one side. “Is that a no?”

  I nodded. “It’s a no.”

  His expression changed. “By the way, did you get that note I left you?”

  27

  My mouth dropped open. I felt like screaming.

  And then running. Yes. Jump up, turn around, and run out of the restaurant. Don’t stop. Don’t wait.

  You said no to him—so he mentioned the note.

  He wants you to know you can’t say no to him.

  Colin watched me calmly, cold-bloodedly. He knew why I suddenly looked so frightened. Was he enjoying my fear?

  “Lindy, what’s wrong?” All innocence suddenly.

  “I . . .” My throat was clogged tight. I couldn’t force out the words. “The note . . .”

  He gripped the empty wineglass between his hands, smooth, long-fingered hands. Killer’s hands?

  “Yeah. I sent it to your office. Did you get it?”

  My breath caught in my throat. “My office—?”

  “It was in a gray envelope? From my company? Blauner and Field?”

  “No. I . . . didn’t see it.”

  He wasn’t talking about that note. He sent me a different note.

  Or was he just toying with me? Playing a cat-and-mouse game?

  Did he know I’d freak if he mentioned the note? Is that why he asked me about it right after I said no to him? And now he’s pretending he meant a different note?

  Is this some kind of sicko game he likes to play?

  “I didn’t get your note, Colin. What was it about?” Trying to keep my voice steady and calm.

  He shifted in his chair. Was that a sign he was about to tell a lie?

  “My company is having a big thing. You know, an office party. For the whole national sales staff. It’s like the major party of the year. They’re having it at the Met, do you believe it?”

  He’s telling the truth, I decided. No way he’s making this up.

  “I wrote this all in the note,” he continued. “I wondered if you’d go with me. But if you don’t like that kind of thing . . .”

  “Well . . .” I hesitated. You might be in prison by then, Colin. “It would be a good excuse to buy a dress,” I said, still struggling to make normal conversation.

  He scratched his stubbly beard. “Is that a yes?”

  “Let me think about it.”

  I studied his face. It wasn’t a twisted person’s face. He seemed so sincere. What if I was wrong about him?

  No, Lindy. That’s not the way to think. You’ve got to think this way: What if I am right about him?

  “Is that a maybe?”

  I nodded. “Yes. A definite maybe.”

  He paid the check.

  I stood up and glanced around. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Colin said. “I’ll try to get us a taxi. We’re so far downtown it might take awhile.”

  When I pushed open the front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, I noticed that the red lights from the restaurant window spilled onto the sidewalk, like puddles of blood. God, now I’m paranoid and morbid!

  A hot wind blew down the street, fluttering my hair. I shielded my eyes from the dust in the air and waited for them to adjust to the darkness. All the stores were dark and shuttered. No one on the street.

  A streetlamp across from the restaurant was out. I could hear the roar of traffic uptown, but no cars moved on this block.

  “Colin?” I didn’t see him. I took a few steps toward the corner, my shoes thudding the pavement noisily, breaking the silence of the narrow street.

  “Colin? Where are you?”

  Was he still in the restaurant? Had he gone to the rest-room, too?

  The wind stopped suddenly, as if someone had turned it off. I could hear tinny music from somewhere far away. A window opened above me at the end of the block.

  “Colin? Are you out here?”

  I felt a tingle of fear at the back of my neck. We were so far downtown, nearly at the tip of the island, and no one was around. No cars or taxis. No people on the sidewalk.

  Where was my polic
e protection? Tommy had promised someone would be here.

  “Hey—Colin!” My voice echoed off the gated store-fronts.

  I turned back to the restaurant. And saw a figure step into the red puddle of light on the sidewalk.

  “Colin—?”

  No. The man wore a hood over his head. Squinting hard, I could make out a dark sweatshirt, the hood up, hiding his face, baggy jeans. He moved toward me quickly, arms stiff at his sides.

  “Oh. No. Please.” I felt my throat tighten.

  I knew the safest place to go was back into the crowded restaurant. But I’d have to run past him to get there. So I turned and started to jog to the corner. Behind me, I heard the hooded man pick up his pace, sneakers slapping the sidewalk.

  He’s coming after me.

  I turned the corner, glancing both ways. No sign of Colin. No taxis. No one on the sidewalk. A scrawny black cat darted between parked cars and shot across the street.

  I started to run full speed now.

  Was the hooded guy still chasing after me? Yes. Running slow and steady, as if he knew he had me.

  The paved sidewalk gave way to a walkway of wooden planks. My eyes caught the temporary plywood wall beside me. Ground Zero. I was running beside the burial ground for thousands of people, running next to the spot where the towers had come down and the people inside . . .

  “Colin? Colin?” His name escaped my throat in a shrill, desperate cry.

  Where is he? Did he really leave me down here?

  My shoes clonked on the wooden walkway as I ran, gasping for breath. No one around. No one to help me. Running along the side of the deep hole, the enormous graveyard. I heard car horns blaring, but so far away, a million miles away.

  The wind picked up again with a low howl, blowing hot against my face. I spun away. I squeezed between two parked cars and darted like the black cat to the other side of the street. Too close. I’d been standing too close to all that death.

  My chest heaving, I glanced back. “Ohhh.” A low moan escaped my throat as I saw him trotting slowly, steadily toward me. The hood covered his face. He raised one hand. And in the yellow glare of a streetlamp, I saw a dark, slender object in his hand.

  A knife? No. I squinted hard as he moved closer. A box cutter?

  Oh God.

  I spun away, turned to run, and my heel caught— jammed in a grate. I twisted my foot and let out a cry as wrenching pain shot up my leg. I tumbled forward, hit the pavement hard.

  Panic swept through my body as I struggled to pull myself up.

  Footsteps thudded the pavement behind me.

  Before I could move, strong hands grabbed my shoulders.

  “No—!” I screamed. “Please—not my face! Not my face!”

  28

  To my shock, the hands released me. I whirled around.

  “Huh? You?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

  Tommy Foster took a step back, his eyes locked on mine. He wore a tight-fitting, white dress shirt, halfuntucked from black denim jeans. Beads of sweat had formed along his thinning hairline. I could smell the sour aroma of beer on his breath.

  “Tommy, what are you doing here?” I forced the words out, still struggling to catch my breath.

  “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.” He held his hands awkwardly out at his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. He had stains on both shirt cuffs.

  “S-Someone was chasing me,” I stammered. “Did you see him? Where did he go? He was right behind me. He . . . he had a box cutter, Tommy. He—” The words caught in my throat.

  Tommy frowned and glanced over my shoulder. “I didn’t see anyone. Are you sure?”

  I swallowed. My throat ached from my scream. “A man in a dark hood.”

  Tommy shook his head. “No. I came around the corner, and I saw you running. I didn’t see anyone else.” He helped me to my feet.

  “I don’t understand. He was right behind me. I was so terrified. I couldn’t see his face. But I saw the thing in his hand.”

  Tommy shook his head. “I’m sorry. Good thing I showed up, huh? I must have scared him away.”

  I stared at Tommy, still trying to catch my breath. “Yeah. Good thing. You . . . you may have saved my life. Why are you down here?”

  “I drew Lindy duty tonight,” he said, with a crooked smile. “My other guys are off on other cases. Saturday night. Busy night. So I’m your guy tonight.”

  I began walking slowly back toward the restaurant, the only place where there was light and people. The heel on my shoe wobbled a little, but at least I could walk on it.

  “How’s it going with Colin?”

  I shrugged. “It’s hard, Tommy. Hard to act normal. I always told my dad I’d be a lousy actress.”

  “Any clues? Anything?”

  “Not really.”

  “Maybe he’s a better actor than you are,” Tommy said, kicking a beer can off the sidewalk into the curb.

  “Were you at the movies with Colin and me?”

  “No. I’ve seen it.” He brushed sweat off his forehead with one hand. “Listen, I did backgrounds on all three guys. Four guys, I mean. Lou D’Amici, too. They all checked out okay.”

  “Well . . . is that good news or bad?”

  “Beats me.” Sometimes Tommy looked like one of those cartoon bloodhounds, all drooping jowls and mournful eyes.

  “I’m all confused, Tommy. Did you follow me to tell me that?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “No. I’m shadowing you, Lindy. I want to catch this creep. Sooner rather than later.”

  “But, Tommy, listen—”

  He raised a hand. “Don’t say anything. I feel I . . . well . . . I owe it to Ben to . . . you know . . . kinda look after you.”

  Was he blushing or was it just the lights from the restaurant window?

  “Well, thank you,” I said. “I’m happy you’re on the case, Tommy. It makes me feel a lot safer. How will I be able to repay you?”

  “Repay me? I’m doing my job, you know. But . . . well . . . maybe you’ll have dinner with me some night.”

  Whoa.

  Is Tommy interested in me?

  I didn’t have time to think about it. The restaurant door swung open, and Colin came walking out.

  “Colin—where were you?”

  “Lindy, I’m sorry. Have you been out here long? I told the waiter how much we enjoyed dinner, and he dragged me into the kitchen to meet the chef. They wouldn’t let me out of there.”

  I turned to Tommy. How would I ever explain him to Colin? But Tommy was already hurrying away, ducking his head low, so Colin wouldn’t see his face, I guessed.

  Colin pointed. “Who was that?”

  “Just a guy asking directions,” I lied. “He was looking for a bar on West Broadway.”

  Colin snickered. “He’s got a long walk.” He slid his hand casually over my shoulder. “Let’s find a taxi. I’ll take you home.” He smiled, bringing his face close to mine. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming to my apartment?”

  He didn’t give me a chance to answer. He pressed his mouth against mine and kissed me. He wrapped his arms around me, held me tightly, and we kissed in the bleeding red light from the window.

  “Not tonight,” I whispered. “Sorry. Not tonight.”

  Please, don’t let it be Colin. Please . . .

  But in my heart, I knew he was the one.

  29

  She says her name is Ellen. Is anyone really named Ellen anymore? It doesn’t matter. She’s hot.

  Yes, I was out with another hottie last night.

  Lindy . . . Lindy . . .

  No way I’m going to let Lindy get away. Once I hook them, I know how to keep my little fishies on the line.

  And now here I am in Ellen’s sparkling, little town house apartment, all white—the walls, the couch, the shag rug in front of the couch—just right for shagging? Ha ha.

  We’re on the low, white couch, making out like two horny teenagers who’ve never had
sex before. We were sitting up, but now I’m on my back and Ellen is on top of me, kissing me like crazy with hot, wet lips, her tongue checking to make sure I have my back molars, her hands playing with my hair, sending chills to the back of my neck.

  Wow.

  I’m like ready to come in my pants, and she won’t quit. I hardly know the girl. I met her after work at J.J.’s, the little bar tucked in between the two enormous skyscrapers on Third Avenue. She said she was a something-or-other at Bloomingdale’s. I didn’t hear. I was probably studying her tits. Nice ones. The black tube top she was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination.

  I think she liked me right from the beginning. Or maybe she was just horny. She kept grabbing my arm and touching my chest, laughing at every dumb joke I made, pressing her head against my shoulder as she laughed. A clear invitation, right?

  I knew I was in—even before dinner.

  She had dark red lipstick on her full lips, a dimple in one cheek, black eyes that caught the light, all sparkly. She wore her straight, black hair tied in a French braid behind her back. And what else can I tell you? It was lust at first sight.

  I let her drag me home after dinner. We both knew what we wanted to do to each other. Yeah, I had fun with Lindy last night. But tonight I knew I was ready for a workout. You’re only young once, right?

  We’re still lip-locked as we make our way to her bedroom. Also white! White walls, white bedspread, white wall-to-wall carpeting, a bleached blond-wood dresser . . . What is this girl’s problem? Did someone at Bloomingdale’s tell her white was chic?

  I check out the room over her shoulder. She won’t let go of me. I have to peel her off me to get undressed. I pull off my shoes and toss them across the white carpet. I can barely stand up, I’ve got a hard-on the size of Cleveland.

  She’s suddenly got music on. I don’t know where it’s coming from.

  No. Oh, please no. Barry Manilow.

  Strike one, right?

  Ellen has disappeared into the bathroom. I search around for the stereo to turn that wimp off, but I can’t find it.

  Okay. Whatever. I can deal with Barry Manilow. This girl is so hot, we could do it to Gregorian chants.