Принцесса фениксов. Допрыгалась?. Ольга Янышева
She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a fondness for aging bobos with a hero complex.”
“And I’m partial to smart-mouthed muchachas who insist on doing things their own way.” Leo set down his needle, took another swipe at the tattoo with the paper towel, and covered it with a bandage. “That’s it for today, Hector. We’ll start on the shading next week. Same time.”
“Thanks, man.” Hector flung a few bills onto the counter on his way out. “See you in seven.”
Leo peeled off his gloves, threw them into the trash can reserved for medical waste and crossed to the Keurig machine on the other side of the room. He held up a K-Cup. “Want one?”
“No, thanks.” Devin checked the clock above the sink. Three twenty-five. Almost half an hour past her client’s appointment time. Probably another case of cold feet. “I’m wound up enough already.”
Leo shrugged and started his cup brewing. “So you won’t take my money. What’s next? The police?”
Devin choked out a laugh. “What’s the point? The scumbag’s long gone, and the cops aren’t going to chase after him for a measly thousand bucks.”
“How about Holly’s brother?” The machine stopped gurgling, and he removed his mug, taking a long, slow sip of the dark roast. “Doesn’t he work for the DA’s office?”
“Gabe?” She turned her back to Leo, emptied the autoclave and tossed in a handful of fresh tools to be sterilized, glad for the excuse to hide her reddening face. “What about him?”
“He saved your sorry ass when you ran into him last week. Maybe he can help again.”
Ran into him. That was a major understatement. But she’d only told Leo that Gabe had found her in Central Park and taken her home. And she wouldn’t have even told him that if he hadn’t asked about the bruises on her upper arms from where that fuckup Freddie had grabbed her.
“My ass is not sorry, and he did not save it.” She released her hair from its messy ponytail, gathered it up again and secured it with the scrunchie she held in her teeth. “I took care of myself. And Freddie. Mr. Clean didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”
“Well, Mr. Clean looks like your best bet to get your money back. Maybe even find Victor.”
Devin stopped, her hand on the pressure switch of the autoclave. She knew she’d never get the cash back. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Gabe could help find her brother. “How so?”
Leo lifted one shoulder and sipped his coffee. “He’s in Special Victims, right? He must know people in Child Services.”
Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
Only one problem. It would mean indebting herself to the man she wanted to jump every time she got within ten feet of him. The one she should be avoiding like day old alcapurrias.
Her best friend’s off-limits, way-out-of-her-league baby brother.
It wasn’t just his relationship to Holly that made Gabe untouchable. It didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out he was built for commitment. Marriage. Two point five kids. A minimansion in Scarsdale. The whole nine yards.
And Devin...wasn’t.
She flipped the switch on the autoclave and sighed, her breath stirring the loose strands that had already escaped her ponytail.
“I know that look.” Leo leaned against the counter, setting his mug down behind him. Above his shoulder, framed photos of her work—and his—hung against the backdrop of the cheery lemon-yellow wall, constant reminders of how far she’d come since that fateful day when Leo had taken her in off the street. But not far enough for a smart, sophisticated guy like Gabe. “It’s your I-am-an-island look. The one you give when you want to scare everyone off and convince them you can go it alone.”
Sure. Fine. Let’s run with that.
“There’s no shame in relying on your friends every once in a while, hermanita.” He crossed to her and tugged her ponytail. “That’s what we’re here for.”
She softened at the use of his nickname for her. Little sister. “I know. I’m just...”
“Not used to depending on anyone. I get that. But this is Victor we’re talking about. Your brother. Who you haven’t seen in, what, twelve years?”
She winced, remembering their last minutes together. Her shaking with rage, screaming obscenities at the social worker who had dragged Victor away. Him clutching his favorite stuffed animal, a ratty armadillo, his sweet face wet with tears. Both of them scared shitless. “More like fifteen.”
“That’s fifteen years too long.” The bells hanging over the top of the door tinkled and he went to the sink to scrub his hands, preparing for their new arrival. “If you won’t take my money, at least promise you’ll think about calling Gabe.”
Devin’s stomach sank at the thought of facing Gabe again, but that was nothing compared to the way it pitched and rolled when she considered the alternative. Victor, stuck in a house of horrors like the one she’d read about it the paper.
“All right. You win.” As usual. She started toward the front of the shop to greet Leo’s next customer. “I’ll think about it.”
What the hell, she thought as she pasted on a smile. It wasn’t as if she could stop thinking about Gabe anyway.
PINSTRIPED SUITS. Pencil skirts. Pocket squares.
She was surrounded by yuppies.
They should post warning signs. Caution: Smart Phones at Work.
Devin slowed her steps as she neared One Hogan Place, home of the New York County District Attorney’s Office. She glanced down at her outfit. She’d gone as conservatively as she could, given the limits of her wardrobe—a plain, black T-shirt, khaki cargo pants and black Doc Martens. Clean. Neat. Well-pressed. But compared to the Wall Street types, she looked like a refugee from a doomsday cult.
“Move it or lose it, honey.” One of the pinstripe-suited businessmen shoved past her, knocking her oversize bag off her shoulder, no doubt late for some all-important meeting.
“Thanks, asshole.” She managed to pick up her bag, narrowly missing being trampled by a candy-apple-red stiletto.
Now she remembered why she hated the financial district.
Her Greenwich Village neighborhood, and even the Heights, had a cool, edgy vibe. Sure, people there worked hard. But they knew how to play, too. Here, everything was go-go-go 24/7. Even play was work. Gotta swim more laps than the next guy. Beat him at racquetball. Be the best on the golf course. Or whatever these uptight overachievers did in the name of relaxation.
Yet another reminder of why she and Gabe would be a match made in purgatory. Okay, so the guy kissed like a porn star. But aside from that, he needed some serious help in the recreation department. Probably wouldn’t know fun if it jumped out of his briefcase and bit him in the oh-so-delectable ass. Certainly not her kind of fun.
And after a lifetime of struggling, Devin was all about fun.
But not now. She was here for one reason and one reason only.
To find Victor.
She pushed open the ornate brass door. The cool, conditioned air blasted her in the face as she crossed the lobby to the concierge. “District Attorney’s Office?”
“Reception’s on the third floor.” He gestured toward the elevators behind him.
“Thanks.”
Her boots echoed on the marble tile, and