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“That’s good.” She offered him another smile, then headed into their bedroom.
She looked longingly at her bed, imagining how good the thick comforter and soft pillows would feel. But she bypassed it to go to her dresser to find her pajamas.
As she searched, her weary mind wandered. Thinking about the fact that she still needed to “research” Detective Nick Rossi, and how she was going to do that. Then her thoughts moved to what Charlie had said about being free of Finola. What had he meant? And why had he said it to her?
Finally, completely unbidden, her thoughts came around to the man from the elevator. His handsome face. His dark eyes. The naughty tilt of his lips as he’d talked to her. The slightly raspy quality to his deep voice.
Even now, the memory of him was enough to make her skin prickle with awareness and certain parts of her body tingle in a way they hadn’t in a long time. After a moment, she realized she was just standing there like a silly schoolgirl, her pajamas clutched to her chest.
Guiltily, she glanced toward the doorway. She couldn’t manage to muster attraction to her handsome boyfriend, the man who’d been her first love, and her boyfriend since her junior year in high school. Yet she could fantasize about a total stranger. Surely that didn’t say very good things about her.
She quickly changed into her favorite fleece sleep pants and a comfy sweatshirt, then padded back to the living room.
She was about to curl up on the sofa next to Bobby, determined to have a nice night with him. To actually take the time to enjoy his company and not let her stresses and worries distract her, even if just for a couple of hours, when the apartment phone rang.
“You going to get that?” Bobby asked, even as she’d already started in the direction of the cordless handset, his attention back on his video game.
She didn’t bother to respond, answering the phone instead.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” answered a female voice on the other end, and for a second, Annie feared it was Finola. “Is Bobby there?”
“Umm, yes. Just a moment.” She frowned at the receiver, wondering to whom the silky Southern-accented voice belonged.
“Bobby, it’s for you.”
He didn’t respond for a moment, finishing up his game, then he accepted the phone.
“Hello?” Annie watched as Bobby instantly recognized who the woman was. “No, no. You aren’t interrupting anything. Just hanging out.”
Annie frowned, feeling a little hurt that he didn’t say more. That he didn’t tell the woman he was getting ready to spend a night in with his girlfriend, eating Chinese and cuddling.
Not really fair, her conscience said. Most nights, she and Bobby didn’t spend the evening together. Usually he was out doing things related to his acting or hanging out here and she was working late. So he probably didn’t even think before he answered.
Annie wandered into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. Then she waited in the kitchen, not wanting to be hovering around like some nosy girlfriend, even though she could still hear his whole conversation.
“Thanks. I thought rehearsal went well today too,” Bobby said, and Annie realized that this woman must be involved with the play as well. Annie took a sip of her wine, then got down plates for the Chinese food.
“I know,” she heard Bobby agree to whatever the other woman said. He laughed. “It will be something if that happens.”
Annie grabbed some silverware from the dishwasher. She’d run out of time this morning and the clean dishes still needed to be put away.
She did the chore now, absently listening to Bobby chat.
“Really? Yeah, I’d love to do that. Sure. Yeah, that won’t be a problem. Great. Okay, great. See you there.”
Annie returned to the living room, setting the dishes on the coffee table.
“Who was that?”
“Ally,” he said, placing the phone on the coffee table. “She’s in the play with me.”
Annie nodded. “It sounds like she is just as excited about the production as you are.”
“Definitely. She’s the lead. Remember her? She’s a pretty amazing actress.”
He reached for the television remote. He turned it off.
She nodded, although she couldn’t really picture the woman.
Annie sighed, appreciating the silence. She was glad to have a quiet night with just Bobby. They really needed this, she realized.
But as she settled down among the pillows of the sofa, he stood. He crossed the room to grab his leather jacket, which hung on the back of the computer chair at her desk in the corner.
“Where are you going?” she said, frowning, confused.
Bobby slid one arm and broad shoulder into his coat, then the other. “Ally was calling to tell me there’s this im-prov group meeting tonight at the Bleecker Street Playhouse. So I’m going to go check it out.”
Annie looked down at the dishes she’d placed on the coffee table. “But I just ordered Chinese food.”
“I know,” Bobby said, “but I can just grab something on the way there. A sub or something. And the Chinese food will keep.”
She nodded, her eyes suddenly misting over, surprising her as much as it surprised Bobby.
He frowned, looking around for an exit like a man trapped with a crazy person. Of course, the sudden display of emotion made her feel a little crazy. Irritated with her lack of control, she swiped at her eyes, determined to stem their flow.
“Annie,” he said slowly as if he had no idea what to say.
She spared him from struggling for words. Raising a hand to cut him off, she sniffed slightly, then managed a tremulous smile.
“Of course you should go. I’m just overtired from work. That’s all.”
Bobby stared at her, then glanced toward the door, then back to her. “It really is a good opportunity for me. You know, both to improve my acting skills, and also to meet other actors. Networking does pay off in this industry.”
“Absolutely. I’m fine. I’ll just go to bed early.” She laughed, albeit weakly, “Obviously I need a good night’s rest.”
Bobby studied her for a moment, then nodded. He came over and leaned down to give her a kiss. Their lips met, the touch so familiar to Annie it was like second nature. Yet even as she thought that, an image of the man from the elevator popped into her head.
She instantly pulled away, and Bobby frowned down at her. Shame burned her cheeks. But she fought to give him a normal smile.
“You should get some rest,” he told her and she could see the concern in his eyes. “You look a little flushed.”
“I will,” she assured him. Her voice sounded strained, but Bobby didn’t seem to notice. He grabbed his cell phone and waved good-bye.
As soon as he was gone, Annie made a noise low in her throat.
“Forget him,” she muttered to herself. After all, who fixated on a man she’d met for less than five minutes in an elevator?
A sharp rap on the door snapped her out of her guilty reverie. She jumped up and retrieved her wallet from her purse, then answered the door, her assumption right. The Chinese food was here. Food for two, now for one.
Annie tried not to allow the hopelessness she’d been struggling with all day to creep back in. She focused on preparing a plate of Kung Po Chicken and spring rolls. Then she switched on the radio, changing the station when she realized Eric Carmen’s “All By Myself ” was playing.
“That’s a bit too Bridget Jones for tonight,” she muttered, switching to a station that played a still bitter, but at least not maudlin, song by Pink.
She poured herself a bit more wine, grabbed her laptop and curled up on the couch, food, wine and Internet within reach.
“Well, Detective Nick Rossi,” she said to her computer screen, “let’s see what we can find out about you.”
Chapter Five
“N
ick, what are you still doing here?”
Nick’s head snapped in the direction of the gravelly voice behind him. Captain Joseph Brooks leaned against the doorway to Nick’s office. He frowned, his gaze moving to what Nick had been studying so intently that he hadn’t even been aware of his boss’s appearance. Nick wondered how long his boss had been there watching him. He wondered how long he, himself, had been studying the computer printout photos that lined his office wall. Twenty of them. With one, number twenty-one, set slightly to the side of the others.
“Just getting caught up on some work,” he said, turning his back to the photos as if that would somehow prove he hadn’t been standing there obsessing over them.
Nick wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at these people, but he was sure it was a long time. But this case astounded him. So many people, working in one place, yet no one from
HOT!
magazine had ever reported their disappearance. Family and friends had reported them missing. It was almost as if no one at the magazine even knew or noticed. That couldn’t be.
Something was very amiss at
HOT!
magazine.
But what?
Captain Brooks wandered over to the pinned-up photos, his gaze moving slowly over each face.
“Any leads?” he asked.
“No, but I only got to talk to Finola White and her assistant editor. They claim to have no knowledge of the disappearances.”
Brooks glanced over his shoulder and snorted. “Likely story.”
“Exactly.”
Brooks returned his attention to the pictures. “With this many people in one company missing, someone has to know something.”
“Definitely. I’m heading back over tomorrow to talk with some of the employees. Here’s hoping someone talks,” Nick said, his tone already dubious.
Brooks turned back to Nick, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “That’s always the trick, isn’t it?”
Nick nodded.
“You finished up now?” Brooks asked, although Nick got the impression it was more an order than a question.
Nick glanced to the folder on his desk; inside were the notes he’d made thus far about the
HOT!
case. He wanted to look over the profiles of the missing people again, but instead he nodded at his boss.
“Yeah, I was headed out.” How long would it be before Brooks and his follow coworkers no longer thought Nick needed to be handled with kid gloves? He’d been back almost four months. He was fine.
“Good, I’ll walk out with you,” Brooks said, waiting. Again, Nick felt his boss was only leaving with him to make sure he actually left. Next thing he knew. Brooks would be coming over to his apartment to make sure Nick was eating balanced meals and going to bed on time.
But Nick kept his disgruntled thoughts to himself and reached for his coat.
“Have you found any connection between the missing people aside from the magazine?” Brooks asked as they wove through the cubicles where many detectives and officers continued to work. One officer led a ranting detainee toward the interrogation rooms. Several distraught victims talked to officers. The place was abuzz, but then it was never quiet in the 18th Precinct.
Nick glanced over to see a woman who’d been here many times before for domestic violence. Maybe this time she’d actually press charges. Maybe.
Nick turned his attention back to his boss. “Not really. The only thing they all have in common is
HOT!
magazine.”
Brooks nodded, then fell silent.
They stepped out of the precinct and the winter night enveloped them, frigid enough to take their breath away. But the busy street still felt more peaceful than headquarters.
He breathed in deep.
They started down 54th Street, still not talking.
After nearly a block, Brooks asked, “How are you feeling, Nick?”
Nick should have guessed this was coming. Maybe checking on his diet and sleep patterns wasn’t so far-fetched.
“I’m fine,” he said, keeping the frustration out of his voice. After all, he couldn’t exactly blame his boss. The man did need to know that one of his detectives wouldn’t suddenly go crazy on him.
“This is a big case. Are you sure you’re up to it?”
More irritation roiled in the pit of Nick’s stomach. He was annoyed that his captain, who’d known him for nearly fifteen years, would doubt his ability. But he was even more annoyed with himself, that he’d given his boss cause to doubt his abilities. His sanity.
“I’m fine. I want this case.”
Brooks shot him a glance, but then nodded. “Good.”
They fell silent again, but after a few moments, Brooks asked, “So did you meet
the
Finola White?”
Nick smiled, glad to be off the topic of his sanity.
“Yes, I did.”
“And?”
“She’s as—unusual—as you would imagine.”
Brooks chuckled, but then after a minute added, “Her photos make her look pretty attractive, though.”
Nick nodded. “She is.” But even as he agreed, his thoughts didn’t actually go to the tall, striking blonde, but to the harried woman with the brown hair in a bun and big gray eyes. The small woman had managed to invade his thoughts many times since he’d left the magazine’s offices. Charging right into his memory as she’d done to him physically on the elevator.
“Well, this is my station,” Brooks said, startling him out of his thoughts about the petite brunette. Brooks paused at the top of the stairs that led down to the subway stop. “Let me know what you find out tomorrow. Twenty people, that’s a damned lot.”
Nick opened his mouth to say “twenty-one,” but stopped himself. Captain Brooks didn’t consider the last woman to be a missing person. But if he’d seen her, he’d realize she was as missing as the others. Oh, she was there physically, but that was it. As soon as Nick had looked in her eyes, he’d seen she was gone. Vanished.
But there was no way in hell Nick was going to tell his captain that. And he especially wasn’t going to use the description he’d used with Finola and her assistant editor. Referring to that woman as a zombie was exactly the kind of comment that would have his boss very, very worried about his mental state.
“Well, I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow.”
“Keep me posted,” Brooks said as he started down the stairs. “And go home and get some rest. Forget about all this for the night.”
More worry. Damn, he hoped his fellow officers would realize he was perfectly fine, and soon. “Will do.”
Brooks nodded and disappeared underground.
Nick turned down 46th Street, heading toward his small apartment on 10th Ave. The
HOT!
offices were in the opposite direction on 46th. He considered turning, just to wander by the building, but stopped himself.
See, that was the kind of behavior Captain Brooks would worry about. And maybe his boss was right. Maybe he did have to pace himself. Something had made him crack—even he couldn’t deny that. Maybe he did need to let his cases go when he was off the clock.
He’d go home and actually get a decent night’s sleep if he could. He already knew who he planned to talk to first tomorrow. Since a couple of the missing persons had been Finola White’s personal assistants, it only seemed reasonable to talk to the present assistant.
That would be one Annie Lou Riddle. He felt certain if there was anything odd about
HOT!
or its owner, this woman would know.
 
“Well, Detective Nick Rossi,” Annie said, scanning another interview article, “you are a pretty busy and pretty controversial guy.”
She took a sip of her second—maybe third—glass of wine as she read. So far she’d learned that Nick Rossi was a well-respected detective, involved in bringing down some of New York’s worst drug dealers, murderers, etc. In fact, in his earlier career he seemed to be a favorite with the police commissioner and the mayor, until around 2009, when the press releases changed. Suddenly most of the articles seemed to imply that the commissioner and the police chief were not supporting Detective Rossi’s erratic behavior. And by early 2010, articles appeared saying Detective Rossi had been pulled from cases and had actually taken a leave of absence. It didn’t say the leave was forced, but the articles and comments from Captain Brooks of the 18th Precinct certainly implied that was the case.
She went to the drop-down menu on her computer and clicked PRINT. Across the room, her printer clicked and hummed to life.
Why would Finola be interested in this guy? He must be very attractive. That was the only reason Annie could think of. She’d never been interested in blue-collar men before. She then clicked the link to bring up images of the man. But interestingly, she couldn’t find any, except a few where he was hardly visible behind the captain or the commissioner.
Annie sipped her wine, studying one picture that showed him in shadowy profile. She held the glass to her lips, considering the straight nose and one brow she could make out. This man did look vaguely familiar. Had she seen him on the news?
She tilted her head, trying to make him out better. Then her thoughts drifted to another man. One who also had a straight nose and dark brows over laughing brown eyes. A man who had a naughty smile that immediately had made her think of equally naughty things.
Lifting the glass to her lips again, she clicked on another picture. As the photo enlarged, taking up most of the computer screen, she nearly choked on her sip of chardonnay.
No. It couldn’t be.
There in front of her was the face she’d just been imagining.
Detective Nick Rossi was the man from the elevator.
“Do you have it?”
Annie hurried forward to place a folder on Finola’s desk. Tristan leaned against the edge of the desk, his long legs crossed at the ankles, a cup of coffee in his hand. When Finola flipped open the file, he leaned in, his expression bored as always, to peruse the contents along with Finola. They both read the typed page of stats.
Annie watched both their expressions, but couldn’t tell what either was thinking. She did know what
she
was thinking. She could not believe Finola White was stalking, or rather making Annie stalk, the man she had thought about far too much yesterday. And today.
Finally, after scanning the page, Finola slowly closed the file.
“This doesn’t tell me what I want to know.”
Annie had expected that response, but she quietly asked, “What did you want me to find out?”
“I told you. Everything. Personal information,” she said, her voice losing just a little of its melodious tone.
“I searched, but I couldn’t find anything online aside from what I gave you.”
Finola stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “Anna, you are a very resourceful woman. By far the best personal assistant I’ve had.”
To some employees a comment like that from a boss might have filled them with pride, but for Annie the compliment only filled her with dread. With each task Annie achieved, the stakes went up. Because Finola ultimately didn’t want Annie to succeed. Finola was banking on her failing.
“And I expect you to figure out a way to find out the personal information I want to know. I want to know as much as I can about him, down to the smallest detail.”
Annie nodded, but she couldn’t help asking, in the most flattering way possible, “But why don’t you discover the details about him for yourself? I’m sure if you asked him out, he wouldn’t even consider turning you down. Men are crazy about you.”
Apparently she’d layered her question with enough compliments, because Finola’s expression remained calm, a mask of loveliness.
Annie noticed that Tristan raised an eyebrow, however.
But when Finola answered, Annie realized her compliments might have saved her from Finola’s wrath, but they hadn’t saved her from the task.
“I’ve made it very clear what I want, and I’m assuming you can do as I ask. If not, then perhaps you are not the personal assistant for me.”

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