Read Mr Destiny Online

Authors: Candy Halliday

Tags: #Contemporary, #Romance

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BOOK: Mr Destiny
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Sol shook his gray head. “A cop with a Princeton education. What's wrong with that picture?”

“Nothing,” Tony said. “It's who I am. It's what I do. Get over it.”

“Only if you'll admit you have that photographic memory I've always suspected,” Sol said, reaching into the paper sack sitting
on the bench beside him. “Which, aside from being a Princeton man, is the only explanation I have for why I've never been
able to stump you with a crossword answer yet.”

“We all have photographic memories, Sol,” Tony said, grinning. “Some of us just don't have enough film.”

Sol looked over at Skyscraper. “A wise man and a wise
ass.
A deadly combination.” He slipped the horse the apple wedge he'd taken from the sack, then waved impatiently, motioning them
forward. “Get your smart-mouth partner out of here,” he said to Skyscraper. “He's breaking my concentration.”

As if the horse understood, Skyscraper headed back to the trail, leaving Sol with his pencil already poised back over his
crossword puzzle again.

But Sol hadn't been the first to question why Tony had decided “to protect and to serve” rather than continue his uptown life
and his coveted spot on Wall Street. He'd surprised everyone when he'd taken an unexpected turn during his late twenties.
Still, that didn't mean he'd let his experience on Wall Street
or
his fine Princeton education go to waste.

He'd invested wisely in the stock market.

Because he had invested wisely, he'd been able to purchase an apartment building not far from his parents' Italian restaurant—Mama
Gina's—in Queens. He'd bought the building from a money-grubbing slumlord who hadn't cared about the living conditions or
the safety of his tenants. He'd turned the building back into the type of residence people wanted to call home.

Tony was proud of that.

He lived in the building himself.

When a tourist family of four began waving in his direction, Tony pulled on the reins and brought Skyscraper to a stop. Looking
at their smiling faces reminded him exactly why he wasn't still sitting behind a desk in some stuffy office on Wall Street.
He liked the flexibility of his shift schedule. He also liked the freedom of being outside—almost as much as he loved the
opportunity to mingle with the people.

That's what had drawn him to the police force.

And the biggest reward of all?

His opportunity to serve as a goodwill ambassador for the greatest city on earth.

“Could you pose for a picture with the kids?” Mr. Tourist called out.

“Sure,” Tony called back. “Skyscraper is a real ham when it comes to posing for pictures.” Though Skyscraper was as gentle
as he could be stubborn, Tony still bent down and gave the horse a few reassuring pats on the neck when the kids started in
their direction.

The little girl, Tony guessed, was around eight years old. She eagerly sprinted forward, a big grin on her freckled face and
her red pigtails bouncing up and down as she skipped in their direction. Her too-cool older brother, however, was more reserved.
The teenager jerked the bill of his New York Yankees' ball cap farther down on his forehead and took his time sidling up beside
them. He did a few major eye rolls as his father snapped the shutter several times.

“You're a Yankee fan?” Tony asked, trying to ease the kid's embarrassment at finding himself in a situation too humiliating
for his age.

The kid looked up at him. “Isn't everybody?”

“Right answer,” Tony said, and the kid grinned.

When the family went on their way, Tony nudged Skyscraper forward. But as they plodded along on their regular park patrol,
he couldn't keep his mind from wandering right back to the woman who had been wearing a rock on her finger so large it was
borderline tacky.

That's what bothered him.

His gut instinct about people was usually correct.

Kate Anderson didn't strike him as one of those all-about-money-and-prestige social climbers. She just didn't give off those
all-about-me vibes. Nor did she strike him as the type who would be engaged to a man who obviously felt the need to flaunt
his success by giving her a showy top-this diamond.

In fact, had she been standing in a would-you-date-her lineup instead of beside the Virgin Mary in Central Park, he would
have still picked her out for himself in a heartbeat.

Until he saw the engagement ring.

The ring said it all.

She was marrying an uptown man.

He'd turned his back on uptown long ago.

Still, Tony couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't quite right there. He hadn't missed her wooden response when
she'd held up her hand and announced she was getting married in two months. There'd been no sparkle in her eyes. No lilt to
her voice. No excitement that she would soon be marrying the man of her dreams.

Were those the actions of a typical bride?

Hardly.

Being the oldest child born to Mario and Gina Petrocelli, and the only brother to five younger sisters, he'd gone through
five big fat Italian family weddings. Typical brides? He could write a book about them. Kate Anderson was
not
your typical bride.

He hadn't missed the best friend's expression at the mention of the wedding, either. He was, after all, a cop, trained to
read between the lines when it came to dealing with people.

Yup. There is definitely a problem in paradise.

Just not his problem.

His problem was going to be breaking it to his family during their weekly Friday night dinner at his parents' restaurant that
Nonna had lost her touch. Maybe then everyone would cut him some slack and stop asking every five minutes if he'd met the
green-eyed blonde.

Oh, I've met her, all right,
Tony thought sadly.

Forgetting her—that was going to be the problem.

CHAPTER 2

K
ate took her place in line at Mr. Woo's, her usual Chinese take-out stop, less than a block away from her Midtown apartment
building. She never saw Harold on Friday nights unless some special function required their attendance. Friday nights were
what Harold referred to as his “wind-down” time. He spent his Friday evenings at a private men's club with a massage and sauna
ritual that supposedly helped him rejuvenate from his hectic workweek schedule.

The rest of the weekend, Harold reserved for what he called “quality time.” Quality time was spent with her and with his widowed
mother, whom Kate, surprisingly, adored completely. In fact, Alex often accused her of liking Margaret Wellington much better
than she liked Harold.

Never one to keep her opinions to herself, Alex had also warned her not to expect Harold's routines to change after they were
married. Kate suspected Alex was right about that prediction. But it didn't matter. It was the order and consistency he demanded
in his life that had drawn her to Harold in the first place.

Life with Harold was guaranteed to be simple and uncomplicated. What could be better than simple and uncomplicated?

“Hot and spicy,” someone yelled out.

Kate blushed, thinking about the cop.

It took her a second to realize the guy at the head of the long waiting line was only giving instructions on how to prepare
his food.

Damn Alex.

It was just like Alex to come sneaking up behind her when she was ogling the cop.

At least when she got home, she knew she could count on Eve to back her up when Alex started ranting about why she hadn't
been interested in the cop's destined-to-be-together story. Eve Thornton was her other roommate—like Alex, another best friend
from their Wells College days. Eve was a real sweetie. Plus, Eve actually liked Harold.

Sad story
, the voice inside her head jeered, reminding Kate of Alex's
sucker
accusation earlier in the park.

I was a sucker for Eve's sad story.

She'd admit it.

She had felt sorry for Eve when her worthless snake of a fiancé dumped her two days before their wedding. Eve had already
given up her apartment and moved in with the snake, so she really had noplace else to go. Unless she wanted to move down to
Miami and move in with her parents, who lived in a retirement community—which certainly hadn't been an option.

What good friend wouldn't have offered Eve a shoulder to cry on and a place to land until she sorted things out?

Only weeks had turned into months, and months had turned into over a year, with Eve going from being depressed into a full-blown
case of what her physician had diagnosed as social anxiety disorder. Eve never left the apartment, much less the building—she
had an overwhelming fear that the first person she would run into was her ex with his
latest
fiancée.

She and Alex had both tried to convince Eve that running into her ex was highly unlikely, since Eve was living in Manhattan,
and the snake had moved his latest victim into the house he'd supposedly bought for Eve on Staten Island. But Eve kept insisting
she just couldn't take that chance—not until she'd had sufficient time to get over the snake completely.

The only good thing, Kate supposed, was Eve's career. Being a freelance Web designer meant Eve still had the ability to support
herself. But Kate did wish sometimes that Eve had the type of job that required her showing up at the office every day. Eve's
ability to work from home had only made her exit from society that much easier.

Kate jumped when the counter clerk snapped his fingers and motioned in her direction. She stepped forward and gave him her
order. A few minutes later, she scooped up the white paper sacks and headed home. But as she walked the short distance to
her building, she did wonder if Eve had kept her promise and at least made it out of the apartment and to the corner and back
today.

In a two short months, Eve was going to be on her own again whether she was ready or not. Eve wouldn't be able to rely on
her for daily shopping and errand running. After the wedding, Kate would be living with Harold in his ritzy Upper East Side
penthouse, with a full-time maid and a chauffeur doing
her
shopping and running
her
errands for a change.

A life of leisure
, Kate thought, trying to get excited at the prospect of being waited on hand and foot for the rest of her life.

She pushed that thought to the back of her mind, then hurried up the steps to her apartment building. She smiled when her
building's “honorary” doorman opened the door for her so she didn't have to fumble around looking for her key.

A Santa Claus physique and no hair whatsoever, Mr. Womack had the type of rosy cheeks that just begged to be tweaked. Alex
called him an old snoop, but he was a lovable old snoop who Kate suspected preferred sitting in the lobby watching people
come and go to sitting upstairs alone with no human contact to help pass the time.

“Again? You girls are staying in on Friday night with takeout?” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Please, Katie. Take
an old bachelor's advice. Get out and live a little before it's too late.”

Kate laughed. “Good advice, Mr. Womack.”

She called this back over her shoulder, then headed for the elevator. But as she rode up to her sixth-floor apartment, Kate
couldn't help but worry about Eve, about Alex and John, and about her own true feelings for Harold.

Could she finally force Eve back into the world of the living in the short time she had left before the wedding? Would Alex
and John finally reach a compromise over their squabble because just-turned-forty John wanted to start a family now, and close-to-getting-the-promotion-of-a-lifetime
Alex felt now wasn't the right time for her?

Most importantly,
was
Harold just another sad story she hadn't been able to resist?

No. I feel comfortable with Harold.

Comfortable wasn't everything, true.

But nobody got
everything
when it came to marriage.

Did they?

Kate opened the door to her apartment in time to hear Eve say, “How romantic to have a total stranger walk up to you and claim
you were destined to be together.”

Frick.

So much for Eve taking her side.

Alex had already won Eve over.

Kate dumped her keys and her purse on the table by the door. As she started for the living room, she heard Alex say, “Romantic
is only half of it, Eve. This guy was hot. Picture every hot Italian actor you can think of, and I'm not kidding. This guy
was triple times hotter than anyone you can come up with.”

“De Niro?”

“Younger,” Alex said.

“DiCaprio?”

Alex sighed. “Not that young, Eve.”

“Armand Assante?”

“Eve! I didn't mean it literally. I didn't mean you should think of
every
Italian actor on the planet. I just meant this guy has that whole Italian thing going for him. You know? Sexy as all hell
and then some?”

“Wait. I've got it. A cross between a young Al Pacino and an even
younger
Sylvester Stallone.”

BOOK: Mr Destiny
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