Still, getting paid to eye up women wasn't the worst way to spend a morning. A cute brunette in a hurry brushed past him.
"Hey, babe. How you doin'?"
He tapped her on the ass, but she hurried on.
"What is your problem, Bonnetti?" His partner was mad. "We're supposed to be looking for America's most wanted, not harassing members of the public."
"Aw, lighten up, Danny. She was cute. And in case you haven't figured it out, Lady Brookstein ain't coming."
GRACE'S HEART WAS POUNDING. ASSHOLE.
After what that bastard van driver had done to her, the thought of a man touching her or even looking at her sexually made her want to scream at the top of her lungs. But she couldn't scream. She couldn't stop and yell at the guy to get his stinking hands off of her. She had to be invisible, to melt into the crowd.
Where the hell is Davey?
Just as she thought the words, she saw him. He was standing a few feet in front of the store. She walked toward him, smiling. Sensing her smile, Davey looked up. That's when Grace noticed.
"IT'S HER! I SEE HER. SHE'S heading over. Jeans, dark jacket. Beanie."
Mitch asked the cops in the square, "Have you got her?"
"Yes, sir. We see her. Closing in."
GRACE'S MIND RACED.
He said he'd have the file with him. The evidence. Why didn't he bring it?
Something was wrong. It wasn't just the file. It was Davey's face. It had guilt written all over it. Just then, two men brushed past Grace, heading toward Toys "R" Us. Some sixth sense made her slow her pace.
Cops. It's a setup.
There was no time to think. Acting on instinct, she whipped off her hat and stuffed it into her coat pocket. A group of foreign schoolchildren was heading in the opposite direction, back toward the subway. Grace slipped in among them, another small dark fish entering the safety of the shoal.
THE MEN CLUTCHED AT THEIR EARPIECES. Up in the hotel room, Mitch Connors was yelling bloody murder.
"Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?"
"I don't know." Davey Buccola was confused. "She was coming right for me and then she...she disappeared."
Mitch could have wept.
"Spread out, all of you. Keep looking. She's in that crowd."
He couldn't take it any longer. He ran out of the hotel room and headed for the stairs.
FROM THE SIXTH FLOOR OF THE Paramount, Mitch had had a bird's-eye view of the square below. Now, running outside at street level, he could barely see three feet in front of his nose. There were people everywhere, jostling their bulky shopping bags, pushing their kids' strollers across his path.
Jeans, dark jacket, beanie hat. She's here. She must be.
He pushed into the heaving mass of bodies.
GRACE WAS ALMOST AT THE SUBWAY. The stone steps beckoned her, promising safety, escape. Just a few more seconds. A few more steps!
She glanced to her right. A man in a Yankees cap was looking around him frantically, muttering to himself. One of the cops. How many are there? The man was heading straight for Grace's group. Now he was stopping their tour guide, asking him something. I have to break away.
Suddenly Grace saw the sleazeball who had pawed her earlier. He was still hanging around the entrance to the subway. On closer inspection she could see he was a young Italian, attractive, if you liked assholes. Not that Grace would have cared if he looked like Quasimodo. She walked in his direction.
MITCH HELD HIS BREATH. There she is! The crowd moved almost imperceptibly and he saw her, not fifteen feet away from where he was standing. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall, in jeans and a dark coat and she had almost reached the subway. Mitch broke into a run.
"Hey, buddy! Look where you're going."
"Slow down, jerk."
Mitch ran on blindly, knocking pedestrians off their feet. As Grace reached the steps Mitch made a lunge for her, rugby-tackling her to the ground, facedown. She screamed but it was too late. Blood gushed from her nose. Mitch snapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. It was over.
"Grace Brookstein, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney." Turning her over, he pulled the beanie hat up to get a better look at her face. "Oh Jesus."
A terrified blonde stared back at him.
Mitch had never seen her before in his life.
LUCA BONNETTI COULDN'T BELIEVE HIS LUCK.
"Hey, sexy. You're back."
"I'm back." The gorgeous brunette stood up on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and started kissing him passionately. Luca returned the favor. This time he got both hands on her ass.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw the cop with the Yankee hat, still talking to the tour guide. He's probably describing me. If she looked like she were part of a couple, it would throw them off the scent. This bozo could be her cover till she got safely on a train. Then she'd jump off at the next station and lose him.
She broke off the kiss and smiled at him. "Wanna take a ride with me?"
Luca grinned. "Do I ever!"
"He's busy." Another man, older, with a thick, salt-and-pepper mustache, had appeared out of nowhere and looked daggers at Grace. "He's busy."
Luca Bonnetti protested. "No, I'm not. Give me a break, Danny, would you?"
"Give you a break?" The man turned to Grace. "Look, lady, we're NYPD and we're on a job. So get the hell out of here before I book you for soliciting."
Grace felt the bile rise up in her throat. He's one of them. Her legs started to shake. She ran.
IT TOOK MITCH A FEW MOMENTS to react.
He was apologizing to the young woman whose nose he'd just broken when the girl tore past him, two steps at a time. Turning back to the woman, Mitch started removing her handcuffs when he saw it: a gray woolen beanie hat sticking out of the girl's coat pocket.