Page 29 of Beautiful Rush
“I’ll have to move the tracking device to your car.”
She rolled her eyes. I’d do no such thing. I wasn’t trying to control her or track her every move. “I love your wild streak. But I love the hair on that pretty head more.” Her eyes widened. Had I just used the L word? Guess I had. “I want you to be safe and with the way you drive, that’s a crapshoot.”
“I made plans with Ava and Connor tomorrow night. Not that I need to report my whereabouts to you,” she added.
I grinned.
She ignored my grin and hopped out of the car, slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary. Which was how she did just about everything. I doubted that she’d ever done anything half-assed or taken the easy way out in her life. I leaned back against the headrest and watched her walk away, with the sun on her back. Before she crossed the street, she turned and blew me a kiss, knowing I was still watching and that I could see her, but she couldn’t see me. I smiled as I pulled away, and wished I was takingherfor a long weekend in the Hamptons.
* * *
Angel was waitingfor me on the street corner of a rundown neighborhood in Jamaica, Queens, a small duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She was wearing a dark purple dress, matching lipstick, and six-inch heels, not exactly the kind of outfit one wore for a weekend of sun and surf. She climbed into my SUV, bringing the scent of cheap, flowery perfume with her, and tossed her small bag in the footwell, primly folding her hands in her lap.
She didn’t look overly excited about taking a weekend trip to the Hamptons. That should make this easier.
But first, I wanted to know what her deal was so we would sit in my parked car until this was settled.
“Why do you need that job so badly?” I asked, trying not to sound like an investigative detective.
She didn’t answer. Just kept staring straight ahead, wringing her hands in her lap, her purple lips pursed. Underneath all the makeup, she had a pretty face and I suspected she was young but trying to look older. Early twenties if I had to guess.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked finally, cracking under the pressure of sitting in a vehicle with a virtual stranger who was content to wait until hell froze over for an answer to the question.
“We need to get a few things straight, but first I need to know why you need the money.”
She shook her head and I saw the fear in her eyes.
“Why do you need the money, Angel?” I looked for track marks on her arms. There were none.
“I have a daughter. She is four years old.”
Fuck.
“She is so smart,” she said with a mother’s pride, her lips curving into a smile. “Perfect English.”
“Where’s your daughter now?” I looked over at the houses lining the dirty, gritty street in the kind of neighborhood where hope went to die. I suspected she lived in the yellow house with the brown door, fenced in behind a rusty white wrought-iron fence, a pink plastic toy car parked on a scrubby patch of brown grass. White lace curtains hung in the window and for some reason, those curtains made me sad as fuck. I scrubbed my hand over my face to erase the memories of white lace curtains and a brown sofa that reeked of death.
“She is with the neighbor. She watches her when I work. She’s a good woman,” she hastened to add.
“Do you have any pictures of your daughter?” I asked, partly because I wanted to verify her story before I put myself on the line, but another part of me was curious. Photos revealed a lot.
“Yes. So many.” She scrolled through her phone and handed it to me. I scrolled through a few photos of Angel’s daughter. White-blond hair and a heart-shaped face with doe eyes. Yep. Angel’s daughter. The girl looked happy and well-cared for, her clothes clean and her hair combed. I stopped at a photo of her blowing out her four birthday candles and wondered if she’d made a wish and what it was. I hoped it would come true. I handed Angel’s phone back to her. It was none of my business and I knew I should stay out of it but forgotten memories surfaced and the cop in me couldn’t let this rest. My savior complex, maybe. Sometimes it was a curse to give a shit.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel while she watched me anxiously. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I wanted to tell her to toughen up. The world would chew her up and spit her out. It was survival of the fittest out there. But I didn’t tell her that because she probably already knew that. “I want you to find another job.”
Her mouth opened and closed. “You said my job was safe if I…” She changed tactics, running her tongue over her dark purple lips and fluttering her eyelashes in a way that was pathetic rather than sexy. Angel made me want to fucking cry and I wanted her gone but not before I tried to help her. “Look at you, Kosta. You are a woman’s dream. Take me with you. I’ll do whatever you ask.”
I shook my head. “You’re not coming with me. You’re spending the weekend with your daughter.”
“But Dmitri said I am with you. I don’t understand.”
“Do you like your job?” That made a difference. If she loved it, then that’s what she should be doing, but I got the feeling that she didn’t. She needed to snort coke and drink champagne to get through the night. It was no fucking way to live.
She shrugged her shoulder. “I don’t have to like it. That’s not so important.”
“You just need the money,” I stated flatly.
