Manhattan Flame (A Bridge & Tunnel Romance Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

popping into her thoughts.
    Between the surrealism of entering the police station and her overall shock of having witnessed a murder, Wright had struck her as the one aspect that wasn’t completely otherworldly. He had been kind and gentle, treating her with respect. He had seemed to care—a rare trait she seldom found in people other than her closest friends, Greer and Jennifer, much less in a cop. And he had handled her in a manner that had made her feel good, genuinely proud, about coming forward. 
    But it wasn’t only his attitude that had Tasha’s thoughts wandering. She couldn’t recall ever giving a cop a second look, and Officer Wright’s looks were deserving of more than a single glance. He reminded her of the artsy guys she'd gone to Cooper Union with—sharp, discerning eyes the color of which were too hazy to guess, laid-back stubble along his jaw, a muscular build though hidden as if he didn’t quite realize how fit he was, a distinct sensitivity that poured through his words and actions—which was why the fact that he was in law enforcement, dressed in a uniform, and taking down crime reports was so bizarre.
    Hans shouted, “That’s a wrap!” startling Tasha from her daydream.
    Of course she would now be exiled to cleanup duty, but she tackled her obligations quickly, turning off the lights, helping the stylist gather garments in the changing area, and finally locking up when everyone else had slipped out into the lobby, chatting and making promises of drinks— soon and definitely and great job, babe —that none of them intended to keep.
    When finally she returned the studio keys to the front desk attendant and signed out on behalf of her boss, she felt a great weight lift from her shoulders—she had made it through her day—but soon another, even heavier force began baring down on her.
    All that lied in store for her at the 26th.
    Dusk was settling over TriBeCa, as she walked briskly along Canal Street towards the A train. She paused briefly to wrap a scarf around her neck—the chill of the evening having settle in—before descending the subway stairs. And as she threaded the silky fabric into a loop, she sensed eyes on her.
    Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of a man just as he diverted his gaze. He was standing a quarter of a block away and as pedestrians swallowed him, hurrying past, Tasha studied him. He was short, stalky, Russian-looking in his black windbreaker and sweatpants. Comfortably dressed yet donning a thick gold chain around his neck as well as a few bulky rings on his fingers, he struck her as a creep if anything, and because of it she hurried down into the subway, swiped her MetroCard fast when she reached the turnstiles, and managed to duck into a train just as its doors were closing.
    The ride uptown was rocky and drawn out. There wasn’t a seat available so she held onto the handlebar that spanned the ceiling and kept her eyes down. The subway lights flickered and at times cut out all together, but she was used to it, as well the bucks and flares of the train car, the occasional crazy person addressing anyone who would listen, the juveniles who break dancing and blaring their boom boxes in hopes of spare change.
    When the doors opened and the intercom voice announced 163rd Street / Amsterdam Avenue, she forced her way between a tired looking hospice nurse who hadn’t bothered to change out of her orthopedic shoes and an older black man who smelled like stale cigarettes, and spilled out onto the platform.
    Crazy as it might have seemed, she liked the underground scent where concrete met with the electric rails, a pungent mix of mothballs, bleach, and human life filled the air, and sometimes Tasha thought she couldn’t get enough. Nothing smelled quite like the bowels of New York City so she wasn’t shy about breathing deeply as she huffed and puffed her way up the many steps and in minutes emerged onto the darkened street.
    It hadn’t been a long ride, fifteen