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

minutes tops as fast as the express train tended to fly, but night had fallen over the city.
    When she reached the street corner, she paused for the light and gave the crosswalk button a few firm presses. She felt warm so she tore her scarf from her neck and tucked it into her purse, and again the eerie feeling of being watched came over her.
    She glanced up at the cross signal, which was still a solid, red, Do Not Walk sign, so she made cautious work of taking in her surroundings, slowly pivoting and looking over her shoulder.
    The man.
    Gold chains, black windbreaker, sweatpants that seemed strangely expensive—he was rounding onto the street from the subway and before he could touch eyes with her, she turned, caught sight of the flashing walk signal, and booked it across the street.
    It wasn’t lost on her that the man’s attire, his dark hair and entitled manner, reminded her of the men she’d witnessed toss another dead into the Hudson River.
    Was he following her?
    She quickened her pace and hung a right, mapping the same route she had taken two nights ago to the precinct, and told herself she was reading too much into this. New York was filled with doppelgangers. She wasn’t being followed. That couldn't be the same man who she had seen on Canal Street. Her eyes were playing tricks on her because she was rattled about her camera. Besides, if she was being trailed, no one in their right mind would follow her into a police station, she told herself, as she flung its glass door open, strangely hoping to find a familiar face behind the front desk.
    Considering the long, frustrating day she'd had with Hans Janz, whose name sounded like a bad joke, Tasha should’ve figured a cold looking, middle-aged cop would greet her and not the one she had been fantasizing about.
    She cursed under her breath, slowing her step and rehearsing in her head exactly what she needed to say. By the time she neared the counter, the cop grunted, “Yeah?”
    “I’m here to get the...”
    Damn, the form number had flown right out of her head it was so long. Scrambling, she found a scrap of paper in her jacket pocket where she had noted the name of the form.
    “501-67-B458,” she read. “I filled it out the other day and need a case number so I can get my camera back.”
    The cop angled his vacant brown eyes down at her, working his jaw, then asked, “Name?”
    “Tasha Buckley.”
    “Spell that,” he ordered.
    “T as in Thomas-”
    “No, spell your last name.” He still wasn’t looking at her but at least his fingers were poised over the keyboard.
    She made patient work of spelling her last name and again reminded him that she had filled out the form. “Is Officer Wright on duty?” She added, “He’d remember me.”
    He didn’t answer, but his face screwed up ever so slightly as his gaze scanned the monitor that of course Tasha couldn’t see. Soon he was shaking his head.
    “Nope,” he said to himself.
    “What do you mean, nope?” She asked, keeping her tone even and without emotion since the cops in this precinct evidently had a problem with that kind of thing when it came out of an African-American woman.
    “You’re not in the system,” he said in conclusion.
    It simply couldn’t be true.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “What do you mean? I filled out the form the other day. Officer Wright helped me. Should I have waited a few more days?”
    “No, property forms get logged within an hour of filing. It wasn’t logged.”
    Overwhelmed, Tasha leaned further across the counter, angling to see the monitor, as her mind began racing so fast that she almost couldn't think straight. She forced in a deep breath, straightening her back, and managed to say, “There must be some mistake. A very expensive, very irreplaceable camera of mine was confiscated and I filled out a form so I could get it back.”
    “At this precinct?” he asked, finally studying her carefully.
    “Yes, at this precinct!”
    She hadn’t meant to