it again before flopping down on the cot.
She turned her face into the pillow and tried not to worry about how she felt as much a prisoner in her outrageously expensive apartment as she did here. She wasn’t going to think about New York now. Or her job as on-air columnist at Wake Up, America that she loved, but which was slowly beginning to eat away at her heart and soul. Not that she’d ever admit that to any of her colleagues or friends. She found it hard enough to admit to herself.
They all thought she had the perfect life. They celebrated her most recent success last month with a party at the hottest club in the city when she was promoted from mere entertainment reporter to the coveted weekly morning spot on Wake Up, America. People she hadn’t heard from in years had called or e-mailed when they’d read about that party in the “Sunday Styles” section of the New York Times. She’d been thrilled when her mother had sent her the front page Riverbend Tribune article on her promotion, with the less-than-original headline Local Girl Makes Good.
She had achieved the goal she’d set when she’d graduated from college six years ago. She worked and lived in Manhattan. She had plenty of twenty-something friends and acquaintances. And because of her work she was considered a celebrity of sorts.
But she couldn’t put out of her mind how New York City’s tabloids had referred to her last week when the network announced she would be hosting a two-hour nighttime entertainment special in addition to her appearances on Wake Up: Ms. Perky Goes Prime Time. The phrase still distressed her. Whoever called her perky hadn’t been paying close attention to her recent Wake Up segments.
She wasn’t just promoting glitz, glamour and celebrity faces. She sought out serious stories, about real people and how they were dealing with their complicated lives. She knew more than she wanted to about complicated lives. Like her own.
Zoe sat up and took a deep breath. If only her colleagues on Wake Up, America could see her now. They’d never recognize the woman they’d only seen as perfectly polished, not when she remained handcuffed, wet and wearing mud from head to toe, behind bars in a tiny jail cell in the one place she’d sworn she’d never return to. If she discovered another woman in a similar situation, Zoe was certain she’d find a way to turn that woman’s tragedy into a two-minute TV triumph for Wake Up.
She looked down at her mud-caked hundred-dollar tennis shoes in dismay. Whatever had possessed her to buy them? They were expensive, trendy and downright uncomfortable. They were perfect for New York, but so out of place here in Riverbend. Was she out of place in Riverbend, as well?
Zoe shook her head to clear it of troubling thoughts. Oh, what she’d give for a cup of latte and one of Andre’s full-body massages. She needed her wits about her to convince that certain someone with the sexy cleft in his chin and perfectly dimpled smile that she was the victim of an unexplained case of amnesia.
She could pretend she’d never taken part in the senior citizen rally, tussled with the police, ended up in the fishpond, been arrested or found herself the subject of Ryan O’Connor’s penetrating blue-eyed stare that probed too deep and saw too much. While she’d happily parade all her triumphs in front of him, she’d prefer to keep her missteps to herself.
She buried her face in her hands. This visit home for her sister’s wedding, Zoe knew instinctively, was going to be the longest two weeks of her twenty-eight-year-old life.
A smart man would have dived into the fishpond and searched for the key himself. Or cajoled the locksmith to make another. And paid her bail himself. Then Ryan could have opened the cell and hustled pretty Zoe Russell out the front door of the Riverbend City Jail and out of his life.
Ryan O’Connor was smart. He was clever. And very, very shrewd. All these traits had saved his butt more than a few times during his years first as a homicide, then vice detective in Philadelphia. So the fact Zoe was still behind bars told him maybe he wasn’t as smart, as clever or as shrewd as he thought.
Physically, she was all he remembered: tall, slender, with green eyes that sparkled like the emeralds she now wore on her fingers and her ears. Oh, and that unforgettable curly red hair. At one time he’d considered her his best friend—and the bane of his adolescent existence. But he had no idea who she was now.
She used to disdain showy jewelry, had been afraid to get her ears pierced and had worn only a simple pearl ring belonging to her grandmother. This woman was much too polished, much too savvy and much too sophisticated for his taste. That’s the way she appeared on morning TV. Not that he’d ever admit to sitting down and watching her, of course.
If he’d met Zoe for the first time today, he’d have been polite, but never taken the time to get to know her past that first hello.
He could tell himself she was the last person he expected to see back in Riverbend. But that would be a lie. He knew she’d be coming to town for Kate’s wedding. He just hadn’t figured on seeing her this soon. Her unexpected appearance in his jail had left him unprepared. Little Zoe Russell—no, make that grown-up Zoe Russell—couldn’t keep out of trouble. It was one of her most endearing and most exasperating traits.
You can’t just walk away.
Except he had. The words were still a punch to his gut. He’d heard them from her before. And still he had walked from his friendship with Zoe, his life in Riverbend and, inevitably, from his youthful marriage to Kate, which had been a mistake on both their parts. Six months ago he’d walked away again, his decision, although not his choice, from almost a decade of fighting Philadelphia’s crime and watching it fight back until he was losing more than winning. More than anything, Ryan hated to lose.
He dropped into the oversize oak chair, planted his feet on top of the scarred desk and, through the open door of his office, surveyed the calm scene before him. The phones were mercifully quiet. His dispatcher sat at her station reading the latest issue of a celebrity magazine. The community affairs liaison was reuniting the Johnson boy with his runaway puppy.
“Ah, suburbia,” he muttered. “A far cry from the mean city streets. I will be happy here.” I will be happy here.
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. And prayed his mind wouldn’t replay that deadly night in Philadelphia. A drug sting gone wrong. He’d taken a bullet to the side, and through the haze of pain he’d seen his longtime partner, Sean, go down with one to the back.
Everything that had mattered to him had changed that night. He hadn’t been as strong, as heroic, as he’d needed to be. Even though everyone told him he’d been all those things. The professionals also told him the nightmares would go away. As usual, they were wrong.
“Uh, chief?”
He slowly opened his eyes. Jake, his childhood friend, his number one deputy and the man who bravely had wrestled Zoe Russell into an arrest, stood before him, wet and muddy but with key in hand. Ryan rubbed the tired from his eyes. “Care to explain how a peaceful protest about the new senior’s park ended in complete chaos?”
Jake poured his lanky body into the chair across from Ryan’s desk. And grimaced as he dripped mud and water all over the floor. “Zoe started interviewing people. Once they realized who she was, they pushed and shoved to get her attention. I was trying to get to her and we slipped and ended up in the pond.”
“Were the handcuffs really necessary?”
“Jeez, Ryan, she punched me. I did it as much to protect me as her. I had no choice but to arrest her.” Jake wiped the key clean before placing it on Ryan’s desk. “I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be on the other
