Meredith had shrunk in on herself as she stood by one of the squad cars in a wash of blinking lights with her arms wrapped tight across her chest. It felt like a billion degrees, especially since I was still running on adrenaline in my bullshit suit, but I could tell she was shivering. Shivering, blocking out the questions being aimed her way, and focusing entirely on me.
Those big blue eyes of hers hadn’t shifted away since I’d gently released her from my arms, smoothed hair back from her damp face, and gruffly snapped, “Yes,” when the cop asked whether I was her boyfriend. He’d stumbled all over himself after getting a closer look at my face and writing down my name, but I wasn’t in the mood to educate people on why I never bothered to “correct” people because there was nothing to “correct.” If they wanted to understand me not having a binary gender, they could get on the fucking internet like everyone else.
The important thing was that Fuckboy A had been carted off in an ambulance while cuffed to a stretcher, that Stavros had rushed down to assist in snooping out any lingering paparazzi looking to exploit the situation, and that Meredith was okay. Well, she had red marks on her upper arms and neck that would inevitably turn to bruises, but she was alert. Even so, the sight of her injured to any degree just about sent me chasing the ambulance so I could kill the already-unconscious dick-bag, but I didn’t.
If the military had taught me anything, it was how to channel my anger into something productive. Like robotically answering questions while trying to convey an I’m-here-for-you vibe, even though I was wearing an expression that probably belonged on a convicted murderer. I didn’t have a resting bitch face. I’d been born looking like I was ready to knock everybody out.
“I don’t need to go to the hospital.”
Mere’s low-pitched voice barely made its way to me over the sirens and the noise of traffic, but I heard it. And I knew she was deliberately talking loud enough for me to hear. They’d questioned me repeatedly, asking me specific questions about descriptions since I’d been keeping an eye on the two clowns for the entire night, but they’d finished with me a while ago. Mere seemed to have been less able to give viable information due to being shaken up, and now she was obviously ready to go.
Ready to go with me.
I pushed away from the light pole I’d been leaning against, suit jacket over my shoulder, and walked to the squad car. The cops didn’t stop me. In fact, they seemed to like me. Like we were all in on something together, but I had no fucking clue what. Maybe they thought I was cool because they thought I was sleeping with a semifamous person. Weird how even random beat cops knew the last name Stone. Or maybe they read the tabloids she always wound up in.
“If she says she’s fine, then she’s fine,” I barked, coming up to them with a glare that spanned the width of the East River. “The hospital will be a fucking zoo right now with paps waiting to take her picture, and she doesn’t need that shit in her life. I can take her if she needs it.”
One of the officers stared at me like she wanted to argue, but between my glare and Mere’s refusal to even dignify her continued requests with a glance, she gave up.
“Call the number on this card if you need to add any information to the report,” one of the cops said, handing me a blue card. “The case number is on it.”
I nodded and once again didn’t correct the assumption that I was her significant other, or her fucking caretaker, or whatever they were acting like I was.
When I tried to offer the card to Mere, she shook her head. I tucked it into my pocket. “Okay, what happens next?”
“An investigator will be put on it and will likely contact you,” he said, finally turning to Meredith again. “They’ll put together a case, and give you all the information about what happens next. If we pick up the other guy, you’ll have to identify him.”
She stiffened at the words, and I put an arm around her.
“I’ll go with you if it comes down to it.” The words were out of my mouth before I could rein them in, but the grateful look in her eyes calmed my nerves. I glanced back at the cop. “So, we don’t have to do anything else?”
“Not unless she remembers something, or you have to take her to the hospital,” the cop repeated. “Other than that, someone will get in touch with you.”
I nodded and stepped back, pulling her with me. She didn’t say a word, not even to drop some sass bombs about how quickly they’d put her in the role of “helpless woman” and me in the role of “dude worth talking to.” I hadn’t spent a lot of time around her, but I knew enough about her personality to identify this silence as atypical.
It wasn’t until Stavros had whisked us away in his dark Lincoln, did she clear her throat.
“Sorry. About all of that.”
Stavros looked in the rearview mirror, frowning but not speaking.
“What are you sorry for?” In my head, the question was incredulous, but out loud, it sounded sarcastic. Fuck, why couldn’t I communicate like other people? “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I acted like a fragile flower. Let you do all the talking.” She licked her lips, glancing out the window with her brow furrowed and red mouth turned down in an unhappy frown. “I’m not like this. I’m not helpless. I’m—”
“You knocked the fuck out of your attacker and made him bleed with bare knuckles, ma. I know you’re not a princess.”
Stavros’s gaze shot up to the mirror again. “No shit?” he asked, a smile in his voice.
“Dead-ass,” I confirmed. “She’s tough.”
Stavros nodded his approval before fixing his attention on the road again, navigating to her mansion on the Upper West Side. I squinted out into the darkness before realizing Meredith was watching me again. And, fuck, she was so pretty like this. Not smirking or taunting or challenging me to some weird sexual duel. Pensive and quiet, her hair pulled back and shadows crossing her high cheekbones and delicate nose.
I swallowed hard. “You sure you’re fine?”
“I’m fine,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
There was more to say, namely apologizing for claiming to be her boyfriend and taking charge of the situation like a dickhead, which was likely why she’d gotten the impression I thought she was helpless. However, that wasn’t a convo I wanted to have in front of Stavros.
I let her hold my hand until he parked in front of her home. She mumbled a thank-you to Stavros, pressed a fold of bills into his hand, and then stood out on the sidewalk with her arms wrapped around herself.
“Call me tomorrow, kid,” he said to me. “I have a weird feeling about how all that went down.”
“Yeah, me too.”
I jerked my head in a goodbye, shut the door, and turned to her after he’d driven off. She was staring at the mansion like she’d never seen it before, which gave me an opportunity to do the same since I really hadn’t. Stephanie had gone on and on about the prewar row house and how shocking it was that a seven-bedroom mansion was tucked away on a normal New York City street, but her description hadn’t prepared me for the reality. It had a limestone front, gold-and-black doors, and was at least four or five stories high. What really struck me, though, was how old it appeared to be. It was serious old-timey New York shit.
“Kinda ridiculous, right?”
Meredith was giving me that look again, uncertain and shy. The one that made me want to press her up against that big black-and-gold door and kiss her until she forgot this shitty night.
“This entire night is ridiculous,” I said.
“I meant my house.”
Frowning, I asked, “How do you figure?”
“Well, it’s gigantic, and I literally live here by myself since my mother moved to the Hamptons to get drunk in closer proximity to a beach. You probably think—”
“Stop.” I paused, trying to temper my sharpness. “Look, don’t do that, okay? I’m not stressed over your money. I’m fine with my status. No need to fall all over yourself insulting your house and your job and your family to make me feel like I can relate to you.”
She cocked her head, one brow going up. “So, you’re saying you can relate to me in some way?”
“Fuck no.”
Meredith released a choked laugh. “Why do I like you so much? You’re such an asshole.”
I shrugged, grabbed her forearm, and tugged her toward the house. “Because I’m sexy.”
“And super modest too.”
Snorting, I tried to haul her to the door, but as soon as we got closer, she froze. It was like her feet had become rooted to the ground. When I flicked my eyes to Mere, I saw that her face had gone ashen.
“What?” I demanded.
“I . . .”
I turned, putting my body between her and the door. For the second time, I cupped the sides of her face and stared into those huge blue eyes. She seemed fucking terrified.
“What is it, Meredith? Tell me.”
“The guy—” Her throat worked as she swallowed, breath coming faster. “Fuck, Tonya. He—he knew me. He was there, not just to case the event, but . . . he knew me.”
“Explain. Tell me everything.”
Her eyes flit around us as if she was expecting someone to come out of the shadows. “I’d blanked it out or something. Fuck, how did I not tell them?” she babbled. “It just came back to me, the guy, the one who ran away. He said—he said, ‘I’ve been following you since Ninety-first. Gotta love a rich dyke who still takes the train.’”
Holy fucking shit. This definitely was not a random case of two opportunists wanting to rob the recognizable socialite at the heavily promoted pop-up event. Nah, this was about her being a Stone. About her working for QFindr. It was related to the doxing.
“I’ll call that number on the card,” I said. “And your brother can come over—”
“No,” she said quickly. “Please, no. I don’t want to see anyone right now.”
“Meredith, I can’t leave you here alone—”
“I don’t want to be here! They know where I live, Tonya.” Panic seeped into her voice. She clutched me tighter. “Can’t I go home with you? Please?”
“To Queens?” I asked incredulously. “You could get a hotel—”
“Please just let me come with you. Please.”
She looked so absolutely desperate that it broke my heart. I smoothed hair out of her face again, and all my prickly parts retracted when she leaned into the touch. Goddamn, but this girl was starved for affection. Even from a pissed-off former Marine who’d spent the past year pretending she didn’t exist.
“I don’t live alone,” I warned. “I share a place with Angel.”
“I know.”
Of course she did.
Meredith went quiet after that, and this time it was me who grabbed her hand. We walked without speaking to catch the B train near Central Park, and sat on the old wooden bench on the platform in grim silence until the train screeched into the station. We huddled together by the door until we could switch to the F train at Rockefeller Center.
The trains were emptier than usual but nowhere near deserted. So when we sat together on the colorful seats as we rode into Queens, we got some attention. My legs were sprawled in front of me, white dress shirt partially undone, and I was slumped down with one arm extended behind Meredith. By now, I’d draped my suit jacket around her shoulders, and she was turned toward me, face pressed against my chest and long hair hiding her profile. She’d taken off her high heels at some point, and they were in the seat beside her.
I upgraded my Subway Glare to an I’ll Fuck You Up glare, but didn’t actually say anything when I caught a girl with a rainbow tote snapping a picture on her phone. If I was going to trust anyone to not sell us out to a magazine, it’d be someone repping the rainbow flag. Maybe she just thought we were a cute couple.
We kinda were.