Along for the Ride

by Michelle M. Pillow

  ‘All based on the type of motorcycle he had?’ Ryan shook his head in obvious disbelief.

  ‘It’s not just the bike, it’s the type of man who’d have a bike.’

  ‘Kat mentioned you were sure of yourself,’ he said softly. ‘I guess she was right.’

  At that, Megan frowned. He had talked to Kat about her? She took a step back, close to making her exit.

  Ryan lifted the camera. ‘Detective Megan Matthews, a woman who knows what she wants,’ Ryan stated.

  Megan wondered at the tone in his voice. He pointed the camera at her. Her mind raced as she wondered what Kat had said about her, what they’d talked about, and then she wondered why she even cared what they discussed. She took another step back.

  ‘Say cheese,’ Ryan said.

  Megan opened her mouth, putting her foot down at the same time. A loud crunch sounded under her boot just as the camera flash went off. She stiffened in horror, looking down at the ground. As if staged as the ultimate humiliation, a yellow marker with a big number one on it stood next to her foot, pointing in Ryan’s direction so he’d have a clean shot of it. Slowly, she lifted her boot, looking down at what she’d stepped on. It was a museum artefact – a carved deity that looked really ancient, really important and now really broken into five separate pieces.

  This was a disaster. She, a New York detective, had stepped on evidence – evidence from a huge museum backed by generously rich patrons and known all over the world. And Ryan caught the deed on film. Again.

  Lovely. Fucking lovely.

  ‘You asked to go with her?’ Kat demanded more than enquired, placing her hands on the diner’s sunlit countertop. She lightly patted the solid green laminate as if to emphasise the importance of her questions. ‘You didn’t mess it up? You said it just like I told you? Word for word?’

  Ryan nodded. ‘I told her you gave me the address but had a meeting and asked if we could meet up beforehand.’

  ‘And she said no?’ Kat frowned.

  The small diner was relatively new, just down the street from where Kat and her husband worked at the DJP Scientific Department of Entomological Research, a branch of one of New York’s foremost museums. When Vincent worked through lunch, Kat would often come to the diner to get them both something to eat. And, whenever Ryan wasn’t busy, he’d pop in and keep her company. The place didn’t have much in the way of décor, just a few potted plants and classic red booths with green tabletops. A long counter stretched down one side, making a visual block to the waitress’s workstation. They always sat at the counter, as both of them liked the rounded stools bolted to the floor. The seats were fun to spin on. Yeah, he and Kat had done that, too. But, to be fair, the two little kids sitting close to them that day had started it.

  Ryan sighed. Maybe he and Megan really weren’t meant to be after all. He’d tried everything to get her attention. Ever since he took her picture during the arrest of the ‘Preying Mantis’, as the press had dubbed Jersey St Claud, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. She’d been so tough, so commanding, so in control of her surroundings. He hadn’t meant for her photograph to become famous like it had, but what could he say? It was a great picture and just the kind of image boost the police department needed. Really, though, it was his editor who’d pushed the picture so hard. The man was friends with the mayor and giving her the front page had been a big mark of distinction for the city’s whole political system. The masses loved to put a face to heroes and beautiful Megan Matthews was it. She was their new superwoman – beautiful, smart, law abiding and a perfect role model. Plus, it gave the citizens a sense of closure to the nightmare the Preying Mantis had caused before his arrest.

  Megan was also frustrating as hell, an irritatingly perfect know-it-all who he couldn’t get out of his mind. She had the kind of dark eyes that haunted a man with their mystery, a self-confidence that was only outdone by rare moments of true vulnerability. And he’d be lying if he didn’t admit her aggressive domineering personality fuelled many late-night fantasies. What man wouldn’t want to play cops and robbers with such a woman? He knew of a few choice places he’d like to be frisked – her hands on him, controlling him, touching him.

  OK, so he was mildly obsessed with her.

  ‘She’s proving to be a harder nut to crack than I first thought.’ Kat was the only Matthews sister to have settled down, though by the looks of her the woman hardly appeared settled. Her long dark-blonde hair was streaked with chucks of hot pink and electric purple. Pink shadow lined her eyes, matching the darker pink of her lipstick. Her clothes were just as eccentric as her makeup – platform shoes, a denim mini-skirt and a flowing camisole shirt that matched her purple hair. To see her, no one would guess she was married to a very studious well-respected scientist.

  ‘Kat, I’ve told you before, don’t help me if it’s only to prove your sister wrong,’ Ryan said.

  ‘But I am so tired of her thinking that she knows everything. And –’ Kat reached over to pat his hand ‘– she is wrong this time. She doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it. Megan has always had to be responsible. Our mother’s a flake. Our father worked all the time and Megan got stuck taking care of four bratty sisters. I think we ruined any decent date she had before she moved out of the house and who knows if she’s dated anyone since then. She never brings them home and never mentions a boyfriend. Though, after the stuff we pulled as kids, it’s no wonder she is the way she is.’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe it’s time I gave up. I’ve tried everything – aloof, friendly, flirtatious. I put myself in front of her. I stayed away. I got myself invited to family dinner.’ Ryan buried his head in his hands. He wasn’t a completely pathetic loser. He did have some pride.

  Didn’t he?

  What was it about Megan that made it impossible for him to walk away, even after a year? Even now the idea of her aroused him. He was embarrassed to admit he had a picture of her, which he’d taken one night while she investigated a break-in on the Upper East Side, on his nightstand – and not just for decoration either. There was no particular reason he’d picked that picture over others in his growing collection of her. But it did show her brilliant dark-brown eyes and the shiny texture of her hair. She always wore it back in a bun at the nape of her neck, but he could tell it would be long if she let it go. Still, there was something very sexy about the disciplinarian hairdo. Almost all her clothes were black – simple, form-fitting, curve-hugging black. Occasionally, she wore a white linen shirt under her leather jacket.

  Ryan shifted in his seat, keeping his head down. He needed to stop thinking about Megan or he would be trapped on the diner stool all afternoon, hiding his erection.

  ‘You have a romantic’s soul.’ Kat patted him on the back of the head.

  She really was a nice person. Why couldn’t he have fallen for someone like her? No, instead he chose the impossible Megan.

  ‘It’s because you’re an artist.’

  Ryan gave a weak laugh. The thoughts he’d been having all night had very little to do with romance. ‘I’m beginning to feel like a stalker.’

  ‘Not that again,’ Kat scolded. ‘Your intentions are purely honourable.’

  Ryan gave a short chuckle.

  ‘Well, OK eighty per cent honourable.’ Kat laughed. ‘There is a big difference between crazy stalker and pursuing a difficult woman who you just happen to like very much and who wouldn’t know a good thing if it fell on her head and began beating her senseless.’

  ‘Fine, but if I ever become the other one you let me know,’ Ryan said dejectedly. He was tired, horny and pretty sure he could use a bath. Not to mention he had two memory cards full of images he needed to get loaded on to the computer and labelled.

  ‘OK, enough pity party. I only have a few minutes before I have to go and we need to plot your next move.’

  ‘I’m not buying a motorcycle,’ Ryan said. ‘Can’t afford it.’

  Kat laughed. ‘You have to admit that was a pretty good line she used
on you. Any normal man would run screaming for the hills to hear a woman say she was looking for marriage and babies right off the bat. No wonder my sister doesn’t get dates.’

  ‘What? You think she really wanted all that?’ Ryan asked, confused.

  ‘Oh, my poor, poor man. No, she doesn’t want all that. Megan is too practical to marry a man just because he has a motorcycle. She was saying it to chase you off.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Ryan said, somehow at ease now Kat confirmed it. He’d be lying if he said her irrational comments hadn’t bothered him at the time.

  ‘Tell you what.’ Kat stood up. ‘Get some rest, ’cause you look like you’ve been run over by an evidence truck.’

  ‘I feel like it. Huge crime scene last night and I was the only one available to photograph it. I worked until five this morning, and then had to boogie on down to the paper to meet with the editor I’ve been avoiding all weekend. I haven’t been home yet.’

  ‘Who? Walter? Is he still trying to get you to come back?’

  ‘Yeah. You know he’s desperate if he’s up at six. He offered me a staff position. Guaranteed pay cheque.’

  ‘That settles it. We need to get you and Megan together so you can quit taking crime photos and get back to your day job.’ Kat grabbed the take-out bag off the counter. ‘Go get some beauty sleep, Casanova. I’ll call you later with a game plan later this week. You have a woman to woo on Sunday.’

  ‘You are a handsome boy, you really should be married by now.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hartman,’ Ryan said, forcing his smile to stay on his face as he opened his mailbox only to discover it was stuffed full with credit-card offers and an advertisement flyer for sexual-enhancement drugs. After shoving them into the side pocket of his camera bag, he locked the mailbox. ‘But no one will have me.’

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like the meddling old woman, he liked her very much. Her round cotton-ball hairdo and fitted apron reminded him of the type of grandma who baked cookies and knitted socks, the kind most kids loved to visit. But, as a widow without children, she had no kids to come and visit her. Maybe that’s why they got on so well. Ryan didn’t have a family either.

  In fact, the small three-storey apartment building was a haven in the city, hidden and almost forgotten in the East Village. It was filled with the once lonely and forgotten, who became the collectively remembered when they moved in. With three apartments on every floor and ten tenants, they were a close-knit, if somewhat strange family.

  On the first floor, Mrs Hartman was their grandmother figure, making sure they remembered to eat. Living sparsely, she managed to stay quite comfortable on the money her husband had left her. From what Ryan gathered, he’d been a corporate man of some sort. Also on the first floor were Ginger, a suspected call girl who hummed musical ballads, and a woman they’d all dubbed Mary who looked like Ginger’s dowdy sister, though the two weren’t related.

  On the second floor, across the hall from his place, was Margie who was pretty in a depressed doom-and-gloom sort of way. The young woman was an orphan who kept to herself and bred African Grey Parrots. It was her main source of income and, instead of paying taxes, she gave her extra money to the church. Ryan didn’t know if she’d been raised in a convent or if he’d just assumed she had because of all the crucifixes she hung in her home. Then there was Harry, the neurotic singer without a band who rarely slept and had a bad habit of talking more to himself than others.

  Up top lived William the Pacer, who guarded the halls throughout the night with a baseball bat and acted as a self-appointed security guard and doorman. He drank a lot, which might have contributed to his cop-like illusions of grandeur. Pete and Rosa shared an apartment and broke up about as much as they got together. It was impossible to tell which one was living in the building at any given time, so they generally avoided using terms like ‘your roommate’ to either of the twenty-somethings. And, lastly, in the biggest area with access to the roof was Diederick Meier the Third. A rich boy with a house on the Upper East Side paid for by his parents, he came to their little sanctuary to get away from his wealthy upbringing. Ryan felt sorry for Diederick, perhaps more than he did any of the others. Out of them all, Diederick was probably the loneliest.

  ‘You and Mr Meier both should have settled down. Got me some grandkids.’ Mrs Hartman followed him up the stairs and Ryan automatically slowed his steps so she could keep pace. Without an elevator, they had no choice but to use the stairs.

  ‘If I marry Diederick, how will we give you grandkids?’ Ryan grinned, keeping his back to her.

  It took a moment for her to process, but after a short pause she laughed and scolded, ‘Oh, you naughty boy!’

  ‘I’ll have you know, I had lunch with a very pretty young woman today,’ Ryan said, thinking of Kat.

  ‘The married one?’ Mrs Hartman asked knowingly. ‘The cop’s sister?’

  ‘That’s the one.’ He reached the top of the stairwell and stopped.

  ‘I have news for you, buckaroo, you need to actually date the woman, not the sister.’ She reached out, grabbing his arm lightly and taking a deep shaky breath.

  ‘Oh, so that’s what I’m doing wrong.’ He laughed.

  Mrs Hartman smiled, then turned back to the stairs to head down again. ‘Go get some sleep. I know you haven’t been home all night. William already gave me the full report of last night’s activity. I hope it wasn’t anything too bad that kept you away?’

  ‘Just a robbery. No one hurt,’ he assured her.

  ‘Thank goodness for that.’ She took a slow step, holding on to the rail. ‘I’ll make sure Margie or Harry brings you something to eat later.’

  ‘See, now why do I need a wife when I have all of you taking care of me?’

  ‘If you have to ask, young man, you need more help than I can give. Ask Diederick, he seems the type to explain it to you.’ Mrs Hartman giggled, sounding very young for her obvious age.

  ‘You know, I could just stand in the entryway and talk to you.’ Ryan watched her as she continued to make her way slowly down, keeping an eye out to make sure she didn’t lose her balance.

  ‘Ah –’ she waved her hand in dismissal without turning around ‘– it’s my exercise for the day. It’s what keeps me in such fine shape.’ She patted her plump side and gave a small chuckle.

  ‘It’s impossible to improve upon such beauty, Mrs Hartman,’ Diederick’s sharply accented voice said from below the white stairwell.

  Ryan saw the man’s shadow before the man.

  ‘Like I told the other one, you need to focus your attention on the girls,’ Mrs Hartman answered.

  ‘That’s not what you said, sweet lady. In fact, I think you implied I focus my attention too readily on girls.’

  When Mrs Hartman giggled again, it was a cute, almost blushing sound. ‘A suave man with your European accent should have no problem setting the ladies aflutter. I might be old, but I know a rogue when I see one.’

  ‘Then I must find a woman to put me in my place,’ Diederick agreed with her.

  Diederick met his gaze and Ryan nodded once. The man understood as he stayed downstairs to wait for the elderly Mrs Hartman. ‘Please, mademoiselle, allow me.’

  To hear the Swiss-born man speak with a French accent was slightly comical, but apparently the man had learnt English from his French nanny as a boy. It made for some interesting turns of phrase when he spoke. Ryan didn’t wait for Diederick to join him before continuing to lug his camera bags to his apartment. It felt heavier than it should have, but he knew it was mostly due to tiredness.

  Diederick’s footsteps sounded on the wooden stairs as he took them two at a time. ‘Mm, I’ve eaten at some of the finest restaurants in all the world and still nothing compares to Mrs Hartman’s chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven. If I wasn’t worried about her overdoing it, I’d make her market them.’

  ‘Did you bring me one?’ Ryan asked, glancing over as he unlocked his apartment door.

&nb
sp; ‘She sent you one.’ Diederick laughed harder, passing the stairwell that would lead him up to his home and entering the hallway instead.

  Ryan arched a brow.

  Diederick lifted a half-eaten cookie. ‘It is here to be eaten.’ He shoved the rest of it in his mouth, still laughing.

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Ryan warned, though in truth he wasn’t hungry for anything too sugary.

  ‘So sue me.’ Diederick shrugged. ‘My parents can well afford to pay you.’

  ‘Don’t play poor little, pretty rich-boy with me,’ Ryan said. ‘I know you have your own money.’

  ‘You like this?’ Diederick held out his arms to the side, showing off his tight black crewneck sweater as he swayed one way and then the other. ‘I am pretty, aren’t I? You like that, don’t you? Come on, it’s OK. I won’t tell Margie you’re having sinful thoughts about me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ Ryan replied very sarcastically. ‘If I was a chick, I’d do you.’

  ‘Sorry, buddy,’ the man said, dismissing him. ‘I love the chatz.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ Ryan drawled, pushing open his door then stepping inside.

  ‘It means ladies,’ Diederick yelled.

  ‘Whatever you need to tell yourself.’ Ryan shut the door, chuckling.

  Even though his apartment was empty, it was comforting knowing that the others were in his building. Still, there was a nagging ache as he walked across the wooden slats of his floor. Faint, yet always there, it wound through him from his chest, a dull constant reminder of the life he didn’t have. It started the day his parents died and remained with him. He wanted the feeling of family back. He wanted noise in the house.

  Seeing Megan’s picture on his worn coffee table, lying in a stack of artistic photos he’d left there, he frowned. Automatically, he looked towards his bedroom door where another one would be on his nightstand. Maybe it was obsession. But Kat assured him he wasn’t overstepping any bounds and, in fact, she wanted him to do more, to be bolder, to risk it all.