Beneath the Surface

by Cat Johnson

  Beneath the Surface

  Cat Johnson

  Rick Jones is on a mission and the answers he seeks may lie deep beneath the streets of New York within the secrets of Grand Central Terminal. While Rick goes both undercover and underground in search of clues, he encounters a woman he finds just as intriguing as the mystery he’s working to solve.

  Beth Cooke’s job as a conservation expert at the landmark train station gives Rick just the in he needs to explore areas otherwise off-limits to the public. He only hope Beth isn’t equally off-limits. Rick’s determined to both satisfy his desire for her and find the answers to his questions, but will Beth believe him when the truth is finally revealed?

  This story has been previously published. It has been reedited from the original version.

  “This is a touching story that will have readers eagerly reading to discover the secrets deep beneath the streets of New York.” Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies

  BENEATH THE SURFACE

  Cat Johnson

  Copyright 2012 by CAT JOHNSON

  License Statement

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Pussy was all right.

  Really, what heterosexual, red blooded American male didn’t appreciate a nice cunt? But right now, Rick would rather have a beer.

  Over the throbbing bass of the music, he couldn’t help but realize how sad that thought sounded in his head as the stripper on the stage in front of him bent from the waist and gave him a close up view of her assets. Yup, it was all out there on display for him, shaved clean as a whistle. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. Not even a G-string to pretend to hide what she openly showed.

  He never did understand why men liked looking at things they weren’t allowed to touch. If looking led to fucking then he was all for it, but that was not an option at the moment. Although another glance at the dancer made him realize he probably wouldn’t partake even if she offered it up to him right there on a silver platter.

  Besides that, Rick didn’t want to be in the spotlight. Not here, not tonight. He needed her to move her little show along now. He noticed the steroid pumped bruiser of a bouncer watching him closely from a dimly lit corner as he reached up and slid a single bill into the only garment she wore, a garter at her thigh. She wiggled her ass a few more times in his face as thanks for the tip. He looked on, appropriately appreciative, until she strutted her mile high heels and enormous high riding and definitely not God given tits over to the next lucky patron who waved some cash farther downstage.

  “Mmm, mmm. Would love to get me some of that.”

  Rick had smelled his informant long before he heard the familiar voice near his ear—the guy wore way too much cologne. Sipping casually at his soda while still wishing its bubbles contained hops and barley rather than sugar and caramel coloring, Rick didn’t bother turning around to speak to the man. He stayed facing forward. “Why don’t you ever want to meet at a titty bar that serves alcohol?”

  “Cause in the joints that serve liquor the girls aren’t totally nude.” The man said it as if that logic made all the sense in the world. “And this place has private back rooms where the right amount of cash will get you all the way into heaven.”

  That was debatable. Personally Rick would rather drink a brew than see some bush, and he wasn’t sure he would qualify what paraded in front of him as heaven, but to each his own. At least the other patrons seemed so enthralled with the show they didn’t pay much attention to the two of them as they pretended not to know each other. If his snitch came through with the information he hoped, the trip across the George Washington Bridge to this Godforsaken strip joint in Fort Lee, New Jersey would have been well worth it.

  The smell of liquor permeated Rick’s nostrils over the reek of Smitty the Snitch’s cologne. No wonder the guy didn’t care there was no alcoholic beverages served on the premises. He probably had a flask hidden in his cheap suit. Whatever. Rick didn’t plan on being here any longer than he had to, ever changing unclad female scenery or no. He watched as a new nude replaced the bush-less bleached blonde. This one a natural redhead, he assumed, since the carpet matched the drapes, so to speak. She had obviously left the small triangle of curls between her thighs to let patrons know and appreciate the fact she was a true redhead.

  Her hair color may be natural, but nothing else was. Rick spared a brief thought about how the local plastic surgeons must have made a small fortune on the girls in this place alone.

  His own personal Deep Throat took the empty seat to his right, his eyes never leaving the new girl on stage as he asked, “Do you got what I asked for?”

  Rick slipped the pack of cigarettes he’d bought on the way there out of his leather jacket and laid it next to his drink…make that soda. The snitch snatched it up and opened the lid, no doubt grinning when he saw the five twentydollar bills Rick had slid into the box. “This will get me what I want in the back room plus some. Thanks.”

  Keeping his eyes on the stage, Rick asked, “Do you have what I want?”

  If this sleaze was willing to turn over information that could get him killed on the streets for the price of a few lap dances and an illegal blow job, or more likely a quick fuck in the private back room with one of these girls, who was Rick to argue?

  “Yup. Sure do. You ready for this? You ain’t gonna believe it.”

  Rick was in no mood for this guy’s big build up or guessing games. “Try me.”

  “Grand Central.”

  That revelation halted the drink in Rick’s hand halfway to his mouth. He lowered the glass, set it down gently, and fought to not look at his informant. He hated not being able to look into someone’s eyes. It was the best gauge he had to tell if they were lying. Rick tried to keep the shock out of his voice when he asked, “Grand Central, as in the train station?”

  “Yup.”

  “You sure?” He risked one quick glance now and saw the guy grin and nod.

  “Mmm hmm. One hundred percent.”

  Jesus Christ. Fucking Grand Central Terminal in the middle of God damn Manhattan. Rick rose from his seat. “Thanks.”

  He had barely cleared the exit before he pulled his cell phone out and had the numbers punched in. His contact answered on the first ring. Rick dispensed with the pleasantries and cut right to the chase.

  “Grand. Central. Station.” He said the three words slowly and clearly, letting each one and the ramifications resonate across the cellular airwaves.

  “Ah, shit.”

  Exactly. Right under their damn fucking noses.

  Beth Cooke slowed her pace and, smiling, gazed up at the constellations.

  Every time she saw them, they took her breath away. Even now, years later. It didn’t matter how long ago she had been employed to conserve the crowning glory of this illustrious historical New York City monument, its beauty would never cease to affect her. The Sky Ceiling above the Main Concourse at Grand Central Terminal was the highlight of all the tourist attractions in the city in her opinion, and she couldn’t help but consider it hers. Her sweat, her patience, her time—years of it—had brought it back to life.

  Someone whacke
d into Beth’s shoulder hard, pulling her out of her reverie while knocking her bag off of her shoulder. Frowning, she turned to her left and saw one of the many blue suited, cookie cutter businessmen who frequented the train station Monday through Friday.

  “Tourist,” he mumbled as he whizzed past. Phone pressed to his ear and frown firmly in place, he shot her another less than friendly look and kept walking down the ramp to the subway, weaving in and out to avoid another collision as he passed everyone in his path.

  Beth laughed at his comment. She was far from a tourist. She’d been born and raised in the city, the daughter of one of New York’s finest, but the rude man was correct about one thing—aside from Beth herself, only tourists bothered to take note of the beauty right beneath their noses. Or in this case, above their heads.

  She caught sight of a small girl dressed for a big day in the city in what was obviously her best party frock, gazing gape mouthed as her mother squatted beside her and pointed up at the magnificent painted constellations. The scene reconfirmed Beth’s knowledge that all of the hours of painstaking cleaning and conservation of the terminal’s zodiac ceiling had been well worth it.

  Planting her large leather satchel firmly back onto her shoulder, Beth turned to head for the terminal’s administrative offices for another day of the work she loved…until she felt a strange sensation. Turning, she caught sight of a man near the information booth, a train schedule open in his hand, but his eyes on her. Caught staring, he smiled and dropped his gaze back to the schedule.

  She smiled herself, and felt her cheeks heat as she yanked her attention away. The interns she worked with were always teasing her about never having a date. Actually, more accurately, they teased her about never having sex—at least, not in recent memory. Kid nowadays had no boundaries. They’d talk about anything. Nothing was private or sacred anymore.

  They told he she would forget how to have sex from lack of practice. Ha! Apparently, judging from the man’s obvious interest, she still had it even if she hadn’t used it in a while. Just because she didn’t go out with and sleep with a different guy every weekend did not make her a prude. She was just focused on her career at the moment. She had plenty of time to go out and sow her wild oats. Right? After all, she would only be turning thirty-five next month.

  As she walked through the door of the offices and caught her two college Conservation and Preservation major interns in an obviously passionate embrace, she had to reconsider that thought. Suddenly, thirty-five sounded really old in her own head. It was almost forty. And after that, fifty would quickly follow, then sixty…

  Resigned, she cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

  They broke apart, looking more reluctant than guilty. Ahh, the exuberance of youth that can squelch shame plus so many other annoying little feelings that got in the way of enjoying life when you got older—such as Beth’s new and sudden fear that she really had become old before her time. Maybe they were correct. She did need to get some. And maybe she would as soon as she had handled the latest problem to pop up at work… If some other issue didn’t need her attention after that.

  “I need you two to give me an update on those ceiling tiles down by the restaurant. We need to determine if any of the cracks have gotten worse. If so, we’ll have to take measures to stabilize them. I’m hoping the damage I found initially was simply from the renovations of the Oyster Bar. If not, we have a big problem on our hands.”

  The task required only one person, but Beth knew better than to separate the two new lovebirds. They would only spend the whole time text messaging each other on their cell phones if they weren’t together.

  You can’t fight love, she supposed. Might as well roll with it. And they were working for free as part of their college classes, not that that was an excuse for a shoddy work ethic. She sighed. She did sound old. Next she would be telling them how back in her day there had been no such thing as text messaging.

  Robby, the male intern, grabbed the tools he would need to measure and record the information she requested. “Will you be doing the tour today?”

  Beth frowned. “Is it Wednesday?” She could have sworn it was only Tuesday.

  Lyssa, Robby’s female counterpart, laughed. “Yes, it’s Wednesday. Damn, Beth, you really have to get a life outside of work.”

  Beth could feel the creases in her forehead increase at that comment. Now that she was turning thirty-five, she would probably get wrinkles too. If she had a social life, or any prospects for one, she might consider getting Botox.

  “I’ll do the tour for you if you want,” Robby offered.

  Beth shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I’ll do it. I just didn’t realize it was today.” The weekly Municipal Arts Society tour for the tourists was actually the highlight of Beth’s workweek. Hers could be a lonely job, as evidenced by the years she had spent stuck alone on top of the scaffolding as she scrubbed the delicate, painted Sky Ceiling. The tour let her interact with actual living people besides just the two lovebird interns. It was a nice change.

  Robby grabbed Lyssa’s hand with his free one. “Lyssa’s right. You need to get out.”

  Lyssa nodded. “Hey. Maybe there will be some hot male tourist on your tour. Maybe he’ll ask you out for coffee or a drink afterward.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.” Although, she wouldn’t mind going out with the hottie in the leather jacket by the information booth giving her the eye before, but what were the chances he would still be hanging around in two hours?

  “Well, if that happens, you better bring him down to the Oyster Bar so Robby and I can have a look.” Lyssa looked way too excited about Beth’s nonexistent fantasy date.

  Beth shook her head. “It’s not going to happen, and besides, you and Robby better be finished down by the Oyster Bar by the time I’m done with the tour.”

  Damn, she did sound old.

  Chapter Two

  He should have been a bum.

  Bums faded into the woodwork. If people did notice the homeless population they passed daily, they pretended they didn’t see them. No one wanted to think there were those who had to do without right here in one of the most affluent cities in the world. It got in the way of the enjoyment of their own piggish material consumption. That’s it. His decision was made. Tomorrow, Rick would go undercover as a bum because dressed as he was and acting like a tourist, he was getting far too much attention today. Even the pretty little thing walking around with her head in the clouds that morning had noticed him, and she had gotten herself nearly mowed over a few times by commuters while staring up at the ceiling.

  Rick glanced up now. Something about the constellations painted on the ceiling didn’t look right to him but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Maybe he would figure out what was up later. He would be here for the rest of the day, observing, looking for something out of the ordinary, waiting for his gut to pick up on some tiny thing that his mind might not. If his snitch was correct, there was a hell of a lot more going on here than met the eye. He had already cruised through the tunnels of stores and restaurants—at least he wouldn’t starve with all the places to eat around there—but he had yet to come across any clue that Smitty had told him the truth.

  Now, he positioned himself once again by the information booth in the center of the Main Concourse. There was supposed to be a tour here every Wednesday at twelvethirty. It would be a good way for him to move around unnoticed and blend in with the rest of the tourists for an hour or so. Who knows? He might even enjoy it and possibly learn something.

  He glanced at the clock atop the booth, anxious to get this show on the road. The clock read twelvethirty, on the dot. A small crowd had already gathered. All they needed now was the volunteer from some artsy fartsy society to lead the tour so they could be on their way.

  Then he saw her again and she saw him—the ceiling gazing tourist from that morning who had caught his eye and had also caught him watching her. And the badge that hung from a lanyard around he
r neck read “Tour Guide”.

  Shit. The young thing who he’d assumed was an out of town visitor was the tour guide. The surprises never ceased. Now he really had to play sightseer before she blew the whistle that some suspicious looking character was hanging around Grand Central all damn day with nothing to do. He was so dressing like a bum tomorrow.

  But until then, Rick put on his most charming smile and decided he wouldn’t mind playing the traveler flirting with the pretty tour guide for now.

  He could tell the moment she spotted him. Walking fast, probably because she knew she was late, she literally stumbled to a stop when her huge ocean blue eyes met his. He smiled at her obvious nervousness when she smoothed the blonde hair pulled back and secured in a severe bun at the nape of her neck. She even blushed as she broke eye contact and turned to address the small group assembled for the tour.

  Rick listened carefully when she introduced herself as Beth.

  Bashful Beth the tour guide had piqued his interest, which struck him as odd since he didn’t usually go for her type. He liked them bolder…raunchier even. The kind of woman you could say the word “fuck” to without offending her and then proceed to do just that, good and hard. The kind you could get a little bit rough with and she would not only enjoy it, but scream for more.

  This woman—Beth—looked like she required a gentle touch and a slow hand. And he would bet good money that the word “fuck” had ever crossed her cupid bow lips. So why the hell was he picturing himself peeling the boring beige suit right off her slender body? He must be spending too much time at sleazy strip clubs with Smitty the Snitch lately. His taste had now swung the other way, toward the librarian type…sexy librarians with full pouty lips who blushed from a hard stare. He could only imagine what she would do if he presented her with something else hard. Mmm. Intriguing thought.

  He brought his attention away from those kinds of thoughts before his dick woke up any further. Rick listened more closely to the woman, suddenly very interested in what she had to say in that soft, gentle voice that would sound so nice crying out in his ear as she came.