Read Online Overseas by Beatriz Williams - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beatriz Williams
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going to
die
, Kate, I assure you.” He met my eyes and drew in a heavy breath. “All right. I’ll call 911 and leave a tip.”
“We have to stay. We can’t just walk away. It’s, like, a
crime
scene. Sort of.”
His knuckles rested on his hips. I could feel his frown, though I couldn’t quite make it out in the gloaming. He looked at the body on the pavement, and then turned back to enclose me in a long silent stare. “Fine. But it’s going to get messy. You’ll have to give a statement, maybe appear in court. He’ll probably sue me, once he knows who I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Not your fault. I can afford a lawyer, for God’s sake.” He drew out a phone from the pocket of his running shorts and punched the keypad. “I suppose it’s the right thing, anyway,” he said. “Not that he deserves it, mind you.”
I felt my muscles begin to tremble now, breaking past my determination to stay calm. I wrapped my arms around my middle. Julian was talking on the phone, rapid and calm, facing the prone man, but he saw my movement peripherally and his eyes flicked over to me. He reached out his left arm and drew me in. “She seems all right,” he was saying, “but she’s beginning to go into shock. I’m trying to keep her warm. Yes. All right. Two minutes. Thanks very much.”
He slid the phone back into his shorts and put his other arm around me. “They’ll be here shortly. Try to breathe slowly.”
“Really, I’m okay,” I insisted, forcing down a sob. I’d never had hysterics, and I wasn’t going to start now, with Julian Laurence holding me in his arms. His thick heather-gray T-shirt felt soft against my face, slightly damp with sweat; his chest radiated with lovely heat. “So how did you happen to be out running just now?” I demanded.
“Ruddy good luck, I suppose,” he said.
I turned that over for a few seconds, and then something occurred to me.
“And where did you learn to punch like that?”
“Hmm. University.”
“They teach
boxing
at college in England?”
“The sweet science. Feeling better?” His arms began to ease.
“Yes, a little. What if he wakes up?”
“Don’t worry,” he said darkly, and I shut up. I could hear a siren now, at the outer fringes of my hearing.
“I guess this isn’t the right time to talk…” I began.
“Hush,” he said, running his palms along my back. The siren was getting louder. “We’ll talk later.”
T HE POLICE TOOK ONE LOOK at the situation—my scrapes and bruises, the groaning figure on the pavement, our forthright explanations, Julian’s knuckles—and didn’t give us much trouble, beyond taking down our statements and names and addresses. They’re pretty smart, the NYPD. They can tell the good guys from the bad.
Still, it was late when I got back to my apartment. One of the policemen gave us a ride to the East Side in his cruiser, and dropped me off first.
“You’re really all right?” Julian asked, as I put my hand on the door handle.
“Nothing a little Neosporin can’t cure,” I promised. “Um, thanks, by the way. I’ve never been rescued before.”
“I could have lived without it.”
“Of course. Bad joke.” I hesitated. “Sorry about the trouble. I mean, I really am.”
His voice went soft. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and paused. “Take care.”
Was that it?
Take
care?
“You too,” I said, and got out of the cruiser. It sped off down Seventy-ninthStreet and turned right on Lexington, down the five short blocks to Julian’s house.
P HONE . P HONE RINGING . I scrabbled at my bedside table for my BlackBerry and pressed the green button. “Hello?”
The ringing kept on going. Must be the landline.
I rolled out of bed and squinted at the clock. Six-thirty in the morning. Who the hell could it be? I couldn’t even think straight. Where
was
the phone? Somewhere in the living room, right? We almost never used it.
I found it at last. “Hello?” I mumbled.
“Is
die
, Kate, I assure you.” He met my eyes and drew in a heavy breath. “All right. I’ll call 911 and leave a tip.”
“We have to stay. We can’t just walk away. It’s, like, a
crime
scene. Sort of.”
His knuckles rested on his hips. I could feel his frown, though I couldn’t quite make it out in the gloaming. He looked at the body on the pavement, and then turned back to enclose me in a long silent stare. “Fine. But it’s going to get messy. You’ll have to give a statement, maybe appear in court. He’ll probably sue me, once he knows who I am.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry. Not your fault. I can afford a lawyer, for God’s sake.” He drew out a phone from the pocket of his running shorts and punched the keypad. “I suppose it’s the right thing, anyway,” he said. “Not that he deserves it, mind you.”
I felt my muscles begin to tremble now, breaking past my determination to stay calm. I wrapped my arms around my middle. Julian was talking on the phone, rapid and calm, facing the prone man, but he saw my movement peripherally and his eyes flicked over to me. He reached out his left arm and drew me in. “She seems all right,” he was saying, “but she’s beginning to go into shock. I’m trying to keep her warm. Yes. All right. Two minutes. Thanks very much.”
He slid the phone back into his shorts and put his other arm around me. “They’ll be here shortly. Try to breathe slowly.”
“Really, I’m okay,” I insisted, forcing down a sob. I’d never had hysterics, and I wasn’t going to start now, with Julian Laurence holding me in his arms. His thick heather-gray T-shirt felt soft against my face, slightly damp with sweat; his chest radiated with lovely heat. “So how did you happen to be out running just now?” I demanded.
“Ruddy good luck, I suppose,” he said.
I turned that over for a few seconds, and then something occurred to me.
“And where did you learn to punch like that?”
“Hmm. University.”
“They teach
boxing
at college in England?”
“The sweet science. Feeling better?” His arms began to ease.
“Yes, a little. What if he wakes up?”
“Don’t worry,” he said darkly, and I shut up. I could hear a siren now, at the outer fringes of my hearing.
“I guess this isn’t the right time to talk…” I began.
“Hush,” he said, running his palms along my back. The siren was getting louder. “We’ll talk later.”
T HE POLICE TOOK ONE LOOK at the situation—my scrapes and bruises, the groaning figure on the pavement, our forthright explanations, Julian’s knuckles—and didn’t give us much trouble, beyond taking down our statements and names and addresses. They’re pretty smart, the NYPD. They can tell the good guys from the bad.
Still, it was late when I got back to my apartment. One of the policemen gave us a ride to the East Side in his cruiser, and dropped me off first.
“You’re really all right?” Julian asked, as I put my hand on the door handle.
“Nothing a little Neosporin can’t cure,” I promised. “Um, thanks, by the way. I’ve never been rescued before.”
“I could have lived without it.”
“Of course. Bad joke.” I hesitated. “Sorry about the trouble. I mean, I really am.”
His voice went soft. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, and paused. “Take care.”
Was that it?
Take
care?
“You too,” I said, and got out of the cruiser. It sped off down Seventy-ninthStreet and turned right on Lexington, down the five short blocks to Julian’s house.
P HONE . P HONE RINGING . I scrabbled at my bedside table for my BlackBerry and pressed the green button. “Hello?”
The ringing kept on going. Must be the landline.
I rolled out of bed and squinted at the clock. Six-thirty in the morning. Who the hell could it be? I couldn’t even think straight. Where
was
the phone? Somewhere in the living room, right? We almost never used it.
I found it at last. “Hello?” I mumbled.
“Is
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