Read Online Queens Ransom (Sofie Metropolis) by Tori Carrington - Free Book Online
Authors: Tori Carrington
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fast becoming Astoria’s most popular, which was saying a lot because the borough boasted some awesome bakeries.
And he was hot.
And brought me chocolate tortes.
And ate them off of me.
I bit on my straw, reminding myself I’d determined to put the personal connection aside.
Problem was, that connection was oh so good. Despite his recent favorite topic of conversation: all things commitment.
It wasn’t all that long ago that I’d nearly stood in front of an altar with somebody else. The future? Held no altars at all. Hell, the word altar was no longer a part of my vocabulary.
No matter how hot the sex.
The CIS agent picked up on the third ring. ‘Hunter.’
I snapped upright and tried to focus. ‘Hi, Agent Hunter. Sofie Metropolis here.’
‘Ah, yes. Hello, Sofie. Please, call me David.’
I sat for a moment squinting at the air in front of me.
Not for the first time, I wondered if I knew him from somewhere. He was maybe five years older than me and I was sure we hadn’t, but the almost . . . too friendly way he spoke to me left me thinking some kind of groundwork must have been laid. Because I certainly hadn’t been friendly. If anything, I’d been rude, looking for answers that seemed to be very hard in coming.
Don’t get me wrong. David Hunter was good looking. No, he was hot. At around six foot three, with dark red hair and the bluest of blue eyes, he looked more Wall Street than CIS material. And he had a grin that . . .
I blinked. Was I really inviting romantic thoughts of another man when I already had my hands full of a mess caused by two others? Never mind that just a moment ago I was revisiting the chocolate torte experience.
‘Thanks for getting back to me so fast,’ he said. ‘I got some information on Dino Antonopolous’ case.’
‘Good,’ I said, proud I didn’t say what I wanted to, which was, ‘It’s about time.’
‘I was hoping we could meet for lunch to discuss it.’
I squinted harder.
Lunch?
Since when did CIS agents invite anyone out to lunch to discuss a case?
‘Sure,’ I found myself saying, and then also found myself squinting at myself.
OK, this was getting weird.
‘Great. How about Stamatis at noon?’
‘Twelve thirty. And which one?’
‘The original one. Date.’
He hung up after saying he’d see me then. I wasn’t sure I responded. Probably because my eyes had closed altogether at his choice of words.
Had I really just scheduled a date in the middle of everything going on?
No. I was meeting with the CIS agent who would finally tell me why Dino had been deported.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I ordered another frappé, took my notes out and then stared through the front windows at Broadway beyond.
Weird. Just plain weird.
I paid for the second frappé and slowly sipped, thinking about Sara Canton in that dingy apartment, her gun-happy brother casually pointing his shotgun in my direction. I checked my notes. A late-model BMW was spotted picking up little Jolie from school . . . a car so similar to the one driven by the nanny it hadn’t been given a second glance. Until the nanny arrived late at the school after encountering not one but two flat tires to find the girl had already been taken.
I absent-mindedly scratched the back of my neck, thinking again of that apartment and of the rental house I visited the night before. Yes, while I’m certain you can rent such high-end vehicles, I could only imagine what the cost was. And the flat tires indicated there were at least two involved. Or one very fast worker.
Sara and her brother were two. But did they have the resources to rent a BMW?
And if they did, where had the girl been while they were at the apartment?
I was pretty sure she hadn’t been in there with them. Sara would never have let me if she had. And her brother would never have let me out.
I considered the street outside again, watching as a dark Crown Vic cruised slowly by outside the cafe.
It caught me up short.
Nah . . .
And he was hot.
And brought me chocolate tortes.
And ate them off of me.
I bit on my straw, reminding myself I’d determined to put the personal connection aside.
Problem was, that connection was oh so good. Despite his recent favorite topic of conversation: all things commitment.
It wasn’t all that long ago that I’d nearly stood in front of an altar with somebody else. The future? Held no altars at all. Hell, the word altar was no longer a part of my vocabulary.
No matter how hot the sex.
The CIS agent picked up on the third ring. ‘Hunter.’
I snapped upright and tried to focus. ‘Hi, Agent Hunter. Sofie Metropolis here.’
‘Ah, yes. Hello, Sofie. Please, call me David.’
I sat for a moment squinting at the air in front of me.
Not for the first time, I wondered if I knew him from somewhere. He was maybe five years older than me and I was sure we hadn’t, but the almost . . . too friendly way he spoke to me left me thinking some kind of groundwork must have been laid. Because I certainly hadn’t been friendly. If anything, I’d been rude, looking for answers that seemed to be very hard in coming.
Don’t get me wrong. David Hunter was good looking. No, he was hot. At around six foot three, with dark red hair and the bluest of blue eyes, he looked more Wall Street than CIS material. And he had a grin that . . .
I blinked. Was I really inviting romantic thoughts of another man when I already had my hands full of a mess caused by two others? Never mind that just a moment ago I was revisiting the chocolate torte experience.
‘Thanks for getting back to me so fast,’ he said. ‘I got some information on Dino Antonopolous’ case.’
‘Good,’ I said, proud I didn’t say what I wanted to, which was, ‘It’s about time.’
‘I was hoping we could meet for lunch to discuss it.’
I squinted harder.
Lunch?
Since when did CIS agents invite anyone out to lunch to discuss a case?
‘Sure,’ I found myself saying, and then also found myself squinting at myself.
OK, this was getting weird.
‘Great. How about Stamatis at noon?’
‘Twelve thirty. And which one?’
‘The original one. Date.’
He hung up after saying he’d see me then. I wasn’t sure I responded. Probably because my eyes had closed altogether at his choice of words.
Had I really just scheduled a date in the middle of everything going on?
No. I was meeting with the CIS agent who would finally tell me why Dino had been deported.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I ordered another frappé, took my notes out and then stared through the front windows at Broadway beyond.
Weird. Just plain weird.
I paid for the second frappé and slowly sipped, thinking about Sara Canton in that dingy apartment, her gun-happy brother casually pointing his shotgun in my direction. I checked my notes. A late-model BMW was spotted picking up little Jolie from school . . . a car so similar to the one driven by the nanny it hadn’t been given a second glance. Until the nanny arrived late at the school after encountering not one but two flat tires to find the girl had already been taken.
I absent-mindedly scratched the back of my neck, thinking again of that apartment and of the rental house I visited the night before. Yes, while I’m certain you can rent such high-end vehicles, I could only imagine what the cost was. And the flat tires indicated there were at least two involved. Or one very fast worker.
Sara and her brother were two. But did they have the resources to rent a BMW?
And if they did, where had the girl been while they were at the apartment?
I was pretty sure she hadn’t been in there with them. Sara would never have let me if she had. And her brother would never have let me out.
I considered the street outside again, watching as a dark Crown Vic cruised slowly by outside the cafe.
It caught me up short.
Nah . . .
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