placed the
ring back in the box and snapped it closed. Katrina didn’t miss the pained
expression that flickered across his face as he did so. “It’s no big deal.
Something smells good in here.”
Katrina’s eyes widened as she
remembered the bacon still sputtering and popping on the stove. She turned and
reached for the pan, moving it from the lit range before her perfectly crispy
bacon turned into burnt, un-chewable swill. Just before she could let go, bacon
grease spattered up and out of the pan, landing on the inside of her arm.
“Shit!” she spat as pain spread
across her skin like fire. A red blister was already forming where the grease
had gotten her. Lyle was behind her before she could turn around, one hand
extended toward hers. Katrina placed her hand in his sheepishly and blushed as
he turned her arm over to inspect the small burn on her wrist. “I promise you,
I’m not always so accident prone.”
“Last night definitely was not an
accident,” he said, as he turned on the faucet and held her wrist under the
cool stream. She sighed in relief as the cold water made contact with her
burning skin. “I wish you’d reconsider calling the police.”
Katrina resisted the urge to
laugh. Going to the police on one of the Pirelli’s thugs would be a waste of
time. Never mind the fact that she could barely remember his face well enough
to give a description; this was New York and there were muggers aplenty. The
NYPD would sweep her case under the rug they way they did all petty crimes in
which there were no possible suspects or leads. There were just too many
criminals and not enough dedicated cops.
“I’m sure he learned his lesson
after you knocked him senseless last night,” she said instead with a
noncommittal shrug. “I don’t think he’ll be attacking anymore innocent women.”
Lyle frowned as if he wanted to
argue, but didn’t. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said, gesturing toward the
spread on the counter with his free hand. “You took a pretty nasty blow to the
head last night. You should be resting.”
Katrina shrugged and took her arm
back, drying it with a paper towel. “All better,” she said with forced cheer,
even though her skin was still smoldering. An ugly blister was starting to form
in the middle of the angry red circle. Lyle reached into one of the kitchen’s
many drawers before offering her a tube of burn cream and a Band-Aid.
“You very likely saved my life
last night,” she said with a shrug as she slathered the burn with the ointment
before covering it with the bandage. “Scrambled eggs are nothing compared to
that.”
“It’s a nice morning out,” he
said, reaching up into a cabinet and coming down with a wicker tray. “I like to
eat out on the patio on days like this. If you think you can manage the stairs,
of course.”
Katrina managed a little smile as
she lifted the two coffee mugs and set them on the tray between the two plates,
her hand brushing his as he swooped in with sugar and cream. “I think I can
handle stairs. That sounds great.”
Once the tray was loaded, Lyle
took it and gestured toward the staircase leading up to the second floor.
“Right this way.”
She followed Lyle up to the
second floor. It was mostly one large, open room. A set of work-out machinery
and weights took up one corner of the large room, which was lined with mirrors.
A sound system rested near the equipment, and a large, flat-screen T.V. was
mounted on the wall in plain view of the little home gym. In the middle of the room
was a pool, the bottom of which was glass. Through it, she could see through to
the bottom of the first floor. Above them was a vaulted ceiling with a skylight
that let in a great deal of warmth and light. Another large, picture
window—much like the one downstairs—offered a spectacular view of
the city.
Lyle gestured to a sliding glass
door just to the right of the picture window, which she opened to find the
patio. It was large, jutting
ring back in the box and snapped it closed. Katrina didn’t miss the pained
expression that flickered across his face as he did so. “It’s no big deal.
Something smells good in here.”
Katrina’s eyes widened as she
remembered the bacon still sputtering and popping on the stove. She turned and
reached for the pan, moving it from the lit range before her perfectly crispy
bacon turned into burnt, un-chewable swill. Just before she could let go, bacon
grease spattered up and out of the pan, landing on the inside of her arm.
“Shit!” she spat as pain spread
across her skin like fire. A red blister was already forming where the grease
had gotten her. Lyle was behind her before she could turn around, one hand
extended toward hers. Katrina placed her hand in his sheepishly and blushed as
he turned her arm over to inspect the small burn on her wrist. “I promise you,
I’m not always so accident prone.”
“Last night definitely was not an
accident,” he said, as he turned on the faucet and held her wrist under the
cool stream. She sighed in relief as the cold water made contact with her
burning skin. “I wish you’d reconsider calling the police.”
Katrina resisted the urge to
laugh. Going to the police on one of the Pirelli’s thugs would be a waste of
time. Never mind the fact that she could barely remember his face well enough
to give a description; this was New York and there were muggers aplenty. The
NYPD would sweep her case under the rug they way they did all petty crimes in
which there were no possible suspects or leads. There were just too many
criminals and not enough dedicated cops.
“I’m sure he learned his lesson
after you knocked him senseless last night,” she said instead with a
noncommittal shrug. “I don’t think he’ll be attacking anymore innocent women.”
Lyle frowned as if he wanted to
argue, but didn’t. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said, gesturing toward the
spread on the counter with his free hand. “You took a pretty nasty blow to the
head last night. You should be resting.”
Katrina shrugged and took her arm
back, drying it with a paper towel. “All better,” she said with forced cheer,
even though her skin was still smoldering. An ugly blister was starting to form
in the middle of the angry red circle. Lyle reached into one of the kitchen’s
many drawers before offering her a tube of burn cream and a Band-Aid.
“You very likely saved my life
last night,” she said with a shrug as she slathered the burn with the ointment
before covering it with the bandage. “Scrambled eggs are nothing compared to
that.”
“It’s a nice morning out,” he
said, reaching up into a cabinet and coming down with a wicker tray. “I like to
eat out on the patio on days like this. If you think you can manage the stairs,
of course.”
Katrina managed a little smile as
she lifted the two coffee mugs and set them on the tray between the two plates,
her hand brushing his as he swooped in with sugar and cream. “I think I can
handle stairs. That sounds great.”
Once the tray was loaded, Lyle
took it and gestured toward the staircase leading up to the second floor.
“Right this way.”
She followed Lyle up to the
second floor. It was mostly one large, open room. A set of work-out machinery
and weights took up one corner of the large room, which was lined with mirrors.
A sound system rested near the equipment, and a large, flat-screen T.V. was
mounted on the wall in plain view of the little home gym. In the middle of the room
was a pool, the bottom of which was glass. Through it, she could see through to
the bottom of the first floor. Above them was a vaulted ceiling with a skylight
that let in a great deal of warmth and light. Another large, picture
window—much like the one downstairs—offered a spectacular view of
the city.
Lyle gestured to a sliding glass
door just to the right of the picture window, which she opened to find the
patio. It was large, jutting
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