After Hello Read online

  “I’ll say. On all counts.” She fell silent for a moment as they reached another intersection.

  Luckily, the light was green so he didn’t have to wait. He’d never been late on a delivery yet, and today was not the day to start. He stuttered his steps so his pace was in sync with Sara’s. Right, left. Right, left. It kept their arms from bumping into each other. It kept the distance manageable.

  “You keep looking up like you’re afraid the buildings are going to fall on you. That’s how I know you’re new to the city. And the camera is an obvious clue that you want to remember your visit here, but it’s also how I know you appreciate beauty. A camera of that quality means you are serious about your pictures; you have an artist’s eye. And the fact that you followed me—and talked to me—and are still walking with me—means that you’re stubborn.”

  “And brave,” she reminded him. “Or crazy,” she muttered under her breath.

  He didn’t think he was supposed to hear that.

  “So can you teach me?” she asked, tilting her head up at him. She wasn’t short by any means, but she still wasn’t as tall as he was. “To look? And see?”

  “You already know how.”

  “No, I don’t. Not like that.”

  He raised an eyebrow, a half question, half challenge. “Then why did you take my picture?”

  Chapter 3

  Sara

  Good question. Why had I taken his picture? I paused, my hand cradling the camera again. “Because it felt like the right thing to do,” I admitted in an unexpectedly soft voice.

  “And do you always do what feels right—or what is actually right?”

  “What does that mean?” I bristled. I had been raised to believe that when your feelings led you toward something good, then it was best to follow them. And although taking Sam’s picture might have been impulsive, I didn’t think it was a bad thing.

  Sam fidgeted with the strap of his bag while he walked. “I’m sorry if that sounded confrontational. All I meant was that sometimes it’s hard to tell what the right thing to do is. Take this situation, for example. You tagging along with me while I do my job probably isn’t the smartest thing either one of us has done, yet—” He hesitated, his eyes focused forward. “Yet it feels right.”

  I matched my pace to his. I knew how he felt. This moment, this meeting, did feel right. Somehow just knowing the name of another person in this big city had made me feel a part of it. And Sam seemed nice enough. He hadn’t tried to kidnap me or steal from me. He hadn’t demanded I leave him alone. In fact, he’d invited me along, and I felt like he’d attempted to make me feel comfortable walking next to him by allowing me some space and keeping our pace even.

  “So what’s your job?” I asked.

  His hand drifted down to the body of his messenger bag. “I find things for people.”

  “You look a little young to be a PI. And a little scrawny to work in repo.”

  He shook his head. “I’m freelance.”

  “So who do you work for now?”

  “Right now I’m finding something for my brother. His boss is . . . specific about certain things, and when Paul can’t find them on his own, he asks me to help.”

  “He makes you work on Saturday?”

  “I work when there’s work to do.”

  “You don’t go to school?”

  “Graduated early,” he said, his words clipped.

  “Lucky.” I blew out my breath, ruffling the hair above my eyes. “I still have one more year.”

  We crossed a street, angling past a newsstand. “So the book in your bag is for his boss?” I asked.

  “How did you know—?” he started, the faintest sound of panic in his voice.

  “I saw you with it.” He wasn’t the only one who could be observant. I lifted my arm, my camera dangling from the wrist strap. “I stole your soul outside the bookstore, remember? I love books; which one did you buy? Maybe I’ve read it.”

  He glanced at me. “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  “Won’t.” Sam didn’t look at me.

  “Oh, so it’s one of those kinds of books,” I teased.

  Red touched his cheeks. “No, it’s not.”

  “Then why can’t—won’t—you tell me? It’s just a book.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said again, more firmly this time.

  With that, my curiosity was caught. A book that was more than a book? A secret pickup for a mysterious client? And we were en route to deliver it. The sweet burn of excitement filled my belly, and I grinned. Today was going to be a good day after all.

  When Sam didn’t say anything else, I said breezily, “No, no, attorney-client privilege, I get it.”

  He sighed. “I take my job very seriously. People need things; I find things. But need is something that is private—personal. If you knew what I’d found for this person, then you’d know something about them. You’d know something about what they needed. And what my brother’s boss needs more than anything at the moment is privacy.”

  We walked a few more steps together.

  “What kinds of things do you find?” I asked.

  “I can find anything.” He said this rather matter-of-factly. Not a boast or a brag. Just the simple truth.

  “Just books?” I asked.

  Sam shook his head. “This was a rare request.”

  The sky above us was a cloudless blue, bright and hot. “What was the strangest request you’ve had? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking. If it’s not confidential.”

  He gave me a slow smile. “That’s easy. I once tracked down an honest-to-goodness pirate treasure map.”

  “Like with ‘X marks the spot’ and everything?”

  He nodded. “It even said ‘Here there be dragons’ in the margins of the oceans.”

  “No. Way.”

  “Way.”

  “Where did you find it? Who wanted it? A pirate map—” My voice trailed off into the high-pitched squeak it hit whenever I was excited about something.

  Sam laughed, but not to mock me. “Would you believe me if I said I found it at the pirate treasure map store and bought it for Long John Silver?”

  I laughed back. “Not a chance.”

  “Okay, okay. Here’s the story. I was in SoHo on a job for my brother when I stumbled onto a movie set.”

  “Which movie?”

  Sam waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I saw a former client of mine working as an extra in the scene. During a break, he came over and told me that Vanessa was finally ready to trade.”

  “Who’s Vanessa?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

  I didn’t apologize. “I like knowing the answers.”

  Sam looked at me straight on, his dark brown eyes searching mine, searching me. The hairs on my arm shivered to attention. A warm wave shifted inside me under his scrutiny. He tilted his head so slightly I almost missed it—a gesture of acknowledgment and acceptance.

  When he looked away, I felt like he had plucked an important bit of information out of my mind and filed it away for future reference.

  Oddly enough, I didn’t mind.

  “So who’s Vanessa?” I repeated when the silence between us had stretched almost to the point of being uncomfortable.

  “Vanessa is a Creole voodoo priestess. She has an art studio in SoHo, where she lives.”

  I stopped walking. “She’s a what, now?”

  Sam didn’t stop with me. Instead he turned on his heel and walked backward. “She’s from New Orleans, originally, but she moved here four or five years ago. Tired of battling hurricanes, she said.”

  I closed the distance, my mouth hanging open in surprise.

  “A voodoo priestess,” I repeated. “Like in zombies and black magic and stuff?”

  “No, actually, nothing like that at all.” Sam looked at me again as though reconsidering where to put me in the filing system in his head. “You really don’t get out
much, do you?”

  “You’re the one who noticed this is my first time in the city.”

  “Where are you from, anyway?”

  “Don’t change the subject. I want to hear the rest of the story.”

  “And I want to hear about you,” he said. From anyone else, that might have sounded like a bad pickup line, but all I sensed from Sam was genuine interest. I couldn’t tell if the flutter I felt was flattery or disbelief.

  “No, you don’t. Trust me, Vanessa the voodoo priestess is a lot more exciting than I am.”

  “Trade you for it,” Sam said, a shaded gleam in his brown eyes. Even walking backwards, he managed to avoid bumping into people, exhibiting a natural grace and instinct.

  “Trade me for what?”

  “Your story for Vanessa’s story—and the story of the pirate map.”

  “I don’t have a story.”

  “Sure you do. Everyone does.”

  “Mine is lame.”

  Sam shrugged. “You’ll never know that if you don’t tell it. Maybe Vanessa’s story is the lame one and yours is the one filled with zombies and black magic and stuff.”

  I laughed. “I doubt that. I don’t even like zombies.”

  “But you do like pirates. And stories about their treasure maps.” He raised an eyebrow as though daring me to contradict him.

  “Everyone likes pirates.”

  “Law-abiding sailors don’t.”

  I mulled that over. “True,” I granted. “But law-abiding sailors don’t bury treasure, either.”

  “You might be surprised,” Sam said.

  “I’m still not sure a story for a story is a fair trade.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s totally a fair trade. It’s the very definition of a fair trade.”

  “Sorry, not interested. Try again.”

  He stopped in the shadow of an enormous, beautiful gray building. The roof was a light shade of green. Flags snapped above us in the breeze. “How’s this: I’ll finish telling you the story of Vanessa and the pirates, and, in exchange, you let me buy you lunch.”

  Chapter 4

  Sam

  Her face turned a dusky pink color. She shifted her weight on her feet and hooked a strand of long, blondish-brown hair behind her ear. “Oh, I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “You won’t be.”

  Sam saw her eyebrows start to twitch up and answered before she could say anything.

  “You aren’t letting me do anything. It’s a trade, remember?”

  “But I thought you wanted a fair trade. What do you get out of it?”

  He shrugged. “Lunch. And some company.” And a chance to find out more about you, he thought.

  Still she hesitated. He wasn’t used to that. Usually when he offered something, the girl said yes right away.

  “It’s almost one—past lunch, but not by much. And I’m willing to bet that, even if you had breakfast this morning, you’re probably hungry by now.”

  She pressed her hand to her stomach as though afraid he had heard the growl, which he had. “Okay, I guess,” she said. “Deal.”

  “Good,” Sam said and turned immediately toward the building’s doors.

  A doorman in a long burgundy coat and white gloves sprang into action, smoothly opening the door and nodding them inside.

  “Wait—we’re having lunch here?” Sara’s voice cracked on the last word.

  “Welcome to the Plaza Hotel,” the doorman said as Sam led the way into the opulent lobby.

  “Business first, then lunch,” Sam said. “I told my brother I’d meet him here at one.”

  Sara tugged at the hem of her dark red T-shirt and hurriedly ran her fingers through her hair.

  Sam cut diagonally across the lobby, bypassing the check-in counter with a single wave to the afternoon manager and heading directly for the gleaming concierge desk in the corner. Will was on duty, talking to an elderly couple and looking none too happy about it.

  “Are you sure we can’t just walk to the Statue of Liberty?” the man was asking Will.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Will said in the tone of a man who had said it more than once already. “Considering it’s on an island. Like I said, the fastest way would be to take the A train south to—”

  “Oh, the subway?” the woman said, placing her hand on her husband’s arm. They were wearing matching I Heart NY shirts. “I don’t know about that—”

  “Then perhaps you’d like me to call a taxi for you?” Will suggested, a strain appearing in his smile.

  “A taxi would be terribly expensive, though, wouldn’t it?” the woman said, pulling her purse closer to her chest.

  Will looked up as Sam approached, his nod acknowledging an equal, but his eyes begging for help.

  Sam reached into his bag and pulled out a pamphlet. He stepped up to the side of the counter. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said, flashing a white smile, “but have you seen the Panorama yet?” He set the pamphlet down and slid it a fraction of an inch closer to the tourists. “It’s a little out of the way, but it’s a wonderful place to visit if you want to see the whole city all at once. There is a perfect reconstruction of the entire island—but done in miniature. You can see everything from uptown to the Statue of Liberty. You’ll never look at New York the same way again.”

  The man picked up the slick white flyer, flipped it over, and raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. “There’s a half-off coupon, too.” He handed it to his wife. “What do you think, sweetie?”

  “I think it’s exactly what we were looking for.” She gave Will a pointed glare, then reached over and squeezed Sam’s arm. “Thank you for the recommendation, dear.”

  The couple left, heads together, planning out their afternoon.

  Will leaned his elbows on the counter and dropped his head in his hands. “Shoot me, Sam. I’m begging you, just shoot me.”

  “Can’t today, Will, sorry.” Sam drummed his fingers absently against the marble countertop.

  Will groaned and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Tourists,” he spat. “They couldn’t make up their minds what they wanted to do—sightsee, go eat, catch a show—and every suggestion I made, they shot down. You heard them—it was like that for hours. This is New York, for crying out loud. There are a thousand things to do—pick one!”

  “At least they left happy,” Sam said.

  “Thanks to you.” Will straightened up, peering at Sam through narrow eyes. “The Panorama? Isn’t that in Queens?”

  Sam shrugged. “I bet the cab fare there is still cheaper than it is to Battery Park. Besides, it’s an amazing sight. You should go sometime. I learned about it from a friend of a friend of . . .”

  “A friend,” Will finished. “Yeah, I know. You never divulge your sources.”

  “If I did, I’d be out of a job.”

  Will grimaced. “You could always have mine.”

  Sam laughed. “And direct tourists to the Statue of Liberty every day? No, thanks.”

  “Some friend you are. And speaking of friends,” Will started, his attention sliding from Sam to Sara, a wicked curiosity gleaming in his blue eyes.

  “Will, this is Sara without the h. She’s a tourist, but don’t hold that against her. Sara, this is Will. He’s quite the ladies’ man—or so he thinks—and you should totally hold that against him.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Sara said, holding out her hand for Will to shake.

  Will did more than that, his fingers lingering on her wrist, his professional smile softening into a grin. His shoulders slouched forward into an assumed intimacy.

  The ornate grandfather clock in the lobby chimed the hour and Sam pushed away from the counter, deftly extracting Sara’s hand from Will’s and angling his shoulder between them.

  “And that’s my cue.” He turned toward a set of elevator doors hidden in the wall. “Don’t want to be late.”

  Will gestured with a sweep of his arm. “Be my guest. Though, a word of advice? Be car
eful. She’s been on the warpath all day. Rumor has it that she made Rebecca cry—twice.”

  “I’m always careful,” Sam said. He stepped forward, Sara right behind him, when Will cleared his throat almost apologetically.

  “C’mon, Sam, you know the rules. No one goes upstairs unless they’re on the list.”

  Sam turned back to the counter. “But she is on the list.”

  Will raised one eyebrow and held out a clipboard.

  Sam took the board, grabbed a pen from Will’s desk, and wrote IOU One Free Favor. “See. She’s right here—Sara.” He handed the clipboard back to Will. “Without the h.”

  Will squinted at the paper. “Hmm, I can’t quite make out her last name . . .”

  Grabbing the clipboard, Sam crossed out one and wrote in two. “Happy?”

  “Extremely. Have fun. And good luck.” Will slid his ID card through a scanner and the elevator doors opened with an austere chime.

  Sam stepped inside, pulling Sara in with him. There was only one button on the panel, which Sam pushed.

  The doors closed and the elevator ascended silently toward the top floor. “Stay with me. And once we get off the elevator, don’t talk to anyone.”

  Sara’s green eyes revealed a mix of nervousness and excitement.

  He leaned closer and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” He tried to ignore the warmth of her fingers against his, but not very hard.

  Chapter 5

  Sara

  Silence filled the elevator. I couldn’t even really hear the hum of the machinery as the cables pulled us upward. Of course, the beating of my heart sounded like thunder in my ears, so that could have caused some of my sudden deafness.

  He was holding my hand. I was afraid to move too much in case he realized his mistake and stepped away from me.

  No sweaty palms. No sweaty palms, I prayed, concentrating on keeping my hands as cool and dry as the desert. As if I had any control over that. But I had to try—he was holding my hand.

  A nervous feeling skittered up and down the back of my throat, tasting like questions. Why was he holding my hand? Was it an accident? Had he forgotten? Did he expect something from me? How come no one had ever told me how exhilarating it could be to suddenly be holding hands with a strange boy?