Most Eligible Bachelors #1
HQN Books
August 2010
On Sale: July 27, 2010
Featuring: Lexie Davis; Sam Cooper
384 pages ISBN: 0373774540 EAN: 9780373774548 Mass Market Paperback Add to Wish List
Sam Cooper's stomach grumbled at the sight of the
blue-and-yellow umbrellas shading his favorite hot dog stand
from the blazing sun. Fresh from a boring press conference,
where the mayor and police commissioner had announced the
long-awaited wrap-up of a string of apartment burglaries on
the Upper West Side, Coop had his digital recorder in one
pocket and cash in another.
The aroma of New York's
finest hot dog had his mouth watering. "Hey, Dom. How's
business today?" he asked the owner.
"Can't complain.
Busy lunch crowd. Slow now but it'll pickup again during the
commute." The older man, tanned from his days outside,
lifted the metal lid, revealing Coop's belated lunch. "The
usual?"
Coop nodded. "The works. Actually make it
two. I haven't eaten since breakfast."
He glanced at
his watch. Nearly 3:00 p.m. Enough time for him to eat and
get his story in before heading home for the
day.
While Dom placed his hot dogs in their buns and
began loading them up, Coop glanced around his city. On a
hot August day like this one, few people wandered around
outside. The smart ones hightailed it out of town, heading
for the ritzy Hamptons or the Jersey Shore. Others holed up
inside, with their AC blasting.
Coop's favorite hot
dog stand was located on the corner of 47th Street and Park
Avenue. A people watcher by nature—part of what led him to
become a reporter, he supposed—Coop always studied the
stores and buildings in the vicinity, and the people
entering and exiting each.
As usual, the Vintage
Jewelers caught his eye. Unlike most of the upscale stores
in the area, it was rather ordinary. As if to compensate,
the window changed often, rotating gaudy, elaborate pieces
almost daily. Usually only women frequented the
establishment—no big surprise—but today a man wearing a
sweatshirt, hood over his head, stood
inside.
"Strange," Coop muttered. The heat from the
sun had him sweating in his shirt and the steam coming off
the sidewalk blistered the soles of his shoes.
"Dogs
are ready," Dom said, distracting Coop's
attention.
But not before Coop caught sight of what
looked like a gun in the man's hand. Coop's adrenaline
kicked in and he focused on the store. There were two
females behind the counter. If he barged in, he risked the
guy shooting someone.
Inside the store, the man
turned to leave.
Coop glanced at Dom. "Don't ask
questions, just call 9-1-1," he said as he grabbed the metal
lid off the cart and swerved back to face the
store.
As the man exited, Coop acted on instinct. He
stuck his foot out, tripping the guy before he could run.
The man staggered but regained his balance and straightened
up. Coop drew a deep breath and bashed the man in the head
with the aluminum hot dog cover. His hood must have
cushioned the blow or else the guy had a thick skull because
he struggled to stand up a second time. Coop swung harder
and the guy fell to the sidewalk, moaning in pain. The
jewels spilled from his pocket onto the
ground.
Before the other man could recover, Coop
grabbed the gun from inside his sweatshirt and waited for
the cops to arrive. His heart still beat hard, roaring in
his ears as the sirens alerted him to the arrival of the
police and the cops quickly relieved him. While one cuffed
the criminal and hauled him into their car, another took
Coop's statement.
As he replayed the events in his
head, Coop was almost glad his torn rotator cuff had forced
him to quit the police academy and he had a newfound respect
for his father and older brother, both career policemen.
Wouldn't they get a laugh when they heard about his
exploits. They'd rib him but good for trying to do their
job.
"Hey, Mac, are you finished grilling me?" From
his years working the crime beat, he was on a first-name
basis with many of the detectives and cops.
The other
man nodded. "We know where to find you. Go home and take it
easy. You've had a rough day."
Coop shook his head.
"I'm fine. I'll be at the office if you need me." At the
very least, he could make sure this story had the right
spin.
He turned to leave when two women came running
out of the jewelry store. "Wait," the older one called. "I
wanted to thank you!"
Coop strode toward the petite
brunette who would have been no match for the robber, with
or without his gun.
"I'm so grateful to you. Normally
my father would be in the store with me, but he's in Florida
for the weekend. That man loaded up his sweatshirt with
expensive items. You saved us a small fortune!"
Coop
shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with her gratitude.
"I was just in the right place at the right
time."
She shook her head. "Don't be modest! Most
people would have just walked away. I was in the store with
my fifteen-year-old daughter, so I handed over the items
because I didn't want her to get hurt.
You must come
inside. I insist on giving you a reward for your heroic
actions. I've already been to the bank, so I'm going to have
to offer you jewelry instead."
He shook his head once
more. "No reward necessary."
"Reward?" A female
television reporter Sam recognized shoved a microphone
between Sam and the shop owner's daughter. "Go on! I'd love
to get the exclusive on this for tonight's five o'clock
news!"
"You mean you'd mention our store by name?"
The store owner's eyes lit up at the idea.
The
reporter nodded. "We can even shoot inside as you give your
savior his reward."
Coop groaned. He recognized the
runaway train and fought to avoid the inevitable. "I can't
accept a reward. Like I told her, I just happened to be in
the right place at the right time."
The reporter
smoothed her hair, straightened her shoulders and motioned
to her camera crew. "Roll tape," she said, ignoring
him.
"This is Carolina Martinez, reporting from the
scene of a robbery in midtown Manhattan, with the reluctant
hero, crime beat reporter Sam Cooper, and the grateful store
owner who is just about to present him with a reward." She
glanced at her crew and said, "Cut!" before turning back to
the stunned store owner. "It's your show. What do you intend
to give him?" Carolina asked.
Coop found himself
dragged into the shop by the insistent reporter and the
store owner's daughter, followed by the camera crew. He
wanted to get the hell out of here, but the woman, whose
name he learned was Anna Burnett, had placed a tray of
antique jewelry in front of him. Meanwhile, Carolina and her
crew taped everything, leaving Coop with no choice but to go
along with Anna's plea that he choose an item for his
trouble.
Coop scanned the tray, looking for something
that appeared inexpensive and that he could take without
guilt.
"How about this watch?" Anna raised the
hammered gold men's timepiece, angled not for Coop but
toward the camera.
Coop shook his head. "I couldn't.
It looks too expensive and besides I don't wear
jewelry."
"Then how about a necklace or a ring for
your wife?" She lifted what appeared to be an emerald
necklace, showing it off with a wide smile for the
camera.
"Not married." Anymore. He forced a
smile.
"Something for your girlfriend
then!"
Before she could reach for something else,
Coop chose the ugliest, most gaudy ring in the bunch, hoping
it was also the least expensive. "I'll take
this."
"I'm so glad you've accepted a memento for
preventing our beloved store from being robbed. The ring is
beautiful and there are many more lovely items at the
Vintage Jewelers, located at 47th Street and Park Avenue."
She swept the inside of the store with her hand, hamming it
up as she took advantage of the free publicity.
Coop
stifled a chuckle, if only because the damn cameras were
still rolling. He waited for Carolina to yell,
"Cut!"
Then Coop pocketed the ring, thanked Anna and
Carolina, and got the hell out of the store before the
intrepid reporter decided she wanted to interview him as
well as humiliate him in front of the entire city.
A
reporter by day and an aspiring novelist in his private
time, even Coop couldn't have scripted anything like
today.
As Coop walked into the newsroom, a round of
applause greeted him, and his colleagues rose to their
feet.
Coop frowned, waving away their whistles and
comments, and headed for his desk. He lowered himself into
his seat and leaned back, relaxing for the first time all
day. He pulled the ring from his pocket and held the gaudy
piece up to examine it more closely.
"You aren't
going to see much in this dingy lighting." Amanda Nichols,
the features editor at the paper, propped a hip on his desk.
She leaned in for a better look at his ring and her long
blonde hair fell in curls around her shoulders.
Coop
liked Amanda. They'd had their moment, a brief fling after
Coop's divorce, but there'd been no serious spark for either
one of them. Luckily, she was the rare woman who could
separate sex from friendship and they'd been able to remain
on good terms ever since.
"It's ugly as sin, isn't
it?" he asked.
"Let me see." Amanda held out her hand
and he placed the ring in her palm.
Into glitz,
glamour and shopping, she enjoyed material things. Clothing,
jewelry, you name it—she knew its history.
She
narrowed her gaze and peered inside the ring. "Ugly by
today's standards, but by vintage ones, this is a
collector's dream. It's Trifari. Look at the insignia." She
drew his attention to the inside of the ring's shank,
pointing with her long, painted nails. "You picked yourself
a winner," she said, handing him back his reward.
"I
didn't want something valuable. I wanted something I
wouldn't feel guilty about taking," he said in
frustration.
Amanda shrugged. "From what I heard, you
saved the store owner a fortune. Don't feel bad. You can
just give it to the special lady in your life." She
not-so-subtly raised her gaze to meet his.
Coop
cocked his head to one side. "Is that your way of asking if
I'm seeing anyone?"
She grinned. "Actually, yes, it
is. You work too hard. You're always pounding away at your
computer."
Because he often pulled up his other
work when he wasn't on deadline at the paper. Fiction
writing was his real love, not that he shared that
information with many people. Lately though, the creative
juices had dried up, causing him many hours of staring at a
blank screen, both here and at home.
"I'm not seeing
anyone," he said, hoping she'd leave it at that.
"I
worry about you. A girlfriend would add some balance to your
life."
So much for her dropping the
subject.
Coop rolled his eyes. "I have enough balance
and there's no need to worry. I'm fine. Now if we could stay
on track?" He shot her a wry look and placed the ring on his
desk. "Since it's worth something, I guess I'll store it in
a safe place."
"Okay, but you know what they say
about all work and no play…"
"I play enough," he
lied.
"If you say so." She pinned him with a look
that told him she was onto him.
What could he say?
Lately, there'd been no woman who'd captured his interest.
But if he admitted as much to Amanda, she'd start setting
him up with her friends, and he shuddered at the thought.
Blind dates were bad enough. Well-meaning friends trying to
matchmake were even worse. Coop had an ex-wife and a healthy
respect for being more careful with the women he chose. He
certainly wasn't lacking for bed partners, if that was all
he needed.
"I do. Now I need to get back to
work."
She shook her head and sighed. "Okay, then.
Catch you later, hero." She winked and strode away,
her hips swaying as she walked.
Coop turned to his
computer.
Bringing up a Google search on the word
Trifari, he spent a considerable amount of time
researching until he finally found a photo of what looked
like the ring he now had in his possession. To his surprise,
it was part of a set that included a bracelet and necklace.
Back in the 1950s the jewels had belonged to a wealthy
family in Manhattan until they'd been stolen in a brazen
robbery during a dinner party at the family home. The
culprits had never been caught and the jewels had reportedly
never been recovered.
Coop glanced at the ring on his
desk. What the hell did he have in his possession? Did the
jewelry store even know the value of the ring? How many
times had it been passed on since the robbery over fifty
years ago?