I have to agree with him.
Trudy Degati’s personality and presence are just as infectious as her husband’s.
“Do you have something good for me?” I ask with hope.
I’ve been chasing a big story all week, and when I shared those details with Brad, he told me he’d do his best to help me out. When he called me an hour ago to ask me to meet him outside of a restaurant, I knew that it had to be good news.
“Let’s take this around the corner,” he suggests.
I go along for the walk because it’s become part of our routine. When we do the exchange of money for information, Brad prefers that it be on a side street or in a mostly-empty café.
We step into a narrow alleyway between two brick buildings.
His hand dives into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He tugs out a flash drive. “Pictures! I have pictures!”
“You don’t,” I say in disbelief. “How? When?”
“I do.” He laughs. “Someone took the pictures this morning at their studio.”
Someone is code for Trudy.
Brad has never come right out and admitted it, but the trail to his source isn’t long and winding. His wife works with some of the biggest names in entertainment, and many social media influencers, including a particular one who is rumored to be on the cusp of an engagement with her recently retired NFL superstar boyfriend.
“You’re telling me you have pictures of Corla Berletti’s engagement ring?” I lower my voice. “Actual pictures of the ring?”
“Fucking amazing pictures of the ring, if I do say so myself.” He brushes a hand over his shoulder. “I’m talking high definition. You can almost feel the weight of all ten carats when you look at the photos.”
My jaw drops. “Ten carats?”
“Princess cut, and a white gold band engraved with his initials. Corla might have taken the ring off briefly this morning when she was trying on a wool dress. I’m not confirming that mind you, but the possibility exists. So you’re getting pictures of the ring on and off her finger. You’re welcome.”
I plant both hands on Brad’s shoulders, push up to the tiptoes of my boots, and kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
Stepping back, I slip the strap of my purse over my head so I can dig out the money I brought with me.
“Did your sister insist you tie yourself up in the strap of that bag?” Brad chuckles.
“Of course she did,” I say with a laugh. “She won’t let me leave home without it wrapped around me like a crossbody bag. She doesn’t get that the strap is too short for that, so I always feel like my chest is being crushed.”
He holds out a hand. “The strap can be lengthened. Let me do that.”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “I want to pay you first. I brought five hundred cash. That works, right?”
He nods. “It’s going directly into our Maui mad money account.”
Brad is saving the money I give him for a surprise trip to Maui for his and Trudy’s fifth wedding anniversary.
He works for a firm on Wall Street. He’s convinced that the stress of that will melt into the sand in Hawaii when he’s sunning himself next to his wife and sipping on a tropical drink.
I slide the money out from a zippered compartment within my purse.
I hand him the cash just as he slips me the flash drive. I tuck it away in the same zippered compartment for safekeeping since it’s worth more than its weight in gold.
“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Juliet.” Shoving the money into his pocket, he smiles. “Give me the purse so I can fix the strap before I run. I’m meeting Trudy for dinner. I’d invite you, but it’s romantic, and you would be…”
“I’d be the third wheel,” I finish his thought.
He makes quick work of the strap, adjusting it so it’s a few inches longer. “You’ll be able to breathe now and still make your sister happy.”
I take the purse back. “You’re a lifesaver.”
His phone chimes in his pocket. He yanks it out to look at the screen. “It’s my beauty queen. She’s already at the restaurant. I need to run.”
Before I can say a word, his back is turned to me as he sprints out of the alley.
My gaze trails him. “Thanks again, Brad!”
“You’re welcome, sunshine,” he calls back before he disappears out of view.
I take stock of where I am.
If I cut through the alley, I’ll be on the same street that houses the ice cream shop that Juliet loves.
She claims that they make the best mint chocolate chip in the city. Since she almost always eats the entire pint when I bring one home, I trust her opinion more than my own.
I start in the direction of the store as I dig my phone out of my purse to send my sister a text telling her that I made it through my meeting in one piece.
Without warning, I feel a sharp and sudden tug on the strap of my purse.
It’s dangling at my side, but it doesn’t take me more than a second to realize that there is a hand wrapped around it that doesn’t belong to me.
The hand is large and covered with a dusting of dark hair.
Panic darts through me as I tuck the purse close to me, trying to counter the man’s strength.
“No!” I scream. “Stop!”
He lets out a grunt, and before I can fathom what’s happening, I’m struck with a pain in the back of my head that takes me to the ground.
Chapter Three
Juliet
The throbbing in the back of my head is losing the war against the biting pain coming from the left side of my forehead.
I’m still holding tightly to my purse even though I’m on my side on the concrete. I’m determined not to let the big ogre standing in front of me steal it away.
“Get lost!” I scream up at him.
He bares his teeth as if that’s going to scare me. “Give it to me,” he snarls.
“No!” I kick at him, trying to ward him off as he yanks harder and harder on the strap.
With one final tug, the purse slips from my hands, sending almost everything inside of it onto the ground around me.
Suddenly, the guy stumbles forward, and his hands fly in the air. He crashes onto the pavement less than a foot from where I am.
I inch back on my ass in a desperate attempt to get away from him.
“Leave her the fuck alone.” A man’s deep voice catches me off guard. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
The mugger is on his knees trying to get up, but he’s knocked down onto his side, pulling a loud wailing sound from him.
“Give me your scarf.” The mysterious voice overpowers the whimpering coming from the assailant.
Unable to resist the temptation to see the face attached to that mesmerizing voice, I look up.
I come face-to-face with utter perfection in a black suit.
Inky black hair that brushes the collar of his black shirt, blue eyes, and full lips greet me. His Greek God nose and chiseled jawline suits everything else on his model-worthy face.
I’ve seen gorgeous men before, but this man blows all of them out of the water.
“What?” I whisper.
“Give me your scarf,” he says again, pausing between each word. “Now.”