ago, but the new collection at the
museum and her own curiosity at recent news articles regarding several looted
pieces recovered for the Iraqi museum had given her work a necessary boost.
She was nearly finished.
“And you're thankful that this Mr. Curry was
detained?” The limousine crawled up to stop in front of what Sophie realized
belatedly was her apartment building.
“Absolutely because had he
not been detained, he might be with you right now instead of me.” Pietr
kissed her hand once more and shifted to slide around and out the door that
Jacques opened. On his feet once more, he extended the hand back to her and she
accepted it, stepping out onto the curb.
“Would you like me to go inside first?”
Jacques inquired. Despite his pleasant demeanor, his cool gaze scanned the
street.
“No,” Pietr answered first, tucking her hand
into the crook of his elbow. It seemed her Frenchman had taken possession of
her hand. Unease stirred in her belly as her gaze traveled up the front of her
building. She'd known nothing but safety, warmth and acceptance here. It made
her ill to think that strangers had violated her sanctuary.
She
dug her fingers into Pietr's arm as the door opened and Frank Whelan stepped
out and held open his arms. “Morning, Miss Sophie.”
Former NYPD Officer Frank Whelan had been a
beat cop for more than 30 years and another ten as a peace officer in Stuy
Town, but he'd been born in Louisiana and his upbringing and mannerisms,
including the addition of Miss to any woman's name, dated back to that time.
Sophie let go of Pietr and dashed into
Frank's open arms. The older man gave her a good squeeze before pushing her
back to arm's length and looking her over.
“Your dad stopped by this morning. Said something about fixing the pipes in your kitchen.” Frank didn't have to frown. His tone rebuked well enough.
Sophie winced. She should have called her
parents, but it had been so late and they tended to be early to bed, early to
rise. It's where she'd developed the habit. “Did you let him in?”
“No, I told him I'd already had a look at
them and would have a plumber in to replace the whole works.” Frank's measured
gaze slid past her to Pietr. “But I don't care for lying to your father, so you
call him and straighten it out so I can apologize.”
“Yes, sir.” Frank
had done her an enormous favor and thought about her parent's peace of mind,
something she should have done herself.
“And this is?” He looked significantly at
Pietr.
Thoroughly chastened, Sophie backed up a
step and held out a hand to Pietr, who slid up next to her. “Frank Whelan, this
is Pietr Sauvage.”
“Sir,” Pietr held out his hand and Sophie
watched as Frank took it, his measured gaze examining Pietr from head to toe.
“French.”
“Russo-French, Oui. ” Pietr's easy grin didn't
slip, nor did he attempt to evade Frank's direct gaze.
“Huh.” Frank grunted. “You hurt our Sophie
and I'll break both your arms. We clear?”
“Frank!” Sophie's mouth fell open, but
Pietr's grin grew wider.
“ Absolument .”
“Good.” He dropped Pietr's hand. “Your
apartment is locked up tight, I had a good look after the uniforms and crime
scene techs were done. Miss Valorie's taken the kids up to her mother's for a
few days. Mrs. Bruno's grandson is visiting this weekend too.”
Frank looked after the tenants and took
their safety to heart.
“Is she all right?”
They were still standing at the entranceway
to the building. Pietr's frame shadowed hers as he shifted. He watched the
street. Sophie stole a glance over her shoulder and saw that Jacques leaned
against the car, his gaze scanning as well.
Even Frank's gaze shifted around, watchful
and
museum and her own curiosity at recent news articles regarding several looted
pieces recovered for the Iraqi museum had given her work a necessary boost.
She was nearly finished.
“And you're thankful that this Mr. Curry was
detained?” The limousine crawled up to stop in front of what Sophie realized
belatedly was her apartment building.
“Absolutely because had he
not been detained, he might be with you right now instead of me.” Pietr
kissed her hand once more and shifted to slide around and out the door that
Jacques opened. On his feet once more, he extended the hand back to her and she
accepted it, stepping out onto the curb.
“Would you like me to go inside first?”
Jacques inquired. Despite his pleasant demeanor, his cool gaze scanned the
street.
“No,” Pietr answered first, tucking her hand
into the crook of his elbow. It seemed her Frenchman had taken possession of
her hand. Unease stirred in her belly as her gaze traveled up the front of her
building. She'd known nothing but safety, warmth and acceptance here. It made
her ill to think that strangers had violated her sanctuary.
She
dug her fingers into Pietr's arm as the door opened and Frank Whelan stepped
out and held open his arms. “Morning, Miss Sophie.”
Former NYPD Officer Frank Whelan had been a
beat cop for more than 30 years and another ten as a peace officer in Stuy
Town, but he'd been born in Louisiana and his upbringing and mannerisms,
including the addition of Miss to any woman's name, dated back to that time.
Sophie let go of Pietr and dashed into
Frank's open arms. The older man gave her a good squeeze before pushing her
back to arm's length and looking her over.
“Your dad stopped by this morning. Said something about fixing the pipes in your kitchen.” Frank didn't have to frown. His tone rebuked well enough.
Sophie winced. She should have called her
parents, but it had been so late and they tended to be early to bed, early to
rise. It's where she'd developed the habit. “Did you let him in?”
“No, I told him I'd already had a look at
them and would have a plumber in to replace the whole works.” Frank's measured
gaze slid past her to Pietr. “But I don't care for lying to your father, so you
call him and straighten it out so I can apologize.”
“Yes, sir.” Frank
had done her an enormous favor and thought about her parent's peace of mind,
something she should have done herself.
“And this is?” He looked significantly at
Pietr.
Thoroughly chastened, Sophie backed up a
step and held out a hand to Pietr, who slid up next to her. “Frank Whelan, this
is Pietr Sauvage.”
“Sir,” Pietr held out his hand and Sophie
watched as Frank took it, his measured gaze examining Pietr from head to toe.
“French.”
“Russo-French, Oui. ” Pietr's easy grin didn't
slip, nor did he attempt to evade Frank's direct gaze.
“Huh.” Frank grunted. “You hurt our Sophie
and I'll break both your arms. We clear?”
“Frank!” Sophie's mouth fell open, but
Pietr's grin grew wider.
“ Absolument .”
“Good.” He dropped Pietr's hand. “Your
apartment is locked up tight, I had a good look after the uniforms and crime
scene techs were done. Miss Valorie's taken the kids up to her mother's for a
few days. Mrs. Bruno's grandson is visiting this weekend too.”
Frank looked after the tenants and took
their safety to heart.
“Is she all right?”
They were still standing at the entranceway
to the building. Pietr's frame shadowed hers as he shifted. He watched the
street. Sophie stole a glance over her shoulder and saw that Jacques leaned
against the car, his gaze scanning as well.
Even Frank's gaze shifted around, watchful
and
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