Trish Wylie - Her Man in Manhattan

‘Tyler.’

‘Tyler,’ she repeated in a lower voice as if savouring how it felt on her tongue.

Hearing her say it had a mesmerizing effect he’d never experienced before. Time stretched inexorably while she stared at him, her chin angled in contemplation. As he tried to figure out why his blood had thickened to the same consistency as magma when she hadn’t done anything overtly seductive, she blinked and turned away.

‘I’ll see you in the morning, Tyler.’

‘You leave this house, I’ll know inside five seconds.’

She raised an arm and waggled her fingers in the air. ‘Nighty-night.’

Tyler stood in the same spot after she left, trying to decide whether he trusted her any further than he could throw her. His word meant something—or at least it used to; he wasn’t convinced hers did. Then his cell phone vibrated.

‘Brannigan.’

‘So what’s it like with the city’s version of the Secret Service?’

The sound of his partner’s voice got him moving again. ‘Don’t ask,’ he said as he left the kitchen and headed for the control room. ‘Got anything new for me?’

‘There weren’t any DNA hits in the database.’

‘It took them a month to tell us that?’

‘Backed up in the lab...’

‘What about the known associates we’ve been chasing?’

‘There I might have better news.’

Tyler nodded brusquely. ‘Save it for when I see you. I’ll be at O’Malley’s by nine.’

‘If I end up divorced I’m blaming you.’

‘Because all your kids look like me?’

The response made the corner of Tyler’s mouth lift. It was the closest he got to a smile any more. Pretending nothing was wrong when he was around the people who knew him was wearing him down. From that point of view his day with the mayor’s daughter had been a welcome respite.

He just had to get a handle on his reaction to her while he was still volatile.

There’d been a time when not getting involved had never been a problem for him the way it had for other members of his family. He’d kept his distance and remained detached, gaining a rep for being emotionally unavailable to women along the way. Once he’d made the mistake of thinking he could handle a little attachment he’d fallen flat on his face. To top it off he’d overcompensated and it had cost someone their life.

Sometimes he thought he saw her face in a crowd: dull, lifeless eyes staring at him in silent accusation. She was a ghost who followed him everywhere.

He shouldn’t have left her alone.

The thought gave him a moment’s pause outside the room that housed the security monitors. From inside he could hear the voices of the men whose presence meant he wasn’t leaving the mayor’s daughter unprotected even if there was an immediate threat.

There was no reason for him to feel torn.

A small army of people surrounded Miranda Kravitz and, though they might not have kept her out of trouble, they had plenty of practice cushioning her from the world beyond the walls of the mansion. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a voice, either. Half her problem with him was he didn’t let her get her own way when she was plainly accustomed to getting whatever she wanted.

Tyler stood up for the people who didn’t have a voice, who didn’t have the opportunities she’d been given or the ability to escape their lives when they felt like it. If she broke her word, she would pay for it. He’d see to that.

She might think he’d been tough on her the first day, but she had no idea how ruthless he could be.

SIX

The small victories gained when she got him to start a conversation and give her the name she so badly wanted to know were enough to allow Miranda to cut him some slack. She wouldn’t break her word. What helped him more was that he’d given her somewhere else to focus her ire. After a night of enforced captivity she was determined to fight for her rights.

‘Good morning, Miranda.’

‘Good morning, Grace.’ She saw the surprise in the older woman’s eyes when she appeared outside her father’s office. ‘Is the mayor in?’

‘He’s having breakfast with the chief of police.’

‘Where is my mother?’

‘I believe she’s still in the morning room.’

When she turned on her heel Grace grabbed her file, rounded her desk and rushed down the hall after her. ‘You have a nine a.m. appointment in Brooklyn at—’

‘Not now, Grace.’ It was rude and she was sorry for that but they both knew the morning briefing was more habit than necessity. Miranda knew where she was going days in advance—weeks for the functions that required more forwards planning. If she didn’t how was she supposed to know what to wear or find time to research things she knew nothing about so she could hold a conversation?

Two sets of eyes looked across the morning room as she entered without knocking. ‘Could you give us a moment, please, Roger?’ Once the door shut behind him Miranda took a deep breath. ‘I won’t be held prisoner in this house.’

‘Sit down, darling.’

‘I don’t want to sit down,’ she said without moving. ‘What I want is to be treated like an adult.’

‘Start behaving like one and you will,’ her mother replied with the infinite patience that drove her daughter insane when she was upset about something. ‘Now take a seat and tell me what’s wrong.’

‘You knew, didn’t you?’

‘Knew what?’

‘About the changes to my security detail.’

‘It’s hardly the first change of personnel since we took up residence.’ Her mother raised a brow. ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little?’

‘When they were brought in specifically to keep me out of trouble in case I prove an embarrassment to you during the campaign?’

‘Well, obviously we would prefer to avoid any negative publicity this close to—’

‘I’m more than aware of the responsibilities forced on me since my teens, Mother. I don’t need a reminder.’

‘Yet your father and I are being given increasingly regular reports of your acts of rebellion.’ She gracefully folded her hands together on her lap. ‘We were elected to set an example. People expect more of this family. That’s the life we live.’

‘We weren’t elected,’ Miranda reminded her. ‘Dad was. I didn’t choose to run for office and I wasn’t elected to the position of your daughter. Doesn’t the fact I’ve lived someone else’s life for half of mine count for anything?’

‘Like it or not, you’re still the mayor’s daughter. This is his last term in office and—’

‘If he’s elected or are we taking that for granted? Throwing pots of money at the campaign isn’t an automatic guarantee of success.’

‘We’re a family, Miranda. We stick together through everything. Once the election is over—’

A small burst of sarcastic laughter left her lips. ‘I’m supposed to do what—wait until he decides whether he wants to confirm the rumours and run for Governor? Why stop there—what about the White House?’

‘That’s your father’s decision.’

‘And how I choose to live my life is mine. If you want me to act like a grown-up you have to allow me to be one. How am I supposed to learn from my mistakes if I’m not permitted to make any?’

‘Your argument might carry more weight if there was any evidence to support it,’ her mother replied. ‘We gave you more freedom at NYU and you repaid our trust by having your picture splashed across several tabloids.’

Miranda’s frustration grew. ‘I love dancing and got drunk when I turned twenty-one—how does that make me worse than any other college student in America? I could have been running around in a wet T-shirt during spring break or got arrested at student protests. I could have experimented with drugs or slept with guys who were happy to make a buck selling all the gory details to the press. I didn’t but none of those things matter any more than the long hours I work. Did it occur to either one of you that turning this place into the equivalent of Alcatraz would make the need for escape more necessary? Why do you think Richie chose to attend a college on the other side of the country?’