The camera jerks to the side before going to black, but the jarring end to the video doesn’t ruin its impact.
If anything, it highlighted the spontaneity of the moment, giving the watcher the sense that he or she was a spectator to a private moment.
Not so private anymore, Ava thought.
The coat video had been taken a few weeks before the East River one, but the tourist behind the camera hadn’t uploaded it until after the later video had been picked up by a small local news station.
From there, it had exploded.
And Ava had every intention of making it explode even more.
“Okay, you proved your point. It’s good stuff,” Mihail said, finally pushing her phone away and putting the key in the ignition. “I just don’t see why we have to be the ones to cover it. Especially if this cop guy doesn’t even want to be in the story.”
Ava put her phone away, faking confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “He’ll come around. Once the advertising offers start rolling in, he’ll be kissing my four-inch heels.”
“Which are where, exactly?” Mihail looked pointedly at her flip-flops.
Ava pretended she didn’t hear him.
“You know, I’ve never seen Gwen Garrison in anything other than five-inch spikes,” Mihail said.
Ava inspected her manicure. Yup. Chipped. “Your point?”
He shrugged as he turned the ignition. “Just that Gwen’s been anchor for a good many years now, and you’ve been chasing crap stories for how long? Maybe it’s time to accept that you’re destined for the gritty, in-the-trenches journalism and not the plastic talking head thing. And maybe you
like
it that way.”
Ava dug out a gummy worm from Mihail’s stash and ignored him. The guy was one of her best friends, nasty cigs and all, but she was tired of this conversation. It brought up unsettling thoughts she had no interest in dealing with.
She
did
want to be anchorwoman. She did. And Mihail was right in that Ava tended to choose the scrappy, real stories, no matter how small, over the more glamorous, attention-grabbing ones. That was about to change.
This was her break.
A gorgeous, big-city cop with a heart of gold was exactly what she needed. It was a huge story, with a big audience.
Even with NYPD being under a few shadows right now thanks to that unfortunate shooting a few months back, the Luc Moretti story appealed on every level, to every viewer.
Big city folk were partial to first responders, especially after 9/11. Small-town people liked cops, period.
And everyone liked a
hero
.
Especially a good-looking one.
As far as poster boys went, it didn’t get more perfect than Luc Moretti in all of his tall, dark, good-guy handsomeness. No hot-blooded straight woman could look at that guy and not fantasize about what he looked like under that uniform.
Ava included.
She dug her nails into her palm, trying to forget about the way every part of her had seemed to tingle when they’d stood toe to toe in Captain Brinker’s office.
“So how cooperative do you think Moretti will be?” Mihail asked, cutting off a taxi just because he could.
Ava went for another gummy worm. “Not at all.”
Mihail glanced at her. “Yeah?”
She shrugged. “I dunno, something was up with him.”
“Explain.”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, tugging at the gummy worm.
“Maybe he just doesn’t like being in the spotlight,” Mihail said.
“Deep down, everyone wants to be in the spotlight,” Ava muttered, staring out the window. “
Everyone
wants glory.”
She felt Mihail cut her another look. “The cynical, storm-cloud thing is supposed to be my shtick.”
“I’m not cynical!”
Mihail snorted.
“I’m not! I just don’t buy for one second that Luc Moretti isn’t secretly patting himself on the back for all of his recent good deeds.”
Moretti had secrets all right, but they were more complicated than Mr. Too-Sexy-For-His-Own-Good wanting to keep his good deeds under wraps.
If he was reluctant, it was probably because he’d have to cooperate with
her
. Guys like him didn’t like it when a woman didn’t turn into a simpering mess in their presence.
She’d come close to simpering, though. Really close. Those deep blue eyes were a jolt to the system, more so because they were a surprise given his dark hair and Italian coloring.
But Ava hadn’t kissed Moretti’s ass during their run-in three years ago, and she wasn’t about to start now.
“So what’s he like then?” Mihail asked.
Ava jolted. “Hmm?”
“The cop. The hero one…what’s he like?”
Gorgeous.
“He’s perfect for the story,” Ava said with a shrug. “The camera will love him.”
Mihail tapped long fingers against the steering wheel. “So did he say why he did those things? Jumping into the river, giving his coat to the homeless guy?”
Ava groaned at the admiration in Mihail’s voice. “Not you too.”
“What?”
“You
actually
think he’s a hero?”
“I mean we don’t have to get fucking romantic about it, but the guy went above and beyond. He deserves a little credit.”
Ava rolled her eyes and chomped grumpily on a green gummy worm.
She could grant that the guy had done a couple of good deeds. Okay, really good deeds.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about that haunted look on his face after he’d saved the little girl.
Nor the panicked look when he’d learned that she was with CBC.
There was a story there. She was
sure
of it.
She just wasn’t sure it was the feel-good story the network wanted her to tell.
W
hat do you mean CBC’s doing a story on you?”
Luc took a grumpy sip of coffee before he met his father’s dark gaze. “Is there a way I could rephrase to be more clear?”
Luc’s sister leaned over to snag a piece of Luc’s toast before pointing the toast triangle at their father. “It’s true. Luc was
quite
clear with his word choice. And I’m a lawyer so I should know.”
Tony Moretti scowled and propped a piece of bacon on top of a piece of biscuit. Then he dragged the whole thing through a puddle of gravy under the exasperated glare of Luc’s mother. He took a bite and chewed as he glared at Luc and Elena. “Don’t you two get smart with me. What I want to know is why are they doing a story
now
? You’re old news.”
Anthony leaned over and grabbed the remaining piece of Luc’s toast. “It’s nice when he builds us up like this, isn’t it, bro?”
“So nice,” Luc muttered, taking another sip of his coffee.
His mother caught his eye. “I think what your father is trying to ask, Luca, is why you’re
agreeing
to a story when you’ve been unhappy with all the media coverage.”
Luc set his coffee aside and reached for a piece of toast, only to realize that his family had pillaged everything.
“It’s not like I have a choice.” He immediately regretted the words. They felt…whiney. Small. And his father pounced.
“You always have a choice,” Tony boomed. “How many times have I told you kids that we’re in control—”
“Wait, wait,” Vincent interrupted, leaning forward and snapping his fingers rapidly. “I’ve got this. We’ve heard it before, I think…”
“Like maybe once, or a million times?” Elena mused, tapping her lip.
“We are in control of our own destiny,” Anthony said in a dramatic voice, or as dramatic as it could get around a piece of bacon. “Did I get that right?”
Tony Moretti turned to exchange a glance with his wife. “How is it I raised four smart asses?”
“Five, actually,” Elena said. “Marco’s missing all the fun.”
“Probably on the beach somewhere,” Luc’s father said, his tone turning irritable the way it always did when he spoke of his West Coast offspring.
None of them had been thrilled when Marc moved to Los Angeles. Not only because it splintered the tight-knit Morettis into different time zones, but because the
reason
for his move was Mandy Breslin.
Mandy and Marc had been dating since high school, which should have made her like part of the family, but the truth was…the family couldn’t stand her. She was manipulative, melodramatic, and seemed to think that an exceptionally pretty face made up for lack of other qualities. Say, like, being a decent person.
Still, what Mandy lacked in likability, she made up for in ambition. She’d gotten it in her head that she was destined for a Hollywood career. And Marc, being the epitome of loyal, had dutifully followed her.
They’d been in LA for over a year now, and as best as the rest of the Morettis could tell, the closest Mandy had come to her dream was watching TV all day while Marc worked his ass off in the LAPD.
The Morettis did their best to support Marco’s decision, even as they secretly hated it…and missed him like crazy. But that didn’t mean they didn’t gripe about Marc’s absence behind his back.
Because that’s how the Morettis did things. They interfered with each other’s business constantly, and unabashedly.
Take, like,
now
, for example.
Sundays meant two things to the Morettis.
Mass at St. Ignatius Loyola Church on the Upper East Side, and the follow-up brunch at the Darby Diner.
But it meant other things too. Like latching on to one person’s personal life and taking it apart piece by piece.
Last week it had been Elena’s new boyfriend. The guy was Irish, and with the way Tony and Maria had responded to this news, last week’s breakfast was a scene out of
Gangs of New York
. Tony Moretti was born in New York, but from his fierce Italian upbringing, he might as well have been born in Italy. And Maria Moretti actually
had
been born there, which meant…well, an Irish boy for their only daughter had not gone over well, even though neither parent would admit their reasons were old biases.
The week before
that
, the fuss had been over Anthony’s announcement that he was headed to Florida over Easter weekend to run a marathon and wouldn’t be around for Easter. The week before
that
…well, Luc couldn’t remember, but it was probably something to do with Vincent and the fact that the man had zero life outside of work and had turned down yet another of their mother’s blind date attempts.
But this week? This week was all about Luc. Luc and the damned CBC nightmare that awaited him tomorrow morning.
The only possible silver lining in this whole mess was that Nonna had a stomach bug and had opted to skip the Sunday-morning histrionics. Luc loved his grandmother—desperately—but the woman had made it her life’s mission to stir the Moretti family pot whenever possible. A tendency made even worse by the fact that, in a rather shortsighted move, the grandkids had bought her an iPhone for Christmas the previous year.
Now the woman didn’t just stir the pot, she recorded the aftermath.
His grandma was a menace. A wonderful menace, but still…Luc was a
tiny
bit glad she wasn’t here on his particular Sunday to shine.
“’Kay, seriously, though,” Vin said, leaning back in his chair and fixing Luc with his usual serious gaze. “Dad’s got a point. I would have thought all this hoopla with your heroics would be dying down.”
“You and me both,” Luc said.
His coffee cup was blessedly refilled, and he smiled thanks at Helen, the white-haired waitress who’d been serving the Darby Diner—and the Morettis—longer than Luc had been alive.
“Am I your favorite today, Helen?” Luc asked, intentionally turning his attention away from the too shrewd eyes of his brother.
“Depends, who’s tipping?” she said with a wink.
Then she leaned down and whispered in Luc’s ear as she refilled Anthony’s cup. “’Course you’re my favorite.”
“Heard that,” Anth said.
“Heard what, baby?” Helen said, blowing Anthony a kiss. “That you’re my favorite?”
“That’s not what you told me when I fixed your cell last week,” Vin said.
“And by fixed her phone, you did what exactly?” Elena said, propping her chin up on her hand. “You hit the Power button? Turned if off and then back on?”
Vin lifted a shoulder. “Whatever works.”
Helen refilled everyone’s coffee and moved on to another table, having assured them individually that they were, in fact, her one and only favorite.
Luc reached for the bill Helen had dropped off, but as usual, Tony was too fast. “Your mother and I have this.”
Luc lifted an eyebrow. “But you’re retired.”
“And I’m your father,” Tony said in his usual no-room-for-argument tone.
Luc and Vincent exchanged a look across the table. Neither of them particularly liked their parents paying for their four grown siblings, but pride was an important element in the Morettis. And nobody had more of it than the patriarch.
“They’re not going to put makeup on you, are they?” Anthony mused.
“What?” Luc asked.
“For this story. Do you have to get all dolled up?”
Luc rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, annoyed that the conversation kept coming back to the damned CBC thing. “No. No makeup. It’s just a reporter following me around for a few weeks…”
“Which reporter?” Elena asked.
Just as Tony broke in, “What do you mean a few weeks?”
“Oh my God,” Luc muttered, taking a drink of his coffee. He looked across the table at his best shot at escape: his mother.
But Maria Moretti looked every bit as dismayed as his father, which was something Luc didn’t fully understand. He knew why
he
was annoyed about the story, but he didn’t get why his parents were all worked up about it. It didn’t even have anything to do with them.
“Her name is Ava Sims,” Luc said, glancing at his sister as he answered her question.
Elena nodded. “I think I know her. Brunette? Pretty?”
“A pretty brunette on TV?” Vin said. “I’m sure there’s only one of those.”
Elena made a face. “Seriously, I think I just saw one of her stories last week. She did some exposé on this supposed charity that was really a front for drug money, or something like that. Seriously, it was a big deal…she figured it out all on her own, and—”
“Because that’s exactly what the city needs,” Anthony broke in. “Amateurs that don’t have a clue about law enforcement thinking they know the best way to keep order.”
“Oh, come off it,” Elena said in exasperation.
Luc was sitting between the two of them and held up a palm between their two angry faces, hoping to stifle the argument before it heated. Elena was not only the lone sister with four brothers, she was also the lone non-cop of the Moretti siblings.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Elena was an attorney…a
defense
attorney.
Her commitment to “the wrong side of the law,” as Anthony liked to call it, was a frequent point of contention. And even though Luc was generally on Anthony’s side, today he wasn’t in the mood.
“Can we not do this?” he asked tiredly.
Both Anthony and Elena glanced at him, and then he saw them glimpse at each other, a surprised look on their faces. He knew why. His voice had been irritated, and Luc’s voice was rarely anything other than easygoing.
He was the charming brother. The likable one.
But he didn’t feel charming today. Hadn’t felt charming in a long time.
And lately…lately he’d been tired of pretending.
“I still think you should say no to the story,” Tony broke in.
Luc’s head dropped forward at his father’s stubbornness. “I can’t, Dad. I don’t like it any more than you do, but Captain Brinker made it clear that it wasn’t up for discussion. After what happened with that shooting last month, they’re desperate to get back in the public’s good graces.”
His father’s jaw moved. “You’re sure that’s what this is about? Making amends for that trigger-happy cop who shot the homeless man?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Luc said, taking a sip of coffee as he tossed his napkin onto his plate. “Does it matter?”
His father nodded, looking thoughtful. And worried. Luc’s mother set a hand on his father’s arm, and Tony glanced at her. Luc’s eyes narrowed as he watched something cross between them. A silent communication that he couldn’t translate.
A temper that he very rarely felt started to creep up. “Look, I’ll keep you all out of it, okay? Can we just…drop it?”
“Sure, bambino,” Elena said, her voice easy as she ran a playful hand through his hair.
Vincent reached across the table with a pen and a paper napkin. “Another autograph. For my collection?”
Luc laughed and shoved his brother’s hand aside. “Fu—screw you,” he corrected, after a quick glance at his mother. “Can we go? My shift starts in an hour and I need to change into uniform.”
Outside the restaurant, the family did the usual hugs and kisses exchange as his mother took an inventory of who, if any of them, would be coming to family dinner that evening. Church and Sunday breakfast were mandatory. Sunday dinner had become an “all is welcome, none are required” affair in recent years in deference to the unpredictable schedule of cops, and Elena’s tendency to spend Sunday nights prepping for her Monday cases.
“Not me tonight, Ma,” Luc said, wrapping his mother in a hug and kissing her cheek. “I’m working a double.”
His mother pressed her palms to his cheeks and studied his face. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, Luca?”
He rolled his eyes. It was a common refrain in a family of cops. “Yes, ma’am. I always am.”
Not that it always matters
. Sometimes you could be as careful as can be, and you still…
“I mean be careful with this Sims woman,” Maria said softly.
Luc frowned. “Ma. She’s a little annoying, but she’s not exactly a threat.”
His mother opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to say more, but then she caught Tony’s eye and fell silent.
Luc shifted his attention to his father, who was watching him with the same worried expression his mother had used.
Luc had the strangest sense that he was missing something. Missing something crucial.
But he didn’t have a clue what it was.