The cops led Theo out a side exit to avoid the swarms of reporters hovering around the building’s main entrance. They released him at Sixth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street and advised him to go home and get some rest. Keeping his head down, he walked obediently toward the subway, but then stopped at the entrance. Somehow, he couldn’t bear to be underground right now. He walked instead toward the illuminated red steps in the middle of Broadway, seeking somewhere to rest.
Even at four in the morning, a few tourists stood on the freestanding staircase, gazing at the carnival of Times Square spread out around them. Theo collapsed at the top of the stairs and leaned his head back toward the night sky. The last few hours had been like something out of a nightmare. He didn’t know where Selene was; maybe she’d simply disappeared again. Nothing about her made sense. First, she carries around a bow and arrows like she’s some comic book superhero. Then she nearly runs out on Jenny Thomason instead of trying to save her life. Finally, she asks me to lie to the police about knowing her—which, although I can’t really explain why, I did. I’d be better off never seeing her again, he reasoned.
Yet when a woman’s low voice called his name, his eyes flew open and his pulse raced in anticipation. So much for wanting to be rid of her.
“So.” Selene stood on the step below him, her arms folded and her backpack held loosely at her side. “They let you go.”
He blinked at her. The EMTs had bandaged the arrow wound on her throat, but blood and grease still streaked her face.
“Just. They had a lot of questions.” He tried to feign alertness but wound up slumping farther down on the stairs.
“At least they didn’t arrest you again.”
“Whatever you told Captain Hansen seemed to have convinced her I’m not a threat. So I owe you for that.”
She sat down beside him on the glowing step. The red light from below flushed her pale cheeks with color. Despite the foot of space between them, he couldn’t help remembering what she’d felt like in his arms. He fought a sudden desire to feel that way again.
“The captain seems smart,” he offered. “And not just because she thinks I’m innocent. I’ve got a good feeling about her.”
Selene merely nodded.
“You really don’t like cops, do you? That’s why you didn’t tell them you were a private investigator.”
She shrugged.
“You’re not really an official PI, are you?” he asked gently.
After a moment, she shook her head. “I don’t have a license. But women come to me. I try to help them.”
Theo’s imagination churned. She must have been the victim of abuse at some point. That would explain why she spent her time tracking men, why she seemed so vulnerable yet so impenetrable, why she didn’t believe the cops could be trusted—even why she told the Persephone abduction tale with such passion. Suddenly, her behavior didn’t seem so crazy. “I didn’t tell them anything about you… or us.”
“Good. I have a history in this town,” she said. “I sort of like to stay off the grid.”
“What happened?” He had to ask, although he suspected the conversational topic was off limits.
Selene remained silent for a long moment, but then, to Theo’s surprise, she began to tell him. “There was once a policewoman with the NYPD who was so good that other women clamored to join just to be like her. On her first street patrol, she chased down two bank robbers, leaving her fellow officers in the dust. Tackled them both simultaneously, handcuffed one, and knocked the other unconscious. Then, after a year, they decided to pair her with a male partner. Charles Augustino. Chaz.” She wrinkled her nose. “First day out, they responded to an assault call in Hell’s Kitchen not far from here—a prostitute and her john having it out on the street corner. She insisted she’d been underpaid. The john swore up and down he’d never slept with her in the first place, that he was the victim of extortion. Each claimed the other had struck the first blow. Woman had a black eye and a bloody lip. Chaz handcuffed her anyway.”
“For what?”
“Prostitution’s illegal, even though most cops don’t bother arresting the women. But Chaz pushed the prostitute up against his cruiser. The policewoman saw his hand linger between the prostitute’s legs and then he grabbed her ass. When the woman spit in his face, Chaz slapped her, hard, and she collapsed onto the roof. So the policewoman pinned her partner to the ground and twisted his arms around her baton. She told him to apologize to the woman, and he refused. So she turned him around, stood him up, and broke his jaw with her fist.”
“She sounds like a hero.”
Selene shrugged. “As he fell, he hit his head on the car’s fender. She hadn’t meant to kill him. But she wasn’t sorry she had.”
Theo let out a low whistle.
“By the week’s end, she’d been discharged from the force and indicted on charges of second-degree murder. But she disappeared before they could catch her.”
“And this policewoman was…” You, Theo thought. Go on, admit it.
Selene met his eyes. She paused for a moment, as if deciding how to answer. “Cynthia Forrester.”
“I see.” “DiSilva” was simply the Italian version of “Forrester”—they both meant “of the forest”—and the name “Cynthia” was, like “Selene,” an epithet of the Greek Moon Goddess. If she’d gone through the trouble of changing her name, her story was even more complicated than Theo’d imagined. “When was this?”
She looked away again. “Nineteen seventy-three.”
“Oh” was all Theo could say. What he’d taken to be a confession now seemed like a lie. He’d been sure Selene was the policewoman in the story, but if she’d been a cop in 1973, she’d be over sixty by now. Impossible. Once again, just when he thought he’d begun to understand her, she defied comprehension. Maybe someday I’ll crack the mystery, he thought, stealing a glance at her profile. Despite the bandages, she looked even younger than usual. As if the night’s tragedy, which made Theo feel very old indeed, had only rejuvenated her.
“Now you see why I don’t trust men,” she said. “Or cops.”
You can trust me, you know, he wanted to say. But for once, he held his tongue.
They sat silently for a moment more, gazing down Broadway. The giant LED screen above the ABC Studios at Forty-fourth Street streamed breaking news footage of Jenny Thomason’s murder. Suddenly, the image of a dour man with messy fair hair and round glasses flashed across the screen. It took him a moment to recognize his driver’s license photo. He realized sitting in the most public place in the city was monumentally stupid. Only dumb luck and dim lighting had prevented anyone from noticing the “Pervy Professor.” But he feared that if he moved, Selene would disappear. So he sat there, his hand inches away from hers. Usually, he could feel a chill emanating from her flesh. But tonight, he felt warmth.
He almost jumped when her hand slid into his.
“You saved my life, you know.” She stared at the ABC news footage, not meeting his eyes. “So much for not taking needless physical risks.”
“Uh—I just—” he began. But then he stopped. I guess I did. “It wasn’t exactly ‘needless.’”
She tightened her grip. “You said yesterday that if we were being attacked, you’d run away.”
“If I were being attacked, I’d run,” he said with a laugh. “But if you were…” He felt the smile fall from his face.
At last, she turned toward him. For an instant, their eyes met. Then she pulled her hand from his and looked away. Here it comes. She’s about to walk away again.
But she didn’t. She just flared her nostrils and said, “Your clothes are covered in blood.”
“So are yours.” Her jacket had fallen open. “Holy shit, are you wounded?”
“It’s not my blood,” she said quickly, pulling her jacket closed again. He heard an unaccustomed tremble in her voice.
“Here.” He shrugged out of his overcoat. “You must be cold.” To his surprise, she accepted it. It was too big in the shoulders. He smiled. “You look like a little girl playing dress-up in your mom’s closet.” She drew a sharp breath. Christ, I’ve said something stupid. She probably has issues with her mother. Sure enough, she rose and started down the staircase.
“You can’t just leave in my coat, you know,” he called after her.
She paused for a moment, her back to him. “Then come with me.”
Theo hesitated. If he obeyed, there’d be no denying to himself that he wanted something more from this strange woman than just help tracking down Helen’s killer. Gabriela would tell him not to be an idiot—Selene was dangerous. He’d almost definitely get his heart broken. More to the point, if today’s activities were any indication, he might get himself killed. But somehow, he still ached to follow her. Theo remembered his fear with Helen—he’d worried that she would cling too tight, demand too much. But despite the challenges she posed, Helen hadn’t shaken his own understanding of himself and the world—she’d only reinforced it. Her unquestioning adoration made him feel strong and smart. Selene, on the other hand, often made him feel weak and awkward. Yet on some level he welcomed those feelings of inadequacy: They pushed him to try harder, reach further, risk more. And that meant he wound up feeling stronger and smarter after all. Being with Selene wasn’t scary—it was downright terrifying. Not to mention intoxicating and exhausting. Yet he didn’t want it to end. Not yet.
Theo levered himself off the stairs and fell into step beside her. Taking needless risks seems to be par for the course these days, he reasoned. Why stop now?