Flawless (New York Confidential #1)(28)

*

Leaving the offices of Fuller and Miro, Kieran paused on the sidewalk. She didn’t need to head to Finnegan’s tonight; Declan didn’t expect her to work all day and then all night every night of the week. And this was Wednesday night, traditionally slow. But she didn’t feel like going home, so she headed for the subway.

The term rush hour could mean almost anything in New York City. It now extended far beyond the morning going-into-work and early evening getting-off-work hours.

As she walked the block and a half to the subway entrance, she thought about the city. She loved her hometown. She knew that, once upon a time, there had been signs at a number of businesses that read No Irish Allowed. But now, some of the finest St. Patrick’s Day festivities in the country were right here in New York. Everyone came to the Big Apple. The Statue of Liberty was there, the very symbol of America to many. Immigrants from all over the world had met prejudice here, then become accepted as Americans here, and it was still one of the most wonderful melting pots to be found anywhere. New Yorkers had a reputation for being rude, and there was the standard joke about not making eye contact. But New Yorkers weren’t rude; they were just trying to get from point A to point B on an island that was sometimes filled with more than twenty million people.

And, of course, when you had millions of people running around, you were bound to get a bad element now and then. Muggers, thieves, rapists and murderers. And yet, for a city the size of New York, she thought that the police did a damned good job. Crime was very much on a downward trend.

Just outside the subway entrance, Kieran saw a woman with a map in her hand looking baffled. She paused to offer her assistance. The woman looked at Kieran warily for a moment, and then smiled with relief and admitted she was lost. Kieran was able to direct her to the A train. She thanked Kieran, then walked away with a wave and a smile. Kieran hurried down the stairs to catch her own train.

The subway platform was filled with all kinds of people: businessmen in suits and carrying briefcases, women leaning on the uprights to change from their work heels into their “getting around” sneakers or sandals. Several women in burkas were herding a group of children and trying to keep a safe distance from the edge of the platform. She could hear the distinct Southern accent in a nearby woman’s voice as she chatted with friends about a play she had seen the night before. A group of uniformed Catholic-school students was milling nearby, talking about homework assignments.

A foursome of high-school boys was hanging out at the edge of the platform, laughing and cutting up. At least half the people there looked bored and tired and ready to be home. It was going to be a crowded train.

She stepped closer to the tracks. As she did, she noticed a man in a dark hoodie standing some distance away. She couldn’t see his face; his head was down and he’d pulled the hoodie low over his forehead.

She felt oddly uneasy and wondered why; she’d passed dozens of people in hoodies on her way to the train.

It was spring. Hoodies were perfect for spring, just enough when there was a chill in the air, not too much when the sun was warming things up.

She forced herself to stop looking at the man and pulled out her phone. She found a group message from Kevin to her and her brothers to say that his shoot had gone great. The director had mentioned using him for a new cola ad he was shooting soon.

She texted back that she was proud and delighted.

When she looked up, the man in the hoodie was gone.

She turned in the direction the train would be coming from and saw light, a sure indication that it was on its way.

It was then that she felt someone behind her. She wasn’t sure what had alerted her, but she could tell that someone was there.

She stepped quickly out of the way, edging between a rabbi and a teenage Goth.

She heard a scream.

When she turned in that direction, she saw that someone was falling.

Onto the tracks.

And the train was practically there.

It was a teenage girl wearing a Catholic-school uniform. Her backpack had gone flying, and she was down on her knees.

Kieran didn’t think. She simply reached out to help the girl. People were screaming and shouting directions, but she ignored them as the girl looked at her with grateful eyes and grabbed her hand.

Kieran pulled hard, the train’s roar loud in her ears. The girl flew through the air, falling back on Kieran, knocking her over. Several people—who had tightly gathered first to board the train and then to help with the rescue—fell, as well.

The train shrieked to a halt.

Kieran heard shouts from all over.

“Hey! What happened?”

“Is anyone hurt?”

“That girl was nearly killed!”

Kieran felt as if she was being crushed beneath the weight of all the people on top of her. They were trying to disentangle themselves and get to their feet. As soon as she could move, she scrambled to do the same. As she tried to stand she realized that her skirt was hiked up around her hips. She quickly pulled it down, then accepted the hand of the rabbi, who had a look of concern and admiration on his face.

She thanked him quickly, then looked around. There was still chaos everywhere.

“She was pushed! That kid was pushed.”

Someone from the transit authority had arrived. Then, as if they’d called on some kind of warp speed, police were flooding the platform.

Kieran wanted out. She tried to back away and bumped right into an officer—tall and powerfully built and intimidating in his crisp uniform.