Somehow, impossibly, all of it was gone on a wind she’d never seen coming.
Chapter 3
Mason became completely sure of one thing as the girl bent forward, gripping her knees like she’d just taken a bat to the stomach. Whoever had taken her things better watch out. Anyone who picked on a rescuer in the middle of rescuing had it coming.
He’d hardly been paying attention to her at first and had paid none to the fact that she’d dumped her things. With the craziness as of late, he’d been bombarded nearly every time he’d stepped out of his building.
But ever since the accident, his face had been plastered over the news more than it had during his best weeks of the season. It was hard to go anywhere, especially wearing the sling, without being noticed.
Those first few seconds, he’d had no reason to think she was anything other than a fan who was coming over hoping for an autograph or to flirt. But she didn’t seem to have a clue who he was. She was only interested in talking dog.
She was also soaked to the bone and shivering. He was rapidly getting that way too.
He scanned the park, looking for a glimpse of someone hurrying away with her luggage. A woman was jogging away from the park, leading a long-legged poodle, but she wasn’t carrying anything. There were a few businesspeople darting in and out of the buildings on the other side of Chestnut Street. Some had umbrellas and briefcases; others didn’t. He scanned the shrubbery for someone hiding behind the dense brush. He caught a glimpse of motion at the southeast edge of the park.
“Hey, take the leash, will you?” Mason pressed the leash into her hand and dashed off before she could ask why. Millie, inconsistent as always, barked after him as if she hated for him to leave.
At the far corner of the sculpture park was a popular hollow metal sculpture of a giant head lying sideways. Mason had caught a glimpse of someone stepping into its hollow neck, though his view had been partially block by barren limbs.
He was nearly there before he realized he couldn’t identify the girl’s stuff. If the guy had something suspicious, he’d drag him back to her. Only when he reached the open neck end of the statue did he stop, swiping raindrops off his forehead and out of his eyes. Someone had, in fact, gone in out of the rain. A homeless guy. He’d been hauling a ratty, military-grade duffel. He seemed oblivious to Mason’s arrival as he pulled off a jacket he’d been wearing. He wore layers of dirt like clothing, and Mason would put him in his late forties. His clothes were worn out and soiled, and his shoes, an old pair of Converse, were falling apart.
“Hey,” Mason said, leaning his head inside the neck but not crawling in. “I’m with a girl on the other side of the park. Someone just stole her stuff. Did you see anyone with a suitcase and a backpack?”
The guy stopped undressing to look at him, then cleared his throat loudly. “Think this is an airport? You gotta watch your own stuff around here. It’s them Iraqis you gotta watch for. Got three tours notched in my belt, and, by God, I swear you can’t trust an Iraqi.”
The guy had a far-off look in his eyes. Mason suspected he was only half-aware of the world around him. He reached into his pants’ pocket for his wallet but remembered he didn’t have it. “Hey, want to tell me what size shoe you wear, guy?”
Mason didn’t get an answer this time. The man was too busy filling the air with all the reasons he wouldn’t trust an Iraqi, and none of them were reasons Mason wanted to hear.
“Hey.” Mason knocked on the metal to get his attention. The knock reverberated through the hollow head and circled back. “Stick around here a little while. I’ll come back. I’ll bring you some shoes. Got that?”
If the guy would, Mason didn’t know. He jogged back through the rain and cutting wind until he reached Millie and the girl. She was walking the dog his direction, her shoulders hunched from the wind. Beside her, Millie’s tail was tucked, and she looked thoroughly ready for the cozy warmth of the plush bed waiting in her owner’s loft.
“Dead end. Homeless guy.”
The girl nodded, swiping a soaked strand of dark-brown hair back from her face. She was shivering hard and clearly on the verge of crying. Mason had to hold back from touching her in reassurance. She was petite in her soaked leggings and tall leather boots. Her heart-shaped face was pale from the cold, but her lips were enticingly pink.
“I’ll go with you, if you want to report it. There’s a police station a couple of blocks from here.”
“I don’t…I don’t know that it’d be any good.” Her lower jaw was starting to quiver. “I should go.” She offered the leash his way and glanced across Market Street in the direction she’d come. “Oh…”
Her face fell even lower, and Mason was pretty sure he knew the direction of her thoughts. “Is your wallet gone?”
She pressed her lips together and swallowed. Not wanting to upset her any further, Mason did the talking instead.
“Look, my place isn’t far. I’ll grab my truck and give you a ride home, but first, we’ll circle the side streets and alleys around here. Pickpockets are notorious for dumping extra weight as fast as possible. Maybe we can recover some of your stuff.”
She folded her arms tight across her chest and looked around, as if searching for a second option. “Thanks, but I don’t want to put you out.”
Mason turned his right palm skyward as if he were trying to catch the drops. It had slowed to an even, steady drizzle. “Putting me out would
