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In this novella, hard-driving attorney Jo Pomeroy is as determined as she is sexy—in other words, a major pain in NYPD Sergeant Gabe Townsend’s butt. Working together on a high-profile task force charged with busting sales of counterfeit goods has been rocky from the start. And Jo’s penchant for trouble is as difficult to ignore as her spectacular legs.
The world of knock-offs isn’t as frivolous as it appears. The purses are fake, but the danger is all too real—and Jo seems hell-bent on putting herself in the middle of it. Her investigations have uncovered valuable leads for Gabe’s team, but they’ve also drawn the wrong kind of attention.
Now, she’s on the radar of a mysterious smuggler not afraid to use violence to evade the law. At the risk of their lives—and their hearts—Gabe and Jo must find him before he finds them.
Chapter One
Joanna Pomeroy wandered Tower Street in Manhattan’s Chinatown trying to blend
into the chaotic crush of shoppers milling at each storefront and street vendor’s stall. Her
partner on this excursion, Sherry, angled around late morning crowd as an unusually
warm November wind blew. Jo’s long white coat flapped open and she dragged a few
stray strands of her wig from her face and tucked them behind her ear.
Across the street, a young Asian woman, followed by a gaggle of middle-aged
females and what appeared to be their teenaged daughters, made their way through the
throng of shoppers. Tourists maybe, otherwise the teenagers should be in school.
Touchdown.
Jo latched onto Sherry’s elbow and tugged. “Let’s go.”
Against the red light, the two women darted into traffic and nearly got flattened by an
irate taxi driver.
Sherry, a young investigator who’d worked for Jo’s law firm for the past six months,
flipped the cabbie off. The man, with much enthusiasm, returned the gesture and offered
a stream of inaudible words. The way his mouth moved, Jo assumed them to be curses.
Life in New York.
“What is it?” Sherry asked when they reached the relative safety of the sidewalk.
Jo jerked her chin. “That line of people.”
After a moment of analyzing the crowd, Sherry nodded. “Gotcha.”
The line of women marched into a clothing store on the corner and, just before the
last person entered the shop, Jo and Sherry quietly took up the rear and joined the troop.
Inside the shop, the smell of dank, stifled air indicated the only breeze in the place came
from the door opening and closing. They needed to open some windows in this place.
Jo held her breath for a second while the group wound through circular racks stuffed
with clothes. They reached the back of the store and everyone dutifully followed their
leader to a second doorway. The young girls in front of Jo giggled at their adventure.
Oh, please. For what seemed like the ten thousandth time, Jo wondered if the older
women—the mothers presumably—had hesitated, for only the briefest moment, to
ponder the potentially dangerous situation they could be exposing these girls to. Even
she, a woman known to take undeniable risks, never came to Tower Street without an
escort.
At the bottom of the staircase, the group leader opened an unmarked door and
everyone piled in. A sudden round of oohs and ahs filtered to the back of the line as each
person entered. Soon enough, Jo and Sherry squeezed into the roughly fourteen by
fourteen room where floor to ceiling shelves on three walls were stuffed with high-end
purses, shoes, sunglasses—you name it. A veritable bounty of goods.
The Asian woman shut the door behind them as the customers pointed and perused
the merchandise.
The back of Jo’s neck warmed as she scanned the names on the tags. Gucci, Fendi,
Coach—and yes—Barelli. Winner.
“Is this stuff the real thing?” one of the teenagers asked.
“Yes,” the Asian woman answered, her English clear, but obviously not her native
language.
A real knock-off. What were these women thinking? If this stuff was authentic, it
would be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars and wouldn’t be in a stuffy, smelly
storage room in the basement of a clothing store. Nope, the proprietors would have
security devices stashed on the handles and in the pockets.
Once again, Jo surveyed the room and catalogued the different brands. For now, she
focused on the Barelli handbags.
Time to go to work.
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