2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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Rewinding the hose, Haustin returned it to the rig now that the scene had been declared safe. Malkah Enterprises Enterprises. Karma possessed a sick sense of humor, like it was goading him to see Yael again. Across the street, Abel and Carl were clearing the last of the people from the bank. He considered it a damn miracle no one had died. Most walked away with a few minor cuts and sprains, a couple with broken bones, and one woman sustained a severe head injury from being trapped in her car.
Construction workers gawked at what remained of the crane in disbelief, mouths agape, no longer running around in a panic, and luckily the press had been kept at a distance. The slewing unit lay twisted in the street, a toy looking as if a giant had trampled it. Nearby, the shattered operator's cab rested on its side, empty when it plunged to the ground.
The long horizontal jib was the biggest miracle of all.
It was the part of the crane that did the work, moving and lifting materials. Haustin saw them all over the New York skyline. The machine's arm was at least a hundred feet long, stretching nearly an entire city block. As it fell, it could have sheared into neighboring buildings, guaranteeing casualties, but it didn't. It appeared to have fallen straight down to the street, one end grazing the bank's ground-level lobby and smashing cars.
Jesus, what a mess. He wondered how it affected Yael, whether she was working in the company yet like her grandmother expected her to. If only he hadn't mutilated her phone number. Not like he could call now. Eight damn days was too long, especially since he'd acted like a first-class jerk. Talk about a bonehead move.
Glancing up, it was as if he'd thought about her often enough to conjure a mirage. He blinked. It was her. A few dozen yards away, Yael gazed at the building wearing a mask of horror. The sound and commotion disappeared, leaving only her. She looked beautiful, just as he remembered, and his gut clenched. He did want to see her again—no use denying it. Screw the differences in their lives. Right as he was about to stride over, she shut her eyes and said something to a man beside her. The dude leaned in, replying, and Haustin bristled at the level of familiarity between them. Irritation flared, too. What right did he have to be jealous?
Then, she ducked into a fancy car, and it drove off.
His heart trailed along behind her, and, instinctively, he knew she must not have been able to handle the similarities between this and the Trade Center. He didn't notice anymore, having learned long ago not to let those coincidences rule him. If he panicked around skyscrapers, he'd be well and truly screwed.
He watched the man who seemed so at ease with Yael jog in his direction, heading for the blue and white barricades NYPD had put up. They were supposed to keep everyone out, including slick hotshots with handsome faces and no debilitating pill addictions. Hell, the guy looked like a damn GQ ad with his perfectly styled hair, chiseled jaw, and piercing eyes.
