The Detective's Dilemma (5 page)

She picked up her fork and poked at the egg. “You know their weapons. Threats, using people like you. And there were also promises of rewards if I should behave properly.”

“They’d pay you if you’d cooperate?”

“Yes. They’d used money to control James, as well. He had some money of his own but no notion of a budget. He went into debt, and they helped him. It is a dull story.” She put down the fork. “Money so often is, don’t you think?”

He ate a bite of bacon. “A lack of it is considerably duller.”

“For once, we agree, Mr. Walker.”

“I imagine we’d agree about any number of topics. The food here, for instance.”

“I haven’t eaten a bite.”

“And so you demonstrate you’re the wiser of us.” He made a terrible face at the plate in front of her. “It’s hardly haute cuisine. Your bread was far superior.”

This was flirtation. Her face went hot as she realized it. Not exactly risqué, but here they sat and talked as if they’d had a proper introduction—and as if she wasn’t holding a gun on him.

Her old, long-abandoned life sometimes came to her at odd moments. She’d been a debutante and had had a season and might have enjoyed another if That Incident hadn’t taken place. Every now and again, Julianna thought of her lost chances with regret. She’d missed the flowers and the dancing. But what she’d forgotten and remembered now was the conversation with gentlemen who made one’s breath stutter. Physical attraction was not going to thwart her.

She inched her chair away from him. The gun, which had grown too heavy, rested on her lap, and she kept a hand on it at all times.

He seemed to be examining the wall of notices and the restaurant’s menu. Julianna picked up the knife beside her plate and slipped it into her pocket. She’d already realized she’d never be able to shoot this man, but she wanted a means of self-defense. The knife and Brennan’s book made that pocket heavy.

She wondered what lay in the book, but not enough to open it in front of this man. She had her suspicions and would only open it alone.

“I could take that knife away from you,” he said quietly.

She froze, then decided against acting innocent. “You tried to take the gun already.”

“Yes, and I won’t try that again.” He leaned back in his chair, an arm looped over the back, and smiled at her. It was such a friendly, intimate grin that her indignation and fear were usurped by a strange giddiness. “You’re strong for a lady, you know.”

“I’m not going to put the knife back,” she said.

“I guess not.”

“Will you arrest me for stealing from the restaurant?” she asked.

“I’d be more likely to arrest the owner of the restaurant for serving this food.”

She snickered. Julianna Winthrop, a woman who had barely smiled for months, laughed.

“Thank you,” he said solemnly.

“Why?”

“I always feel ridiculously proud when a lady laughs at my jokes. Since my pride was broken by my failure to disarm you, this helps me recover.” His joking manner and admiring eyes warmed her, and the world and her problems seemed to shrink to less significance now. He could be an ally. She might trust someone who could laugh at himself, couldn’t she?

They sat in companionable silence. His gaze on her seemed to change, grow even more intimate. Julianna’s heart thumped faster.

Something sizzled—rain beating against the windows, hissing on the brick steps. The waiter hurried across the room and slammed the door shut before water cascaded down the stairs.

He paused near their table and glowered at them, as if daring them to say something. “Need anything?” the waiter asked the detective.

“Nope.” Walker looked at Julianna, who shook her head and said, “Nothing, thank you.”

The waiter stalked back to the little cubby where he had a stool and what appeared to be a dime novel.

Walker pushed the plate away. He rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand.

Still smiling, he murmured, “Let’s talk. Really talk. Now that you know I won’t attack you or arrest you, how about you tell me what you and I are going to do? You say your son is safe, but are you sure about that? Shouldn’t we check on him?”

The words were like a slap to the face—the sort one needed to come back from a dream to reality.

He didn’t want to help her or know about her troubles. His confiding friendly manner had doubtless been a fiction, she realized with ludicrous surprise and a sinking sensation. He’d wanted to weasel his way into her good graces to find Peter. Of course he would.

The detective wouldn’t attack her again, she sensed that was true, but not because he was her ally. His main goal was to find Peter for her in-laws—dragging her to prison might come, but later.

Rage made her hand shake but the flare of anger soon passed. Unlike Julianna, Detective Walker was not personally involved. He was merely doing a job. She forced herself to draw another of those long slow breaths to recover from the disappointment.

You are not alone,
she reminded herself. She might be lonely, yes, but Brennan and Isabelle were allies. And she had Peter. How had she let herself forget the most important person in her world?

“I don’t think so, Detective,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “The rain will pass, and we’ll be on our way.” She turned her attention to the food. Who knew when they’d get a chance to eat again? She picked at the plate of chilled eggs and decided she’d do best to ignore him and those warm eyes.

Chapter Three

He cursed himself for pushing her too hard too soon again. But she’d been so easily distracted from their circumstances and had fallen into the conversation, and opened up to him as if she were starved for consideration.

He should have played longer. The trouble was, despite the knowledge that she apparently lived in sin with her former servant, Walker had been charmed by her determination and then by her laughter. She wasn’t the only one who’d been susceptible.

It wouldn’t hurt to just stay near her without pushing her one way or another. It wouldn’t harm him one little bit. And if he ended up not getting the kid into police custody? If he failed and showed he was incompetent, his superiors might wash their hands of him, and that could be for the best.

If Gregory lost interest in him, he might lose his rank but if he was lucky, he could go back to walking a beat. His family had been mortified by that choice, and he’d had some bad moments, but it had been interesting.

Yeah, and at the moment, life proved interesting once again.

The heavy rain passed quickly. Mrs. Winthrop looked at the door. “You’ll pay, and we’ll leave.” She eased some coins from her satin purse. “This should more than cover it.”

“I have money.” He felt indignant.

“I apparently invited you out for a meal. I should pay.”

His ringing laughter surprised even him and made her narrow her eyes. “Your invitation.” He nodded at the gun in the purse. “It isn’t the sort usually employed by the upper crust.”

Her mouth twitched. “It’s precisely the sort of invitation some send. Think of yourself as a gun, Detective, delivering the invitation from the Winthrops.”

She had a point.

He put the coins on the table, and the waiter didn’t even look up from his book.

Walker and Mrs. Winthrop walked out into the freshly washed streets. The clouds still hung low, but some of the heavy sensation of coming rain had passed, and the air tasted cleaner—not that the city ever smelled like flowers and candy. He thought of a place where the air was usually sweeter.

“Say, we ought to go to Coney Island for the day. I’d take you to Feltman’s and buy you a sausage. There’s a nice shady garden there. They even have music.”

She made a disbelieving sort of sound.

“Well yes, it’s true the music is German bands. A lot of the island is not fit for a lady, but there’s a carousel with horses and a ballroom. I’d take you dancing.”

“You’re not very amusing.”

“I wasn’t trying to be. What else would we do? You’re obviously not going to let me out of your sight, and we have hours left of today.” And what about tonight? That particular thought made his belly twist a bit—anticipation.

“I don’t think I’d enjoy Coney Island.”

That made him stop dead on the sidewalk in front of a pawnbroker who stood outside his store smoking a cigar. Walker said, “The way you said that. Do you mean you’ve never been?”

She gave a tiny twitch of the satin sack, and he obediently began walking again. She fell into step next to him, closer than before. “It was hardly the sort of place my family visited,” she said.

“No, nor would mine. We were deprived young things, weren’t we? All fine arts, good taste, and symphonies. Not a single music hall act or oompah band.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and her lips flattened—he knew that expression already: she fought a smile. “Even if you were serious, I don’t want to risk it,” she said. “I suspect many police patrol that area, and you’d summon them to arrest me.”

He hadn’t even thought of that.

They walked again, and as they did, he noticed she seemed to limp. “Did you hurt your foot?” Maybe he’d done it when he’d tried to grab the gun. The stab of guilt he felt at that thought annoyed him.

She didn’t slow. “My shoes are not designed for walking miles.”

Her shoes were like his, beautifully made and repaired more than once. They were a delicate yellow and were decorated with beads. What sort of gown had she worn to match them? “Dancing slippers,” he said. “You wore dancing slippers to bake bread?”

She ignored the question. “They’re too thin for tramping across the city.”

“We could hire a carriage and go wherever you wish.”

“Yes. That’s best.” She stopped and looked up and down the street as if trying to spot a cab from where they stood. They had to walk another two blocks to find a line of carriages waiting.

They climbed into the first, a shiny black hansom. The driver leaned from his back perch to open the hatch and peer down at them, awaiting the order.

“We’re newly wed,” Mrs. Winthrop told the driver with a convincing nervous giggle. Why did she say such a thing?

“Hey, now. Is that you, Officer Walker?” British Billy Goodman stared down at him. “You hitched? Mrs. Walker is it, then?” He winked at Mrs. Winthrop, who gazed back with wide-eyed horror. “And I can see you’re the jammiest bit of jam. Well, that’s all right then, for you can’t do better than this mutton shunter. Best on the force. I got caught in a half-rats mafficking mob years back, and he came smart-like, all by his lonesome, to the rescue. Doesn’t object to a bit of a rumble, does our Mr. Walker. And he was real decent to a skint fare I hauled another time.”

Walker hadn’t seen old Babbling Billy for a couple of years, and he almost broke into a hail-fellow-well-met routine, but next to him, Mrs. Winthrop gave a small gasp of dismay. Of course—if someone recognized Walker, she might run off. He had no interest in ending the charade yet.

Walker gave Billy a puzzled frown. “No, I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. I’m not sure who you think I am, but we’ve never met.”

Billy sniffed and tilted his head. “You sure about that, cocky?”

“Well, yes, I should say so.” Walker managed to insert a hint of offended citizen. He could act—he’d had practice on the job.

“Beg pardon, then,” Billy said. He settled back on his bench.

Mrs. Winthrop still looked worried. She waved her hand at the driver who peered at them through the hatch. “Please hold on a minute.”

She lowered the side window and leaned out. She must not have wanted Walker to hear as she spoke to Billy in a low voice.

“Seems like a daffy location for a surprise,” the driver said.

She giggled again, a false sound this time, but it apparently worked. She closed the window, the driver shut the hatch, and they lurched forward.

“Take off your tie,” she said.

“What?”

“Take it off and give it to me. I’m going to blindfold you. It’s part of my newlywed surprise.”

“I doubt Billy will like anything too interesting going on in his cab,” he whispered even as he pulled at the knot of the dark blue tie, yanked it off, and handed it to her.

“Your hat.”

He took it off and rested it on his knees. “You are peculiar,” he said.

“The driver would say daffy,” she said as she wrapped the tie around his head. The faint scratch of wool barely registered, but he was far more aware of her breath touching his face, her tentative hands brushing the back of his neck as she worked.

She’d done a good job—he couldn’t see a thing. She slid the hat from his lap and shoved it onto his head. He reached up to adjust it.

“No, keep it low,” she said. “Fewer people looking in from the street will notice your face.”

He heard the shuffle of cloth as she sat back. “What was all that the driver was saying about you?” Her voice came from so close to his ear, he could feel her warm breath wash over his skin.

He liked having her close, so he whispered his answer. “He got into a tussle with some nearly drunk college students, and I dragged him out of it. I ended up with a black eye when a couple of them fought back. That night was a busy one. I met him once after that when he had a sick man in his cab and needed a faster escort to Bellevue.”

He folded his arms and leaned back on the leather seat. The sound of the street was loud, costermongers, a whistle, the clop of many hooves, and the rumble of iron wheels over cobblestones. He could smell roasting meat, sewage, spices that might have been Italian. Yes, there were definitely some men speaking Italian nearby, but a woman spoke Greek, and another shouted something that might have been Russian.

Were they that close to the Lower East Side? No. That would take more than a five-minute drive.

Her thigh pressed to him, and he suddenly found his concentration shifting from the street to matters closer to hand. Yes, he could smell her too now, bread and woman. The heat of her leg, just a few layers of cloth away from him. He sighed with exasperation and desire, and tried to will away his awakening interest.

The last time he’d been with a woman was the previous year. That lady had been interested in money, and he’d been lonely. They’d both understood these facts, and they’d had a cordial exchange. She wasn’t exactly a prostitute, and he wasn’t exactly a client.

That situation had been close to ideal. This woman…a very bad idea.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Her voice was right next to his ear, a soft whisper again.

“Yes, I am. Extremely uncomfortable.” Maybe she’d take off the damn tie or fiddle with it.

She did neither. “I’m sorry. We’ll be there soon. Don’t take it off until I tell you to. Please.”

The carriage halted at a noisome spot. He remarked, “Fish in the summer in New York should be banned. When this is over and done with, I shall take a journey to the woods. Pinewoods, I think. In the mountains.”

She gave a small hum, a bit of laughter. The more he entertained her, the better.

He started to stand, and she tugged at his sleeve and in a loud voice said, “One minute, please, darling.”

The word darling sounded so wrong, Walker had to smile.

Billy must have opened the hatch. Next time he ran across British Billy, he’d apologize and explain the daffy story to him. Of course, Walker might have to flee the city permanently. He planned to help the person he’d been sent to hold prisoner— Gregory and the rest of the shadowy gang couldn’t be pleased by that action.

There was the clink of money exchanging hands. “Need help getting him out, dearie?” the driver asked.

“We’ll be fine.”

The thump and creak must mean the low door was opened. A moment later, another creak. She’d gotten out the other side and moved to stand by his side of the carriage, next to the curb. “It’s a big step down, darling. Put your hand on my shoulder.”

He rested his hand on her, squeezed, then stepped onto the pavement. A moment later, there was another thump of the door shutting, and then the clatter and creak of the cab pulling away—at a quick clip, judging from the hoofbeats. The heat of the sun touched him and then vanished. They stepped into darkness. His shoulder brushed something, a wall, probably, and he had the impression of a cramped passageway.

“In about ten steps, we’ll come to some stairs. We’ll go upstairs.”

He shuffled along. “Tell me. Why didn’t you just take off just now? You could have given the driver more money and run off, leaving me like a chump sitting in the carriage or standing on the sidewalk, my tie wrapped around my head.”

“You’d tell the cab driver the truth, then, wouldn’t you?”

“After lying to him at first? I doubt it.” His hand still rested on her shoulder. They might as well be playing a child’s game. Didn’t she know how easily he could slide up behind her, grab her up into a wrestling hold? He’d take the gun. He imagined grappling her body against his for other reasons. He’d turn her around and press his mouth to hers, tasting her…

He tightened his grip on her shoulder again—not a child’s game after all.

A door squealed open in protest.

They clumped up uncarpeted steps. The smells were less offensive now, though he caught the faint scent of cabbage and other old, cheap dinners. Not the worst slum, but not a refined home like the one they’d come from. The smell of turpentine reached him.

The rattle of a key and then they walked into a smaller space with the scent of dust and old coal fires.

She came near, and he breathed in her smell instead as cool fingers removed his hat and then the tie.

The space was larger than he’d expected. Tall ceilings and big windows—though they overlooked nothing but the backs of other buildings. He couldn’t identify their location looking out the window.

She backed up a step as if suddenly remembering he posed a threat. “I’ll just put these here.” She dropped his hat and tie on an upright piano.

“Where are we? No, not the location. I mean to whom does this apartment belong?”

She hesitated, then said, “A friend. I was going to stay here after I sold the house, but that won’t work now that the Winthrops are taking such drastic steps. I’ll leave town.”

He suspected she lied to him about fleeing New York. Where could a girl like her go?

“Ah. Would you care for a cup of tea?” She backed away even more, rubbing her hands together.

“Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not.” She looked into his face and then away, her cheeks pinkening.

She straightened her back and then crossed her arms. Ah. She must have felt the tension too. Perhaps she’d discerned his awakening inappropriate desire. Although, really, it might prove the best sort of desire to experience. They existed out of time here. Out of their lives. Why not get out of their clothes?