“It’s a pipe dream, Kelly. The Order only takes their own kind. You might have power and you might even have enough money, but it will never be the right kind of money to get in with the blue bloods uptown.”
Kelly took another long drag on the cigarette and eyed Dolph like he was weighing the pros and cons of giving anything away. Then he stubbed it out in the crystal bowl sitting on the table next to him, twisting the slender butt between his meaty fingers. “Maybe you’re right. But like I said, I was curious, so I started asking around. ?And I started listening. And what I hear is that you’re after some book the Order has.”
Dolph felt suddenly paralyzed. Someone had talked. Someone he’d trusted had said too much, given too much away. ?There was a weak link in his organization, maybe even a rat.
“So I said to myself, Dolph Saunders and I, we are smart men, well read and erudite and all that. But there’s no book worth risking the wrath of the mayor’s precious little boys’ club unless it’s some powerful book.”
“If those rumors were true, I’d deserve whatever I got for my stupidity,” Dolph said, leaning back in his chair and making a show of his amusement.
Kelly smiled like he could see right through him. “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Rudolpho.”
Dolph remained silent. He didn’t let his expression so much as flicker. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“So that’s how it’s to be?” Kelly shrugged as he lit another cigarette. “Fine. This isn’t a tea party. You want me to call my boys off Darrigan, I’m going to need something more from you, something Darrigan can’t give me. ?You and I both know he can do an awful lot. ?And this book . . . From the sound of things, it can do an awful lot too. Maybe more than even you can.”
“A deal’s a deal, Kelly.” Dolph stood to take his leave. “I already gave you what you needed on the mayor, and Darrigan’s playing nice now.”
Paul Kelly laughed, the smoke from the cigarette spilling from his nose, like he was some sort of demonic beast. “I’m not your dog, Saunders. I won’t be brought to heel. As far as I’m concerned, Darrigan’s still mine. You want him outright, it’s gonna cost you.”
Even as Kelly spoke those words, Dolph was already planning how to deal with this new development. His grip tightened on his cane. “Name your price.”
“I want the Strega.”
Dolph laughed. “I’ll see you in hell first.”
“Your words, not mine,” Kelly said easily.
“You’re going to regret the day you crossed me,” he said, standing.
Paul Kelly gave him a smile that was all teeth. “I doubt that, Saunders. I doubt that very, very much.”
Dolph didn’t say anything as he turned to go. If he were honest with himself, he would have admitted that he’d sensed betrayal growing thicker in the air for weeks now—the uneasy energy of a lie being told, the heady anticipation that marked the casting of rigged dice.
But Dolph hadn’t been honest on the day he was born, and he certainly wasn’t any better now. Not when he’d lost so much. And not when everything depended on keeping those losses a secret.
TEMPTATION COMES IN MANY FORMS
Wallack’s Theatre
The bottle of Nitewein was still sitting on Harte’s dressing room table. He swore he could hear it calling to him ever since the girl had taken up residence in his small apartment.
It was bad enough that she’d blown through his neat, orderly life with her very presence—the off-key singing that carried through the bathroom door as she soaked in his porcelain tub, the silk stockings draped over the parlor furniture. The smell of the floral soap she used that didn’t seem to match the hard-nosed stance she took on absolutely everything, but suited her just the same. It had permeated the air in his apartment, and he had the feeling that the scent of it would remain even after she was gone.
And she would be gone. As soon as the job was over, she’d leave. Just like everyone left. ?Just like he would leave as soon as he could.
Well, good riddance, then.
He wanted her gone.
He wanted his life back.
He wanted a way out of this mess he’d found himself wrapped up in. He picked up the bottle of Nitewein and rolled the liquid around inside it.
Evelyn appeared in his open door. “You look horrible,” she said.
“Thanks.” She wasn’t wrong. He had deep circles under his eyes from not sleeping. But how was he supposed to sleep on that lumpy couch that barely held him, especially when he knew she was less than ten feet away? Maybe it really had been too long since he’d been with a girl. That had to be all it was.
He eyed Evelyn.
She seemed to read his mind. “What?” she said with a sly smile.
“Nothing,” he told her, dismissing the idea. It would be a mistake far worse than a glass of Nitewein.
But Evelyn seemed to have read his thoughts and was already sauntering across the room. He felt the caress of her magic. He should have stopped her—really, he should—but the warmth that rubbed against him soothed something inside him. That part of him that had started pacing and prowling the first day the girl opened his bathroom door dressed in nothing but a towel. A towel, for god’s sake. Like any man in his right mind could have resisted that.
Harte had resisted, though. It had taken a good long walk and two stiff drinks before the show that day, but he hadn’t gone back to his apartment, not until he knew Esta was asleep. And he’d resist Evelyn, too. Because nothing good could come from leading on a siren.
“Did you need something?” he asked, studying himself in the mirror. He took the pot of kohl and the small brush and started to dab it under his eyes, but his hands were shaking and he smudged it. Harte cursed under his breath.
“Let me,” Evelyn said, taking the brush from his fingertips. She settled herself on his lap, and before he could stop her, she was brushing at the smudged kohl with her fingertip. At each gentle tap, tap, tap, tiny sparks of warmth began to relax him.
This close, he realized her eyes were the most amazing shade of blue. Like the open seas. Like freedom and possibility.
Her red mouth pulled up as she took the brush and gently applied the kohl to the edges of his eyes. As she worked, he felt more relaxed than he had in days. In weeks. The soft weight of her on his lap felt like an anchor in a stormy port.
When she was done, she gave his left eye one last smudge with the pad of her thumb, and he couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to. A moment later, their mouths tangled. She tasted like wine, he thought vaguely as he pulled her closer, desperate for more of her. And more, as their mouths mashed in a fit of heat and impatient fury.
It was like he was drowning and she was air. And he couldn’t get enough of it, of her. He barely heard the door open. He was only faintly conscious of someone entering the room.