Читать книгу Wicked - Beth Henderson - Страница 13

The building that housed the local police station was as soot-stained as those that surrounded it. Lilly had hoped that the sight of it would infuse her with the courage needed, but such was not the case. Perhaps if Deegan Galloway had agreed to escort her inside, her gumption would have felt bolstered, but it was not to be. He had adamantly insisted that, while he would wait for her, he would not step foot in the station house.

Knowing he watched her from a shopkeeper’s doorway across the way was better than being totally on her own, though. Although why she felt so safe with him—had felt so immediately—Lilly was at a loss to explain.

That she felt drawn to him was easy to explain—he was an attractive man paying attention to her. At times he even seemed to be flirting with her.

No man within memory had ever flirted with her before.

At the door to the police station, Lilly paused to glance back. If she hadn’t known where to find Deegan, she would never have seen the slight shadow he presented as he loitered in the sheltering alcove, his wide brimmed hat tilted low over his eyes as he lounged, one shoulder propped against the brick as he rolled a cigarette.

She’d watched him do so earlier and still marveled at the controlled, pantherlike fluidity of his movements and the unmistakably male action of cupping his hands around the cigarette as he lit it. He was like other men in the district and yet he was nothing like them. A gentle-mannered man with the bearing of an aristocrat and the steady gaze of a hunter.

A hunter? Perhaps it wasn’t all that amazing to have met him in the Coast, after all.

Beneath her hand the door to the station house moved. Lilly nearly jumped in surprise.

“Can I help you, miss?” a burly man in uniform asked. He looked to be in his early forties, his features hardened by time and circumstance, his complexion leathered by sun and wind, his girth widened by an obvious enjoyment of a hearty meal. His bulk blocked her from entering the building temporarily.

“Yes. Yes, you can, sir. I would like to report a murder.”

“A murder!” He looked her over from head to foot, his expression clearly skeptical. Lilly was glad her veil provided some privacy so he could not see her expression.

“A vicious murder,” she declared indignantly.

“Never heard of no other kind,” the constable said as he stepped aside and held the door open for her to pass. He jerked his head to indicate a man seated behind a tall desk. “Best you see the sergeant.”

Lilly resisted the temptation to steal a glance to where Deegan waited, simply trusting he would see her safely away once her lawful duty was done.

The policeman took her arm in his beefy hand and propelled her across the floor quickly. “A lady to see you,” he announced as they reached the sergeant’s desk. It was set on a riser to allow the man behind the desk to tower over anxious visitors. Lilly nearly lost her borrowed hat as she peered up into another stern, unwelcoming face.

“I would like to report a murder,” she said, peeling back the engulfing widow’s veil.

While the sergeant’s eyebrows rose, his surprise was not voiced. With barely a pause, he shifted the papers before him, drawing a clean sheet to the top of the pile. “Thank you, Bitner,” he said to the constable, clearly dismissing him before turning back to Lilly. “Now, Miss..?”

“Renfrew. Miss Lillith Renfrew of Franklin Street.”

The policeman scribbled the information down. “A bit far from your own neighborhood, aren’t you, Miss Renfrew?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Lilly admitted, “but the woman I saw murdered was—”

“Her name and direction?” he interrupted.

She quickly gave both and added a description of Belle’s building. “It isn’t far from Pacific Street, so—”

He cut her off. “And what was your reason for visiting the Tauber woman?”

The Tauber woman? Lilly seethed in silence over the dehumanizing label given her dead friend. “It was Belle Tauber’s birthday,” she answered.

“Do you make a habit of visiting prostitutes on their birthdays?”

Who had mentioned Belle’s profession? And what did it have to do with her murder? Lilly began to understand why Deegan had advised against seeking police aid. She was being treated as if she were the criminal, not the brutal-faced man who had wielded the knife. But if not to the police, to whom else could she go for help?

The answer surfaced immediately. Deegan Galloway. Although she knew nothing of his background or his life, instinctively she knew he possessed the talents and connections needed to do whatever was necessary.

Lilly reached for her veil. “My time is limited, Sergeant. I witnessed Belle Tauber’s murder. The man used a knife. He cut her throat. It happened on the doorstep of her home.” Anxious to be away now, she quickly described the killer. “I believe Miss Tauber was considering blackmailing someone and was murdered to protect this person’s secrets.”

The sergeant displayed a modicum of interest at the news, but Lilly no longer wished to lay details at his feet. Not that she had many to offer.

“She only mentioned that she was considering taking this action,” Lilly added, trying to whitewash Belle’s memory. Was it because Belle had been a prostitute that the sergeant was disinclined to pursue the matter? Or was what Deegan and Hannah had said true? That a Coast law officer kept his nose out of situations where his own life might be put at risk? “However, it was a man. I do hope you are able to catch the fiend who murdered her, Officer. Now if you will excuse me?” Lilly dropped the veil over her face and turned her back on him. She was relieved when he didn’t send anyone after her to stop her from leaving.

The sergeant waited until the woman in the outlandish outfit was through the door and striding purposefully away from the station before signaling to Bitner.

“Take this to our friend,” he said, scribbling on a scrap of paper.

“Knew that woman was trouble when I first eyed her,” Bitner claimed. “Want me to follow her first?”

“No need,” the sergeant insisted as he sanded the note, folded it and passed it to his messenger. “She obligingly told me where she lived. Besides, we don’t know if she’s told anyone else about this. Our friend will need to know.”

“That’s why he pays us,” the constable, said tucking the paper in the inner pocket of his jacket.

“That’s why he keeps us alive,” the sergeant corrected.

Lilly’s faith in Deegan nearly evaporated when he wasn’t waiting where she had last seen him. Angry at him, the policemen and, in particular, herself, she shoved her hands in the dilapidated muff and headed for the nearest omnibus stop.

Why hadn’t she listened to Deegan? Why had she been so insistent upon visiting the station house?

Because she was stubborn, mule headed and determined not to be influenced by her attraction to him, that was why. If he hadn’t paid attention to her, would she have been so insistent?

Probably. It was her strong sense of justice, her compassion for those less fortunate that had led her to bring her camera to the Coast. It was her belief that crimes should be solved and evil punished that had made visiting the police so necessary.

Now she wished she had been content to bake bread, do the laundry, scrub the floors and handle nursing responsibilities at her parents’ house. Wished she had never dreamed of an independent future.

But she didn’t wish Deegan Galloway out of her life. He was her dragon slayer and there was one very large dragon yet to slay.

She was nearly to the waiting bus when he fell into step next to her, intimately commandeering her elbow.

“An omnibus, Miss Renfrew? Too plebeian for a heroine like yourself,” he murmured, steering her past the stop to where a handsome closed carriage waited, its body well polished, its matched pair of bay horses well groomed, its driver decked out like—a dockworker!

Lilly stood stock-still, staring at the apparition.

“Afternoon, miss,” the driver murmured, tipping his cloth cap.

Deegan pulled the coach door open and offered her his hand to help her climb inside. “One thing we need from you, lass,” he said. “Our destination.”

Still a bit stunned, Lilly gave it to him.

“You heard, Billy boy?” Deegan called to the stevedore.

“Like a bell,” the man assured him. Deegan had barely closed the door and settled in next to Lilly when the carriage jerked forward.

Relaxing against the plushly padded cushions, Lilly lifted the concealing veil and began untying her borrowed bonnet. “You were right,” she said, laying the hat, veil and muff on the seat opposite her. “They weren’t interested. Belle’s murderer will never be caught and punished. By them.”

She wondered if Deegan had noticed her pause. If he would read what was in her mind.

If he did either, he gave no outward sign. “Wouldn’t one of those street preachers quote a Bible passage at you about that?”

Lilly sighed deeply in resignation. “Yes,” she whispered. “‘Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.’ But that doesn’t appease my need for justice.”

“I didn’t think it would,” Deegan said. “No more sword-of-justice wielding for you today, though. It is well past time for you to be home.”

There was no arguing that. Her sister, Vinia, would be furious and her parents worried. Of all the times Lilly had been away from home, she had never stayed out past dark. By the time they reached her neighborhood on the far side of Nob Hill, there would be little but an occasional streetlamp and the glow of light from the houses to guide pedestrians. At least, thanks to Deegan and the borrowed—stolen?—coach, she wouldn’t be among their number.

“This equipage is far too dear for my purse,” Lilly said. “I’ve barely enough with me to take the streetcar.”

Deegan resettled in his seat, moving closer to her. She wondered if he was as aware as she was that his thigh was nearly touching hers now, separated from such shocking intimacy only by her layers of cloak, skirt and petticoats.

“Not to fret, darlin’,” he said. “I have more than enough. Tell me what happened with the police.”

Nothing, Lilly thought sadly. But she told him what had been said, tempering the report of her emotional reaction to it all.

When she had finished, he offered her his handkerchief. “My poor wren,” he soothed as she dabbed at the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

When Deegan made no further comment, Lilly realized that he wasn’t going to offer his services. If she wanted his help, she was going to have to boldly ask for it.

And that would take courage she was currently lacking.

She looked down at her gloved hands. His handkerchief was still clutched tightly in her fingers, as if it were a lifeline. Lilly handed it back to him. “Again, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you, Mr. Galloway,” she said.

“Your safety is all that is important,” he assured her, removing his hat and tossing it across to land next to her borrowed finery.

“I am not wealthy,” she warned, “but surely remuneration for your time, if not your quick thinking, is in order.”

Outside the window, the landmarks that marked the boundaries of the Coast fell away. Some of Lilly’s tension receded along with them. While her posture remained rigid, she could feel her features grow more relaxed. What could she tell her family to account for the lateness of her arrival? That she’d gone into the local version of hell and witnessed a crime? That she had lost track of time because of the heady attentions of a handsome rogue?

“There’s no reason to repay me, Miss Renfrew. Think of me merely as your Good Samaritan.”

More likely, Lilly would remember him as the most fascinating man she had ever met. “I will. But surely—”

“Perhaps if I was a shopkeeper, I would agree with you, wren,” he said. “But, as I am not, the gift of a smile will suffice.”

A smile! The man was either mad or incurably romantic. She had yet to hear a woman of any age or station claim men were ever romantic. Of course, the phrase had rolled off his tongue too smoothly to sound sincere, had been too glib not to be well practiced and frequently delivered. Her hero was beginning to show signs that he was like other men.

Lilly didn’t care one iota.

“I would prefer to pay my debts in something more tangible,” she said.

Deegan leaned back in his corner of the carriage and smiled at her. A smile both knowing and far too confident for Lilly’s peace of mind.

“I don’t want your money,” he said.

“A portrait, then,” she suggested. “I assure you I am quite proficient in the science of photography and—”

He interrupted her. “Not a portrait, either.”

Lilly pressed her lips together in consideration. Deegan’s gaze dropped to them briefly, lingering long enough to further heighten her awareness of him. How improper it was to be alone with him. A man who was a stranger, who hadn’t been presented by her parents or elder brother or sister.

A man she wished would ask to see her again. Lilly doubted there was even a whisper of a chance that he would.

“I suppose I could concoct an innocuous story to account for our acquaintance and invite you to dinner,” Lilly murmured, more to herself than to him. It might gain her an evening more in his company.

“How paltry, Miss Renfrew,” Deegan chided.

She sighed, her dream evaporating before her eyes. “Yes, I must admit it sounds paltry to me as well, sir, but this whole situation is so out of my sphere of experience that I am not thinking at all clearly. No doubt a suitable solution will occur to me.”

Giving him what passed for a smile, a meager, uneasy curving of her mouth, Lilly unfastened the cloak, the last of her borrowed “finery.” He would be returning the things to the kind ladies who had loaned them to her. “You must be patient, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Patience has never been one of my virtues,” he said, his intonation lazy and dripping with charm. Or so Lilly felt. “In fact,” Deegan continued, “despite the tenderness she has for me, I’m certain Hannah would tell you I possess very few admirable traits.”

“Nonsense,” Lilly declared, and fearing where this conversation might lead, turned her shoulder to him to peer at the passing landscape.

The terrain altered, seeming to tilt as the carriage began the steep climb up Jackson Street. Lilly leaned forward, compensating for the incline rather than relaxing back into the upholstery. Now that she’d removed the extravagant chapeau, she could feel stray locks of her hair floating around her face and trailing down over the high collar of her jacket. The ruff of bangs over her brow was untidy as well, and she hadn’t the time nor the place to repair the damage. It was normal to have dust clinging to the hem of her skirt, but not to have it spotting the rest of her suit. She was less than perfect in appearance, which her mother and sister had often insisted was not the way to attract an interested man.

Deegan was anything but an interested man where courtship was involved. He was no doubt a connoisseur of the female form. Had he admired the beauties of the age, courting some and scandalously making love to others? She couldn’t hold a candle to women of that caliber even if some people did consider her pretty.

“Perhaps I could make a suggestion?” he offered.

A more experienced woman probably would have fathomed his intent immediately, but she was not an experienced woman. Lilly turned innocently toward him, a question in her eyes. “Please do,” she requested.

“A kiss,” Deegan said.

Lilly looked at him blankly, sure she hadn’t heard correctly. “A…pardon me, but did you say a—”

“Kiss,” he repeated.

Her gaze dropped to her hands once more. How proper they looked in the well-fitted leather gloves. And how improper was the chill of maidenly excitement that swept through her. Rather than look at him, she studied a stain on her gloves, one collected no doubt during her sojourn behind the crates in the alley.