screaming, asking where Mulligan had gone. That Jack somehow escaped filled her with hope, the relief so palpable she nearly collapsed. Then Rye had thrown a man’s coat over her head and began smuggling her through the crowd, away from the danger.
“Don’t you worry, miss,” Rye had told her as she boarded an uptown hansom. “Old Jack always finds a way.”
She didn’t doubt it. He was the most resourceful and intelligent man she’d ever known. And, now that he’d turned his empire over to O’Shaughnessy, Jack was free to pursue something else. Like a national brewery, or another business opportunity. Anything other than danger and vice.
Which meant they could be together.
She loved him, and the past few days had taught her that life was short. Anything could happen at any moment. Therefore, shouldn’t she grab any happiness she could find while still alive? Jack had said he would try to forget her, but she didn’t believe he actually meant it. Not when he’d given it all away to save her and Rye from O’Shaughnessy.
He still cared about her.
All she needed to do was to convince him to give them a chance.
She waited until dark had long settled on the city. Wearing a long cloak, she approached his front door and rang the bell. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming, but she knew Jack would be here, plotting the next stage of his life. She desperately longed to be part of that plot.
The door swung open to reveal Rye. His expression softened when he saw her under the hood. “Hello, miss. I was wonderin’ when you’d stop by.”
She crossed into the entryway and unbuttoned her cloak. “How is he doing?”
“Not sleepin’. Not eating.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to worry.”
She threw her cloak over the bannister and started up the stairs. Rye called out, “Wait, miss. He’s not up there.”
Oh. Pausing, she turned on the step. “Where is he?”
“Downstairs. At the bowling lane.”
By the time she reached the basement, the sound was nearly deafening. Jack was in shirtsleeves, no necktie or collar, hair askew, at the mouth of the lane. Sweat dampened his clothes, making them stick to his body. At the other end of the lane, Cooper was scurrying to reset the pins.
Jack picked up another ball, his foot tapping with impatience. “Hurry up, damn it.”
Justine felt a pang of sympathy for Cooper. “Hello, Jack.”
He spun toward her, his expression flat and unwelcoming. “What are you doing here?” He looked terrible. Gaunt and exhausted. Dark circles under eyes rimmed with red.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Why?” He weaved, unsteady on his feet, and she feared he might topple over.
“May we sit somewhere and talk?”
“I don’t want to talk.” Turning, he hurled the ball down the lane, all ten pins exploding at the impact. Cooper jumped out of the way, covering his head for protection.
“Jack, please,” she said quietly.
Cooper started walking away, ignoring the mess. Jack put his hands on his hips. “Where are you going? Reset those goddamn pins!”
Cooper kept moving. “I’m starving. I’m going to the kitchen and getting something to eat.”
Jack said nothing, merely cursed under his breath. When they were alone, he cocked his head at her. “What do you want, Justine?”
“When was the last time you slept?”
“Hoping to get me into bed? I thought you put an end to all that.”
“I am not trying to get you into bed. I am worried about you.”
“Of course you are. But it turned out you were right. I am poison, after all. At least where you are concerned.”
“What are you talking about?”
He returned his ball to the rack then thrust his hands in his pockets. “You said I would corrupt you—and I did.”
“Are you referring to what happened with O’Shaughnessy? Because I don’t regret any of it.”
“You never should have been involved.”
“I had no choice. He sent me the ransom note and I went to the police. They wouldn’t help me, so I went to Cooper and organized the men.”
“Yes, I heard all about your Joan of Arc speech, mobilizing the masses.” He shook his head. “Leading a mob down Bowery. Brandishing a pistol. Trading insults with O’Shaughnessy. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been there to witness it.”
Her back straightened, the words hinting at wounds she’d prefer stay closed. “Why? Because I’m naive and sheltered?”
“Because you are good and decent and the purest person I have ever met in my life!” he shouted, his blue eyes wild. “You almost killed a man because of me. It’s