through the crowd long after Jack had disappeared. Seeing O’Shaughnessy bloody and angry had only fueled the resentment between the two groups. She had no idea how the issue would be resolved. Perhaps it never would be.
Go out and save the world, mon ange. I am beyond saving.
She didn’t believe that. No one was beyond saving. And everyone—even Jack Mulligan—was worthy of redemption. He just hadn’t wanted it.
Whatever happened, she hoped he remained safe.
Florence tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth while staring through the window. Justine frowned. “I cannot believe you are eating that. You have no idea where it came from.”
“Of course I do. Try it.” She nudged Justine with her elbow. “It’s safe, I promise.”
Justine tentatively tasted a piece. It was fresh. “None of this makes any sense.”
“It will soon enough. Just relax and enjoy being out of the house for once.”
Sakes alive, her sister was annoying. Justine ate the popcorn and watched the traffic along the street. “I’ve only been inside the house for a few days.”
“Try a week, Tina.”
“Some days I wish I’d been an only child.” What must it be like to live without meddling sisters?
“Liar.” Florence dropped her head on Justine’s shoulder affectionately. “You love us.”
She sighed and rested her head atop Florence’s. “Yes, I do. Mostly.”
Two men walking down the street caught Justine’s eye. One of them was . . . Detective Ellison. That was certainly a coincidence. The man next to Ellison looked authoritative, with the bearing of a policeman or perhaps a government official. “What is Detective Ellison doing here, I wonder.”
“Hmm.” Florence angled closer to the window and tossed another piece of popcorn in her mouth. “I wonder.”
“You are annoying,” she said. “You know what is happening and you refuse to tell me.”
“Because I won’t ruin the surprise. Just watch.”
Ellison and the other man disappeared inside Broome Street Hall. O’Shaughnessy’s headquarters. Strange. Ellison hadn’t been in any hurry to come down here the other day, when O’Shaughnessy had kidnapped Jack. She’d practically begged the officers to intervene. Now they were here of their own free will?
Were they in league with O’Shaughnessy?
The possibility sickened her, even as it made sense. Ellison hadn’t been all that shocked at the ransom note. Most policemen, she’d learned, were on someone’s payroll. O’Shaughnessy was no fool, likely amassing power as they sat here. Poor Jack.
Out of the side of her eye, Justine caught movement on the neighboring street. A large police wagon was coming ever so slowly down Bowery, toward Broome. Tens of men in dark suits hovered near the wagon, uniformed officers there, as well. She sat up, leaning in. “Do you see that? Over there on Bowery?”
“Here we go!” Florence sounded positively giddy.
The group on Bowery halted, waiting. For what? She turned her attention back to O’Shaughnessy’s saloon. Minutes later, Ellison and the other man burst through the saloon doors. They each held one of Trevor O’Shaughnessy’s arms, the leader’s wrists shackled with handcuffs.
She shot to her feet, popcorn forgotten. “Oh, my heavens.”
They were arresting O’Shaughnessy.
Ellison put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. The legion of men around the corner started racing for Broome Street, then converged on the saloon like a swarm of locusts. The wagon followed quickly behind. Justine couldn’t hear what was being said but O’Shaughnessy looked to be complaining—loudly. He struggled against the men, his face red and angry.
It didn’t do any good, however. They loaded him—and several of his men—into the police wagon.
“I cannot believe it,” she whispered. Days late, but the police had finally managed to apprehend O’Shaughnessy. Her resentment toward Ellison and the police department eased ever so slightly.
“Believe it,” Florence said. “That was Trevor O’Shaughnessy being arrested by the US Secret Service. Along with help from our own police, of course.”
“The Secret Service? But, why? They handle counterfeiting cases.”
A knock sounded on the door. Justine froze, on guard. Who knew they were here? Florence didn’t bat an eye, as if she’d expected the interruption.
“Don’t answer that,” Justine hissed. “You have no idea who it is.”
Ignoring her, Florence called, “Come in!”
The knob turned and the door slid open. Jack Mulligan stood in the doorway.
Justine’s jaw fell. How . . . ? Why . . . ? Then she remembered the bags of popcorn. Of course. Jack had known this was going to happen, had asked Florence to bring Justine down.
For what? To taunt her with all she’d never have because he would soon return as king of New York’s underworld?