were located and forced to live up to their obligations.”
“Eight? Why haven’t I heard of this?”
She smothered a smile, though it was hard not to feel smug about the accomplishment. Those eight men had thought themselves smarter than their wives. Justine had enjoyed proving them wrong. “Are you aware of everything that happens downtown?”
“Yes.” The word held no conceit, just a plain and simple fact.
“Then I must be doing something right. It wouldn’t do for my purpose to become common knowledge. The husbands would go to greater lengths to hide.”
“And the police are assisting you with this?”
“They are.” To an extent. Meaning, they gave Justine leave to find these wayward husbands and bring them in. Only one officer gave her a bit of help, and just when he had the time.
“I don’t care for coppers sniffing around my men, Miss Greene.”
“Then turn over Gorcey, Mr. Mulligan.”
“I don’t care for that, either.”
“It’s one or the other, I’m afraid.”
“No. There are always other options.”
“Such as?”
His gaze narrowed in a speculative way she didn’t care for. “Such as I refuse to let you leave.”
She couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Meaning you’ll kidnap me? That’s absurd.”
“No one said anything about kidnapping.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“I would call it keeping you here.”
She chuckled again. For whatever reason, perhaps because he spoke French or had priceless works of art in his office, Justine wasn’t afraid of him. Mulligan reminded her of her father, Duncan Greene, a man of more bluster than actual bite.
She also knew men like her father and Mulligan were incredibly stubborn. There was no getting them to change their minds.
This meeting was over. Standing, she started for the door. If this was how Mulligan wanted to play it, fine. Justine had encountered resistance before.
“You think I won’t do it?” he called after her, obviously back to the kidnapping nonsense.
Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she turned. He was on his feet behind his desk, his dark brows bunched together, jaw tight. She tried not to notice how his confusion and irritation only increased his handsomeness.
Focus, Justine. This man had just declared himself the enemy of her cause. That meant she was finished with him. “I know you won’t. You’re not a mustache-twirling villain, like the men in those penny stories.”
His jaw dropped open, but she didn’t have time for more banter. Gorcey must be found before Mulligan had a chance to warn him. She let herself out and started down the corridor. Just as she reached the stairs, Mulligan came up behind her. “Miss Greene.”
She looked up at him. His broad chest and shoulders nearly blocked all of the soft gaslight overhead. “Yes?”
“I may not have a mustache but I am indeed a villain. You’d be wise to remember it.”
Chapter Two
Jack Mulligan couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so astounded.
He’d seen it all in his thirty-two years on this earth. Had lived a life most men only dreamed of, with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Wealth beyond measure, hundreds of men awaiting his command. He had the power to sway elections, to change the landscape of the city. No one took a piss south of Fourteenth Street without his approval.
And one little do-gooder had just laughed in his face.
It was unthinkable. Untenable. Un-fucking-believable.
She had brass ones, that was for certain. He’d beaten men for less than the insult Justine Greene had handed him. Today, in fact.
Ah, but her face . . .
He’d thought her plain at first. Her sister, Florence, was an absolute stunner. The kind of woman every man lusted after, with big tits and a small waist. Smooth skin and blond hair, not to mention a gorgeous smile. Compared to that, Justine was less. No bosom to speak of, brown hair pulled back in a severe style, and eyes that neither danced nor twinkled. No one would look twice at her with Florence in the room.
Until Justine began talking. Then she came alive, some fire or inner determination burning bright inside her. Sitting in his office, she’d fairly glowed.
Now, she swept down the stairs, regal as a queen, dismissing him. Christ, that yellow dress was hideous. With her skin tone she needed deeper, warm colors. Her dressmaker should be fired, immediately.
“Miss Greene,” he heard himself call, not even certain what he’d say.
She paused on the last step and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
He waited for her to walk back up but she merely stood there. Solid brass, he thought and descended until he was directly