turn my men over to the coppers. I prefer to deal with my own problems.”
Frank’s frown revealed his frustration but Jack wouldn’t back down. The lawyer said, “What about the other cases? Do those involve your men, as well?”
“I hardly see how that matters.” He held up his palms. “If she asks for my help, I will give it. Gladly.”
“I don’t get it. Do you have feelings for this girl?” Frank asked, seemingly exasperated. “Or are you poking a hornet’s nest merely for amusement’s sake?”
This was starting to grow tedious. “Miss Greene is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. You are concerned over nothing.”
“Wrong. She is kind and gentle, a caring soul. Your complete opposite in every way. You must know an association with you will tarnish her.”
Yes, he was aware. And, if he were a good man, he would heed Tripp’s words. But he was not that man. Instead, he’d crawled out of the gutter to oversee the city’s biggest criminal enterprise, one he ruled with relish. To astonishing success. That man would do what he pleased, when he pleased.
And he wouldn’t stand here and be taken to task like a goddamn errant schoolboy.
“Tripp, it is my appreciation of what you did for my brother all those years ago that prevents me from throwing you out on your arse at the moment. However, make no mistake, I do not take advice from anyone other than myself. If Duncan Greene—or anyone else—doesn’t like that, you may tell him I said to not-so-very-politely fuck off.”
“I told you he wouldn’t listen,” Clayton said, his mouth curving into an annoying smirk.
Jack pierced him with a harsh stare, one that had cowed many a man over the years. “Do not forget who assisted you in your hour of need, when you came begging to get back in Florence’s good graces.”
Clayton had no rejoinder for that, so Jack returned his attention to Frank. “Are we finished?”
“Yes, we’re finished. For now.”
“Then by all means, don’t let me prevent you from leaving.”
Clayton finished his drink, set the glass down and left. Frank didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he narrowed his eyes on Jack’s face, his expression solemn. “We all have an hour of need, Jack. You’d best hope you still have some friends left when yours arrives.”
Jack was still mulling those words over a few minutes later when Cooper returned. “How is it everyone walks around here unannounced? Tripp and Madden just stormed my office like I’m a French aristocrat.”
Cooper scratched his jaw, seemingly confused. “Tripp said you were expecting him.”
That lying bastard. “Forget it. I want the door guarded at all times. O’Shaughnessy will retaliate at some point and I’d rather have a fighting chance when it happens.”
“Got it.”
“Any luck in locating Gorcey?”
“No. Hasn’t been around in over a week, apparently.”
Jack sighed, his leg bouncing with irritation. “Fucking find him. Search the city. In the meantime, send the missing payments to his wife with my apologies.”
“I’ll handle it. By the way, Rye wants to know if you’re going to the fights tonight or if you’re headed over to Bond Street this afternoon.”
“Bond Street.” Cooper’s mouth twitched like this answer amused him. Jack snapped, “Something to say before you fetch Mrs. Jenkins for me?”
“I think it’s sweet, is all. Rye and I both like her.”
Before Jack could reply, Cooper slipped out the door and into the hall, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts. Yes, I like her, too.
More than he’d ever believed possible . . . and he wasn’t quite certain what to do about that.
Chapter Twenty
Rising, Justine put down the telegram and rang for her maid. She hated to cancel on Jack this afternoon but her presence was needed elsewhere. He’d understand. After all, they’d seen each other nearly every day for the last week.
Mrs. Grant, her friend at the Mulberry Mission, just cabled to ask for help with the soup kitchen. Justine was always happy to lend a hand when necessary, and today was no exception. Even if she craved Jack’s touch.
She dashed off her own telegram.
CANNOT MEET YOU. AM NEEDED AT THE MISSION FOR DINNER. TRY NOT TO MISS ME.
She then sent the cable with her maid, who could be counted on as discreet. Thirty minutes later, as Justine readied to leave the house, a messenger boy from Western Union arrived on a bicycle. He handed her a paper then waited in case there was a response. The message read:
IMPOSSIBLE. I ALWAYS MISS YOU WHEN YOU ARE NOT HERE. WHICH MISSION?