keep from going after them. Ellie was a big girl. She’d gotten herself tied up with that thickhead and she could untangle herself. Only he didn’t seem the kind of man to easily unsnarl.
Far below, taxis trundled by, mixing their exhaust with the scent of warm bread from the boulangerie on the corner. A queue of locals stretched around the block, shifting with impatience, eyes downcast. The exiting customers looked neither left or right as they kept their heads down and hurried away with scant packages tucked tightly under their arms. A day’s worth of food for an entire family. Meanwhile, the buffet presented at Ellie’s party last night would have been enough to feed the block for the rest of the week. Uneaten oysters, canapés, and cakes were waiting in the rubbish bin to be taken out without a thought for the leftover waste.
“Well, I’m sorry, but she’s my sister and she’s staying here.”
Kat’s ears prickled as the conversation inside wound its way out.
“And when am I supposed to see you?” Eric’s tone ended on a whine.
“You’re seeing me now. Oh, don’t give me that face. We’ll still have time for us, and perhaps, if you behave, I’ll pull out that lace slip you bought me last week.”
Heat burned up Kat’s neck. She tugged at the collar of her blouse.
“Yes, yes. I’ll make it up to Herr Graeber. Of course I want to make you happy, and I’m doing my best, Eric, truly I am.”
“Then perhaps don’t sit outside where every man can stare at you in your nightgown.”
Kat’s fingernails curled into her palm as their voices dipped again. The front door clicked shut. Her bottled breath hissed out between her clenched teeth.
Ellie whirled back onto the balcony, her satin robe closed tight over her chest and neck. “Shall we go?”
Chapter 3
Barrett tossed the watery packet of ice onto the desk in his upstairs office at the Blue Stag and carefully rotated his arm around. Better, but he’d smart from that blow to the shoulder for a few days. Good thing Anton weighed a mere seven stone when wet, or he’d have a broken collarbone instead of a bruise.
Shuffling the worn postcards of Coney Island, New York, and Washington, DC, he carefully returned them to the small carved box on the corner of his desk. Soon it wouldn’t be merely a dream. He could leave the unwashed existence of his life behind and start over with a name that didn’t carry the burden of ill-fated ghosts.
Trumpet notes drifted up through the floorboards, announcing a new set. He checked his wristwatch. Nine o’clock on the dot. Greenwich could set its clocks by Sam. Unfortunately, it also meant his time of hiding was over for the night.
Wincing as he slipped on his jacket, he cast a longing look at the bottle of Ballantine’s on the side shelf. “Soon, my old friend, you and I will have a wee dram, but now it’s time to play for the jackals.”
Locking his office door behind him, he hurried down the stairs into the back room that served as a washing station, stock area, and waiters’ loitering area before the doors opened. At the moment it bustled like a hive of jittery bees.
“Get this water mopped up before someone slips.” He pointed to an overflow of drips from the sink. “Did that case of bourbon arrive? What about that order for the glasses?”
Corbin, his second in command, cocked his head in exasperation. “Oui, Patron. Everything is taken care of just like it always is, so I don’t understand why you always ask.”
“Because I need something to do while you get all the real work done.” Barrett clapped him on the back, ruffling the thin man’s starched black jacket. “No one I trust more to keep my ship sailing smoothly.”
“Talking to me about ships. What do I look like to you, a fish?” Corbin muttered, smoothing the back of his jacket.
“If I’m to mingle with pigs, why not a fish?”
“Then there is a whole barrel of them out there waiting for you. Happy hunting, Patron.”
If only. Rolling back his shoulders, Barrett pushed through the swinging door. A wide room lined with dark walnut paneling and scuffed maple floors spread before him. A long bar backed by a mirror and shelves of glass bottles lined the entirety of one wall. Cozy booths lined the other wall with bistro tables and chairs dotted between. If it wasn’t all a sham, he might actually take pride in this place.