by Joanna Shupe
She stepped closer, mere inches from him. “Most definitely. A large reward just for him.”
Jack’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Then come aboard. We’ll see about locating him for you.”
He handed her up and she settled against the velvet seats. She was kissing him before the wheels even started rolling. Warm heat spread through her as their lips brushed, a sense of rightness that had been missing all day until this second. She was nearly in his lap when they paused to breathe. “You were very impressive tonight, Mr. Mulligan.”
“Was I?” He sucked on her bottom lip, pulling it through his teeth and making her gasp. “I hadn’t realized charity work affected you this way.”
“I hadn’t realized it, either. But seeing you helping people, talking with them, turns me ravenous, apparently.”
His hands bracketed her waist and slid along her rib cage until they rested under her breasts. “How long do I have you for tonight?”
“Probably no more than an hour.”
“Then I had best make the most of that hour.”
Jack sat inside the brewery, a glass of lager sweating on the table in front of him. He drummed his fingers, his eyes never leaving the front door. Workers moved about the copper kettles, the beer production here unrelenting thanks to the demand for Patrick’s creations. They’d added two big new orders this week. Soon, they’d have to expand to larger facilities. Perhaps Jack should start scouting buildings in New Jersey or Pennsylvania.
“He’s only a few minutes late,” Patrick said. “You’re too jumpy.”
“I won’t believe he’s coming until he walks through the door.”
Julius Hatcher had called this meeting today, and Jack prayed that the financier was prepared to go all in on the brewery project. Taking Little Water Street national was so close Jack could practically taste it.
This gathering was the only thing keeping him away from Bond Street and seeing Justine. He’d postponed their afternoon rendezvous in lieu of hearing Hatcher’s answer on the brewery. Perhaps he’d cable her when they finished. He’d come to look forward to their time together. She was enthusiastic and adventurous in bed, sweet and gentle out of it. They talked about everything, from his childhood and her charity efforts, to their families and aspirations. Nothing was off-limits. He’d never felt closer to another person in his life, not even his mother.
He liked her so much that he’d spent time at a soup kitchen just to be near her.
Not that he was against charity. Quite the contrary. He donated to several around the city, but anonymously. It wouldn’t do for his reputation if people knew. A man like Jack had to be hard and impenetrable to enemies. Not a softhearted do-gooder.
Which brought to mind his softhearted do-gooder and how much he missed her. Where the fuck was Hatcher?
“Drink that lager,” Patrick ordered. “I hate seeing good beer go to waste.”
Though Jack took orders from no one—not even a genius brewmaster—he shoved aside his impatience and sipped the beer. “Damn, that’s excellent.”
“I know.”
The door swung open and Jack’s body tensed. Sure enough, Hatcher walked in. He came alone, without lawyers or associates. Jack hoped that didn’t signal bad news.
Hatcher’s gaze searched the interior until it landed on Patrick and Jack in the rear of the large room. They rose to shake Hatcher’s hand. “Glad you could come down,” Jack said.
“Hello, Mulligan. Patrick.”
Once they were all settled, Jack motioned for Cooper to bring over another beer. The glass was placed in front of Hatcher. “That’s not necessary,” the financier said. “I’m not staying long.”
Jack tried to tamp down his mounting disappointment. “Then I suppose we best get right to it. Have you made a decision?”
“I have.” Hatcher eyed the copper kettles, the workers moving around to taste and take measurements. “You’re busy. Busier than the last time I visited.”
“We’ve expanded,” Patrick said. “We’re producing nearly one hundred barrels a week.”
Hatcher whistled. “Impressive. I hope that doesn’t prevent you from doing a hell of a lot more.”
Patrick reacted first. “Does that mean . . . ?”
“It means I have decided to sink a lot of money into this idea. Let’s take this beer national.”
Jack clapped his hands once, elation soaring in his veins. “Christ, that is good news.”
“Indeed, it is.” Patrick reached out to pump Hatcher’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Hatcher. You won’t regret this.”
“I hope not,” Hatcher said. “I have my reservations about this little trio, but you aren’t the problem, Patrick.”
“You’re welcome to sell me your shares,” Jack said. “And I’ll find another investor who isn’t so squeamish.”
Hatcher stared at Jack, his expression unreadable. “I want my own accountants on this, Mulligan, at every step of the way. I want this completely separate from everything else you’re involved in. Nothing crosses over. Do we understand each other?”
“Of course. This isn’t something my crew will be involved with. Only us.”
“It had better stay that way.” Hatcher stood from the table. “I’ve looked into the Great Lakes Northern. It’s ripe for a takeover. I can get it tomorrow, if we wish.”
“Soon,” Jack said, also rising. “Did you like the train car design?”
“I do. I couldn’t find any flaws, and neither could the four engineers I consulted. We should get the cars into production.”
“I’m ready. Just say the word.”
“Send the contract out to two or three steel companies and have them send me proposals. I’ll get it underway.”
“Excellent.” Patrick rubbed his hands together. “So this is really happening? Little Water Street Brewery all over the country?”
Hatcher slapped Patrick on the back. “This is really happening. Prepare yourself. If this goes well, there may be big changes coming for you and your family.”
“Indeed,” Jack agreed. “Soon, maybe your brother won’t be the only famous one in the family.”
“Walk me to the door, will you, Mulligan?” Hatcher said.
Jack nodded and matched Hatcher’s pace toward the glass windows at the front of the brewery. “This is where you remind me you meant what you said earlier.”
Hatcher paused and thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “It is. I do not want anyone losing money because you run this like a gambling syndicate and not a legit business.”
“Everything will be aboveboard. You have my word.”
“I don’t come from a world where a man’s word is law. This isn’t going to be a handshake deal. No, you’re going to sign legal papers that clearly state the penalties if you don’t abide by our agreement. And fair warning, they will be stiff.”
“I’ll sign anything you want, Hatcher. I’m prepared to do this right.”
“I am relieved to hear it. Patrick may trust you but I do not. And I’ve seen too many businesses fail because of misplaced trust. I won’t allow this to be one of those casualties.”
If Jack didn’t want this deal so damn bad, he’d tell Hatcher to fuck off. This lecture, treating Jack as a rube or an outright thief, was beginning to grate on his nerves. “I am just as invested in this as you are, perhaps more so. And I’ll work my fingers to the bone to see it succeed—”
Glass erupted, a sudden crash splitting the air. Something hit his side, what felt like a pebble or a rock. On instinct, Jack grabbed Hatcher and pulled them both to the wooden floor. Pain exploded in Jack’s right side, but he wasn’t certain of the cause just yet. He fought through a wave of dizziness as Cooper tore out of the front door to investigate. Rye crawled to Jack’s side. “Are you all right?”
“What was that?” Hatcher barked, shifting from his position on the floor to better see the window.
“Don’t move, you idiot,” Jack said, grimacing as he grabbed at Hatcher. His entire body w
as on fire, a searing pain in each cell.
“Let me see if you’re hurt,” Rye said to Jack. “You’re sweating.”
Jack didn’t want to answer just yet. He knew what the hot burning sensation all throughout his body meant. “Hatcher, you hurt?”
“Merely sore from where you slammed me into the ground. Was that a damn gunshot?”
Jack met Rye’s worried gaze. “See that everyone gets to safety.”
“What about you?” Rye looked away, down toward Jack’s legs. “Jesus, is that blood?”
And that was when everything turned black.
Chapter Twenty-One
Justine raced up the steps of the Bond Street house, her mind whirling. She was not a worst-case scenario person, but panic had overruled her ability to calmly rationalize.
Shot.
Jack had been shot.
Rye hadn’t said much when he found her, only that Jack had been shot and she should come right away. The older man looked as if he’d aged a decade since she saw him last, which showed how worried he was for Jack. He’d driven her here quickly, during which time she’d nearly gnawed off four fingernails. The not knowing was an awful black pit inside her chest. Jack could be maimed or dead, for all she knew.
Please, let him live.
He wasn’t a terrible man. Underneath that fancy suit beat the heart of a caring and gentle soul. A man who loved and lived fiercely.
A man with whom she had fallen in love.
It was the only way to explain her sheer terror at the thought of losing him. In a very short time he’d come to mean everything to her. His sly smiles, the rough tone he used when he forgot himself. The way he saw her as no one else ever had.
I think you are a woman who gives much of herself to others without considering what she wants most.
You are the smartest and bravest woman I’ve ever met.
I’ll kill any man who even looks at you funny.
I’m going to come if you keep doing that.
Quick snippets of their time together, every dirty and sweet thing he’d ever said to her, played through her head. She did not want to lose him, not when she’d just found him.
She didn’t pause on the landing. Instead, she ran to Jack’s bedroom, intent on seeing him. Cooper stood outside the closed door, blood on his shirtfront. Justine tried not to stare at the stain or think about what that blood meant. He shifted to block her from entering. “Miss, the surgeon’s in there now. You cannot go in.”
A surgeon who could be using leeches or dirty hands on Jack. “I must go in. I’ve seen enough blood not to be frightened of it, and I need to ensure everything’s clean and sterilized. Please.”
Cooper shook his head. “That’s Dr. Moore in there. He’s the house surgeon at Bellevue.”
Justine’s jaw nearly fell open. This was no random sawbones working on Jack. Moore had recently been lauded for removing the appendix of the mayor’s wife—a dangerous operation the woman had easily survived. How on earth had Jack managed to get Dr. Moore here at a moment’s notice? She pushed that aside to contemplate later. “What happened? Is Jack all right?”
“He was shot at the brewery. Bullet clipped him on his right side. He lost a lot of blood. We don’t know yet how he’s doing. He fainted before we got him here.”
He lost a lot of blood. The words took up all the space in her brain, preventing her from thinking about anything else. She could hear the sound of her heartbeat, an eerie echo of sheer terror that she’d never experienced before. He fainted. That invincible charmer had fainted.
“Here, now. Why don’t you take a moment, miss?” Rye arrived at her side with an armchair, gesturing for her to sit down.
She shook herself. What was she doing, wringing her hands like a hysterical fictional character? This was real life and, while she wasn’t a medical professional, she’d witnessed several procedures and nursed many patients back to health. There were things to ready, supplies to be gathered. The surgeon was merely the first step.
“How long has the surgeon been working on him?”
“Almost two hours,” Rye answered. “As soon as he got here, I came to find you.”
“Thank you, Rye. Might I make a list of items we’ll need in the coming days? Perhaps you and Cooper could see about procuring them for me.”
Rye’s face lightened, a weary smile breaking free. “I knew bringing you here was exactly what he needed.”
Goodness, she hoped so. She would definitely fight tooth and nail to keep him alive. “He might not agree once he’s awake.”
“He needs you,” Rye said. “Don’t ever let him convince you otherwise.”
The door opened, preventing her from responding. They all turned to see a bearded man with spectacles emerge from Jack’s bedroom. Dr. Moore. He did not appear surprised to find a small group gathered in the hall. He placed a black bag on the ground and began unrolling his cuffs. She could see dark marks and scars on the inside of his arm.
“I’m finished,” Moore said without much enthusiasm. “The bullet nicked him, so I’ve sewn that up and removed the glass. He has some sutures that’ll need to come out in a week or so. Laudanum for the pain as needed. Have him stay abed as long as possible, if you can manage it.”
“So, he’s going to live?” Justine held her breath, too hopeful to exhale.
“Indeed he shall, miss. Do not worry about Mulligan. He’ll live to swindle and blackmail for a good long time.”
“Thank Christ,” Rye muttered, and even Cooper smiled.
Relief poured through her, until she remembered how many patients died after surgery. “What about infection?”
Moore’s gaze turned hard as he examined her. “I washed my hands and all my equipment has been sterilized in antiseptic. This is not my first surgery, miss. Perhaps you’d like to check my sutures?”
She would be doing exactly that, but didn’t bother to say so. “I apologize, Dr. Moore. Not every doctor goes to such lengths, however.”
Moore ignored her and focused on Rye. “Tell him this makes us even. If the wound starts to ooze or he runs a high fever, come and get me. Otherwise, we better never see each other ever again.”
“Appreciate it, Doctor. Do you want me to take you—?”
“God, no. I’ll find my own way home.” Pushing through them, Moore disappeared down the corridor.
Justine didn’t wait. She hurried inside Jack’s room. He was pale, flat on his back, and there were drops of blood on the floor. However, he was breathing, his chest slowly moving up and down. That would have to do for now.
Moore had tossed strips of bloody cloth and Jack’s ruined clothing to the corner of the room. “Get rid of those,” she told Cooper. “Burn it all. Then wash your hands with soap.”
To Rye, she said, “We need to get him on clean sheets. Do you know where to find those?”
“Aye. I’ll be back.”
A big basin of red water was on top of the dresser, clearly where Moore had washed up. Blood had never bothered her before, but this was Jack’s blood. Seeing it had her gut cramping, sweat breaking out on the back of her neck. Someone had shot at him.
She went to his side and placed her hand on his head. The warmth of his skin sank into her fingers, reassuring her, and she closed her eyes to let the rest of her worry recede. While her sisters believed her naive, Justine was not. She was well aware of the danger surrounding Jack and his position in this city. Yet, she hadn’t expected him to suffer a gunshot in broad daylight.
Rye returned with clean sheets, which they quickly got under Jack. She then cleaned the room with the help of Rye and Cooper, scrubbing the floors and the bloody basin. After, she made a list of things for Cooper to purchase for Jack’s recovery. She also sent word to Florence that she was nursing a sick friend tonight. It wasn’t unheard of, so the statement shouldn’t bring about too much suspicion.
Then, she sat at his bedside. There was nothing to do but wait.
It took him three days before he was able
to get out of bed. His body ached, sore everywhere, but he pushed through the pain. He’d refused laudanum, even when he couldn’t sleep. Jack could not appear weak. Strength and cunning were everything in his line of work.
He’d sent Justine home to rest yesterday, though she’d argued against it. For two days she had hovered by his bedside, tending to him like the angel he often called her. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was tired. Jack wasn’t a very good patient.
Staying abed was pure misery. There was too much to do, including finding out the identity of the shooter. He had his suspicions, of course. Instinct told him it was Trevor O’Shaughnessy, and Jack had to find a way to confirm it. Quickly.
He also needed to follow up with Julius Hatcher. Rye confirmed Hatcher had walked away from the brewery unscathed, thankfully. And the sooner their plans were put into place, the better.
Cooper was covering for Jack at the club, making it seem as if Jack were on the premises but too busy to see anyone. This would only work for so long. The men would grow restless and suspicious the longer Jack was absent.
So, he forced himself to walk a bit in the house today, even if Rye had to hold him up.
“Steady,” Rye said as they turned the corner. “I wouldn’t like to explain to Miss Greene how those stitches came undone.”
Rye and Justine got along like old friends. Though Jack grumbled loudly in their presence about them ganging up on him, he secretly liked that two of the most important people in his life were fond of one another. “She’ll be angry with me, not you. This was my idea, remember?”
“She’ll be angry with the both of us, I daresay. She is scared you’ll develop an infection.”
This was nothing new. Justine had been harping on the notion ever since his eyes opened after the injury. “I won’t. I’ll be fine.”
“She loves you, you know.”
Jack frowned, using his arm to steady himself on the door frame. “You’re insane.”
“You didn’t see her face when she learned you’d been plugged.”
A large lump settled in his throat. He didn’t like the thought of causing her pain or worry. With all she took on at the legal aid society and her various charity efforts, she had enough weighing on her that he couldn’t add to it. It was one of the reasons he’d never attached himself to any one woman before. His life was dangerous, complicated. No one deserved to have all that thrust upon them.