“Sure I do, wise guy.” He thrust him at a cop, then wielded the bottle of booze. “This is all the proof I need.”
“Steven!” Joe huffed up, face flushed and sweat on his brow. “We got trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Bottle in hand, Steven hurdled the bar with little or no effort. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve while his gaze swept the room, spotting Raby and Brennan spilling out orders as furiously as cops spilling out glasses of booze. Disgruntled patrons were pushed to the wall, some griping and some too glazed to even utter a word.
“Girl trouble,” Joe muttered, eyes flitting to the far side of the room. “Joanie, Erica, Ashley, and Peggy—down there, against the wall.”
Steven cursed under his breath, a rarity that was quickly becoming habit. “What the devil are they doing here?” he said, his gaze following Joe’s.
“A birthday party for somebody you don’t even want to know.”
The minute the words were out of Joe’s mouth, every muscle in Steven’s body tensed at the sight of a girl next to Erica, sobbing in some guy’s arms. Fury pulsed in his veins when the pretty boy kneaded the girl’s back, stroking strawberry-blonde curls Steven would know anywhere. Her small frame shuddered as he comforted her, and Steven’s jaw calcified to stone.
“What do you want to do?” Joe asked, his voice low. “We can’t let ’em go to jail.”
“Why not?” Steven’s tone was as hard as the bottle in his hand. “Serves ’em right.”
“Because they’re our friends,” Joe said with emphasis. “Friends don’t arrest friends.”
“They do when they break the law,” Steven shot back.
“Even an agent as stiff-necked as you, O’Connor, would never do that to his friends.”
“I didn’t,” he said through clenched teeth, “they did it to themselves.”
Cuffing his shoulder, Joe shot another glance at the girls, who watched them with pleas in their eyes. “Come on, Steven, Prohibition is as good as dead after the election anyway, and we both know we’re not going to let our friends go to jail.”
Steven’s jaw felt like rock. “So help me, Walsh, if Raby catches us, your butt is on the line, you got that?”
“Yeah, I got it, you hardnose,” Joe said with a chuckle. “I’ll handle Joanie, Peggy, and the kid, and you can take care of Erica and Ashley.”
“No,” Steven bit out. “The kid’s mine. I’ve got a few choice words for her.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not gonna have time for a chat, Steven, if we hope to get ’em out without Raby the wiser.”
“Wanna bet?” Steven pushed the bottle at Joe. “You play decoy and I’ll get ’em through the side alley to the front. We’re off duty after this bust anyway, so tell Raby something came up and I left, okay?” Not waiting for Joe’s answer, he strode to the other side of the room where police were moving everyone out. With a curt nod at the officer guarding the back door, Steven burned Erica and Ashley with a glare before yanking Annie from the pretty boy’s arms.
She cried out and stumbled against his chest, dropping her purse. He steadied her with a rough hold, and her red-rimmed eyes spanned wide. “S-steven?” she said, swaying on her feet.
Plucking the purse from the ground, he pulled Erica from the line and then Ashley, pushing them forward. “Come on, ladies, I’ll see to it that you get a prime seat in the wagon.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” the bozo with Annie said, grabbing her arm. “She’s with me.”
“Not anymore, you lowlife.” Steven prodded Erica and Ashley toward the door, tightening his hold on Annie as he glared at the man. “One more word and I’ll throw you in the brig for resisting arrest, public drunkenness, and anything else I can make stick, ya got that?”
Eyes hard, the creep eased back against the wall. “I’ll see you at the station, Annie.”
Steven dragged her out, shoving all three girls to the side while several officers filled a paddy wagon in the back alley. He thrust Annie’s purse at her and scowled, hands loose on his hips. “You ladies are in a lot of trouble,” he said, his loud rebuke meant to imply a verbal thrashing. Joanie and Peggy faltered through the door with Joe behind, and Steven nodded, sending Joe toward the officers by the wagon to make a ruckus about somebody in the van.
In a split second, Steven had all five girls scurrying through the alley between the restaurant and hat shop, arm hooked to Annie’s waist to hurry her along.
“Steven, thank you for this,” Erica said over her shoulder, words thick with remorse.
“Yeah, well, this is your last ‘get out of jail free’ card. After this, you’re on your own.”
“W-we’re so s-sorry, Steven,” Peggy said, voice wavering. “All we w-wanted was to celebrate Annie’s eighteenth birthday with a b-bang.”
“Well, you certainly accomplished that.”
Annie tripped, and Steven caught her, halting when he noticed the glazed look in her eyes. His stomach dropped along with his jaw. “Are you drunk?” he demanded, shock raising his tone several octaves. He gripped her hard, giving her a shake that bobbled her head.
Tears welled. “No, I p-promise, Steven, I dinn’t drink,” she said with a distinct slur.
Another colorful word parted from his lips, and the sound of it ricocheted in the alley, confirming that after tonight, he’d need to wash his mouth out with soap.
Erica peeked up, gaze hesitant. “I think that guy she was dancing with must have bought her some drinks, Steven. That’s the only thing I can figure, right, Ashley?”
Ashley traded looks with Joanie and Erica before she nodded. “I think so.”
Annie started to cry as Steven propped her to the wall. “Cut the act, kid, I’m not buying it.” He gave her shoulders a firm shake, then angled her chin. “Stay here, is that clear?”
She continued to weep with no response to his question, and his temper flared, furious at what could have happened to her if he hadn’t been there. Brainless kid! He tightened his hold. “I said, is that clear?” His voice was a hiss, jolting her sobs into a whimper as she gave him a shaky nod. Releasing her, he pushed past the others and paused at the alley entrance with a final glare over his shoulder. “Erica!” His whisper was harsh. “When you see me talking to the officers, I want you to lead everyone but the kid out of the alley—calmly, understand?—then down the street in the opposite direction. And if anybody calls or comes after you, run like the devil—you got it?”
They nodded and Steven strolled into view, badge flipped as he approached a group of officers herding people into the wagons. “Any of you men seen a tall ugly mug with a black mustache and a scar? He took a swing at me, and I think he’s on one of these two wagons.”
“I remember him,” a young officer said, glancing back at the two vehicles parked several feet down the curb. “But I’m not sure which wagon he’s in.”
“Mind checking the second while I check this one?” Steven asked, moving forward.
“No problem, Agent O’Connor,” the officer said while the other two followed to prod the last of the speakeasy patrons into the van.
Glancing over his shoulder, Steven watched the girls slink from the alley before he peered in the van, spotting the bouncer with a surly look on his face. “That’s the one,” Steven said. “Can you see to it he’s charged with both assault of a federal agent and liquor violation?”
“Sure thing.” The officer nudged the last two into the van and slammed the door.
“Thanks.” Steven ambled back to the alley where Annie was still crying, slumped on the ground with her back to the wall. Head bowed and knees tented to her chest, her fragile silhouette shuddered with heaves that wracked his heart as well as her body. Some of his anger softened and he squatted in front of her, picking her purse up from the ground.
“Annie,” he whispered, “come on—I’m taking you home.”
Tugging her to her feet, he handed her the purse and braced her waist, a faint smile tipping his lips when she swiped her fa
ce with her bare arm.
“Here,” he said, handing her a clean handkerchief. He waited while she blew her nose.
She slipped the handkerchief in her purse. “Thank you. I’ll wash it and give it back.”
It was barely a whisper, ragged and nasal and so much like a little girl, he found his anger flagging, replaced by the desire to hold her, comfort her. Resisting the urge, he hooked her close and walked to the entrance of the alley, making sure the officers were occupied before he ushered her to the sidewalk and down the street. Two blocks away, a neon sign caught his eye, and he steered her forward, lured by the smell of fried food. Glancing through a window crowded with grease-pencil menus, he opened the glass door to a noisy clash of bells and the growl of his stomach. The diner was empty except for a booth of teenagers at the far end, horsing around and a couple with eyes only for each other. Bing Crosby’s velvet voice crooned from a jukebox in the corner, lending a cozy intimacy to a place that smelled of burgers and chicken fried steak.
“What are we doing?” she asked, voice hoarse and husky as if she were a chain-smoker.
“Getting some coffee into you before I take you home. Trust me, you’re in no condition to face Aunt Eleanor right now.” He steered her into a brown padded booth before taking a seat on the other side, its polished maple table scarred and etched with initials and hearts.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, hands and eyes fused to the purse in her lap.
He leaned in with elbows flat, his voice softer than before. “Annie . . . look at me.”
She shook her head, a shimmering curtain of silky blonde hair falling over one eye, making her appear both innocent and sexy all at the same time.
Puffing out a sigh, he reached to lift her chin. “I need you to look at me, Annie, please?”
A frail heave quivered through her and she slowly looked up, eyes spidered with red.
“Why did you go there tonight?” he said quietly.
Her throat shifted before she answered. “P-peggy said J-joanie and the others wanted to take me out for my b-birthday, but I thought they just meant d-dinner . . . at a nice restaurant.” Tears flooded her eyes. “I . . . didn’t know . . . it would be a speakeasy, Steven, I s-swear.”
“I believe you,” he said, relief seeping out on a quiet sigh. He sat back and folded his arms, head cocked as he studied her through slatted eyes. “But why did you drink the booze?”
“Hi, folks, what’ll it be tonight?” A waitress too perky for the way Steven felt pulled a pencil from behind her ear and a pad from her apron pocket, brows arched in question.
“Two cups of coffee, please, as hot and strong as it comes.” He squinted at the menu, encased in a plastic holder on the wall of the booth, then glanced at Annie. “You hungry?”
She shook her head and he ignored her response, ordering two hamburgers, two orders of French fried potatoes, a piece of peach pie, and a glass of milk. “Cream in your coffee?”
“Please,” she said quietly, fingers fiddling with the leather fringe on the flap of her purse.
He smiled at the waitress. “One black, one cream.”
“Coming right up.” Miss Perky tucked the pencil back behind her ear and disappeared.
“So . . . ,” he said, a bit more bite in his tone, “I’m going to ask you again—why did you drink tonight? Was that whole spiel about you turning back to God just a put-on?”
Her head shot up in a flash of green eyes. “No, of course not! I meant every word.”
He planted arms on the table, hands loosely clasped and eyes pensive. “Then why?”
Color burnished her cheeks and she shifted, clearly ill at ease as her hands shrank to her lap. “You won’t believe me.”
“Try me,” he said, lips flat.
She drew in a deep breath and peeked up, the color heightening in her face. “I think Erica may have spiked my drink, only I didn’t know it.”
“You didn’t know it,” he repeated dully, his suspicion on the rise once again. His voice edged toward curt. “You didn’t taste it? Smell it? Feel woozy when the booze took effect?”
“See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” she said with a jut of her chin, temper obviously prickled. “And no, I didn’t smell or taste it, and by the time I suspected anything, it was too late.”
“What kind of drink was it?” He waited while she paused, his eyes narrowing a tad.
She swallowed hard. “Dr Pepper.”
“Did you see Erica or anyone pour anything in?”
“No, of course not,” she said in a huff. “Do you really think I would drink it if I did?”
“I don’t know, Annie,” he said, leaning back against the booth with a fold of his arms. “You’re not exactly the most honest girl I know.”
The green eyes blinked wide. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
His smile went stiff as his anger resurged, every syllable as pointed as the look in his eyes. “I don’t know, you tell me . . . Susannah-Grace-Kennedy.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you give me an update on how my old girlfriend’s doing?”
“Here you go, two coffees—one cream, one black, both piping hot. The burgers are about up, so I’ll be back in a jiff.” The waitress set the coffees and utensils down before flitting away.
Annie didn’t move or blink while she stared in her cup, crimson bleeding into her cheeks.
His coffee spilled when he jerked up his mug, the liquid scalding his fingers like her deception scalded his temper. “You have nothing to say?”
A knot jerked in her throat and she looked up, almost a square to her shoulders as she steeled her jaw. “I was wrong, Steven, I should have told you. But I never expected—” She lowered her gaze to blow on her coffee, obviously in an effort to stall.
“Never expected what?” he asked sharply, glaring over the rim of his cup. She took a timid sip while a full range of emotions flickered across her beautiful face, from hesitation and worry, to vulnerability and shame. And something deeper that raced his pulse and tightened his gut all at the same time.
She drew in a deep breath before forging on, her gaze finally rising to meet his. “I never expected to . . .” Her voice trailed off until it was barely audible. “Fall in love with you,” she said quietly, the truth hovering in the air like the steam from the coffee.
She may as well have tossed it in his face—it burned all the same. His jaw went as firm as his will. “You’re not in love with me, Annie.”
A frail sigh withered from her lips while a sheen of sadness welled in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure either,” she whispered, “until you kissed me that night when you took Glory and me home.”
He bent forward, palms clutching the table and his tone so harsh and cutting, he saw her flinch. “That was a mistake.”
“Yes,” she whispered, tears giving way to glints of anger, “it was, Steven, because that night you planted the seed of hope that someday you might feel for me what I feel for you.”
He slammed his fist on the table, spilling his coffee. “Blast it, Annie, you’re too young.”
“That’s just an excuse, and we both know it.”
His mouth went slack. “For the love of all that’s decent—you’re Maggie’s kid sister! Do you really think I can do this with you?”
She hoisted her chin, blinking back her tears. “I not only think you can, I think you do, but you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
He gaped, shaking his head as he dropped back in the seat, arm draped over the top. His lips parted in a hard smile meant to convey his disbelief. “You’re out of your mind, kid, you know that? Drink your coffee,” he ordered, “the alcohol’s still muddling your brain.”
She did what he said, eyes averted and manner calming as if every drink she took braced her for battle. When she finished, she carefully laid the mug down and folded her hands neatly on the table, looking for all her eighteen years and tear-splotched face as if she were the adult and he was the pie-eyed kid
on a bender. “What are you afraid of, Steven?” she whispered.
That did it. “You want to know what I’m afraid of?” he demanded. “I’m afraid of this—some kid still wet behind the ears thinking it’s smart to fool around with a guy like me.”
“I have no intention of ‘fooling around’ with you,” she said quietly, the strength of her words belying the softness of her tone. “No matter how I feel about you.”
He stared openmouthed, heat scalding his neck at the audacity of her statement. His pride prickled. Who did she think she was? Women threw themselves at him all the time. For pity’s sake, her own sister threw herself at him! And she thought she’d be different? He folded his arms on the table and leaned in. “Don’t be so sure, little sister,” he said, a trace of anger in a voice that was husky and low. “You Kennedys don’t have the best track record, you know.”
He heard the sharp catch of her breath and took satisfaction in the blush that broiled her cheeks. And then she opened fire like one of Capone’s thugs, gunning him down with a flash of her eyes. “Well, this is a different Kennedy, Agent O’Connor, and a different sister, and you know what? I think you’re running scared. You can deny your feelings all you want, but the truth is, you kissed me—not once, but twice, not to mention interfering in my life at every turn—”
“Interfering in your life?” His voice rose along with his blood pressure.
She defied him with a hard thrust of her chin, eyes glittering. “Yes, first with Billy Brubaker, then Joe and Dale Brannock, and now Eddie tonight when you dragged me away.”
“Dragged-you-away?” He blinked, barely able to believe he was wasting good breath arguing with a kid who was obviously as thick as she was tipsy. “I should have let them throw your carcass in jail, you brainless brat, and then you’d be Aunt Eleanor’s problem, not mine.”
“Exactly,” she snapped, as if he’d just proven her point. “But you didn’t. You risked your job and your reputation to haul me out of there tonight, so if we’re going to talk ‘brainless,’ Agent O’Connor, then I suggest you look in the mirror, because unless I miss my guess, you are one dim-witted man with his head in the sand.”
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