She cleared her throat. "Mr. Duffy?"
He glanced up, obviously impatient of any interruption. His annoyance faded to surprise, his gaze raking over her. A puzzled frown settled on his brow. Rory had a sudden notion of how odd she must look in the faded sack of a dress, her hair a wild tangle.
She smoothed it self-consciously. "I realize you don't know me, Mr. Duffy. But I need a moment of your time. My name is Aurora Kavanaugh. I have something of vital importance to discuss with you, about a story you wrote two days ago—"
She got no further for she realized he wasn't listening to her. He stroked his chin, musing, "Kavanaugh? Now where have I heard that name before?"
His face lighting with recognition, he came up out of his chair. "Say, I remember now. You are that girl with the runaway balloon from the circus, aren't you? I did the piece about you crashing onto Morrison's lawn."
Rory tried to begin again. "That's why I am here, to talk to you about-."
"Look, Miss Kavanaugh, if you are here to complain about the article, if your name got spelled wrong or anything, I'm sorry. I'm always careful. It's the copy editors that mess everything up."
"Will you please just listen to me?" Rory exclaimed. "This has nothing to do with the article you wrote about me. I am here to discuss the more recent story you did on Mr. Morrison."
Duffy perched on the edge of his desk, heedless of the stack of papers that cascaded to the floor, He scowled. "Yeah, poor Morrison. He's in the deuce of a fix. I wish it had been anyone but him. A little mule-headed, but I rather like the fellow."
Rory was unable to restrain her indignation. "Then why did you write such terrible lies about him?"
Duffy looked taken aback. "Why, it was all true, though I wish it wasn't." He puffed out his chest a little. "I assure you William Michael Duffy always makes sure of his facts. My information came from an unimpeachable source."
"Indeed? Someone straightforward and honest like Sergeant O'Connell from the warehouse precinct?"
"That grafter? Lord no, it was-.” He hesitated, wariness coming into his eyes. "What's your interest in all this?"
"I am interested because I know the truth. Even as your story appeared on the streets, Zeke Morrison was waking up to find himself a prisoner in a brothel and Mr. Addison dead by someone else's hand. And that night when Zeke was supposed to be off, committing the murder, he couldn't have been. He was with me."
That was stretching the truth a bit perhaps, but Zeke's case was urgent. Duffy let out a long, low whistle.
"So the wind sits in that quarter, does it?" He subjected her to another appraising stare which caused the heat to flare into her cheeks. "Morrison must have been quick to take the advantage when you dropped out of the skies into his lap. Can't say as I blame him."
"My relationship with Mr. Morrison is not important. What matters is that someone fed you that story on purpose to help implicate Mr. Morrison in a crime he didn't commit. You have been made a fool of, Mr. Duffy."
Duffy folded his arms over his chest. "How can I believe you? You'll excuse me for saying so, but my other source is a little more respectable."
"Perhaps it would help if I told you I know who your other source is—an alderman named Charles Decker."
Duffy was too cautious to confirm or deny her guess. "You seem to know an awful lot, lady." His eyes narrowed. "Maybe you also know where Morrison is hiding."
It was Rory's turn to be uneasy. She had come here for the express purpose of leading Duffy back to Zeke, but now she wasn't so sure it was a good idea. The man claimed he liked Zeke, but he was a reporter for all that. Zeke's capture would make excellent front-page copy.
Duffy regarded Rory more hungrily than Tony when he was half-starving and presented with a bowl of his mother's pasta. She was thinking of retreating when he came off the desk, pressing closer. "What did you really come up here for, Miss Kavanaugh? I don't think it was just to yell at me because you didn't like the piece I wrote about Morrison."
"No. I hoped that you could help him somehow, that if you knew the story wasn't true, you would want to make it right."
"So I would. I don't like making mistakes on my facts. A thing like that could ruin a fellow's reputation. But I need a little more convincing, perhaps to talk to Morrison himself. It was him who sent you, wasn't it? Why don't you take me to him?"
That was exactly what Zeke desired, but Rory hesitated. "I am not sure I should trust you, Mr. Duffy."
Duffy reached for his jacket, pulling it on. "With Morrison in this much trouble, you haven't got much choice. Besides, whether I believe you or not, I'm a reporter, not a policeman. I write stories. I don't try to apprehend desperate men, especially not ones with knuckles the size of Morrison's."
Rory gave a reluctant laugh. She found something likable about Bill Duffy, even if he was the author of that dreadful article on Zeke. She had only her instinct to go on, telling her to trust him, but it had to be enough, for Duffy was right in one respect. She didn't have much choice. Even if she had changed her mind about taking Duffy to Zeke, she sensed the man would trail her like a bloodhound all over New York.
Returning to the park, Rory noted anxiously that she had been gone longer than she had promised. The sun had dipped lower behind the trees. As it drew closer to the dinner hour, the walkways were nearly deserted. She saw no sign of Zeke. With a thud of her heart, Rory feared that he had gone off to do something rash.
She sighed with relief when she spied him sitting on a park bench, his legs sprawled across the path, a section of newspaper covering his face as though to shield his eyes.
It occurred to Rory he might be asleep, and her relief changed to indignation, appalled that he could be quite that careless when every policeman in New York must be on the lookout for him.
Yet she supposed that she had not exactly given the man the most restful repose the night before. Rory approached Zeke cautiously, Duffy hard on her heels.
Despite how low she called Zeke's name, it was impossible not to startle him. He jerked awake, springing to his feet, fists drawn back. When he realized it was Rory, he expelled his breath in a long sigh. He lowered his arm, adjusting the brim of the battered felt hat, which had nearly flown off.
He smiled even as he complained, "About time you got back here. I was ready to—" His smile vanished when he saw Duffy at her shoulder.
"Hello, Morrison," Duffy said. "I like the hat."
Zeke's hands balled into fists. To Rory's dismay, he took a menacing step forward. Luckily, Duffy understood the better part of valor. He ducked behind Rory, using her skirts as a shield.
"Take it easy, Morrison. You wouldn't want to be arrested for two murders."
"Why not? They can only hang me once."
"Zeke!" Rory positioned herself firmly in his path, splaying her hands against his chest. "Mr. Duffy seems to have been as much a victim as you. He believed that story was true."
"Maybe I should teach him to check his facts."
Duffy peered round her. "I haven't seen anything in your behavior yet to convince me I made a mistake."
With such a beginning, it was all she could do to get the two men to sit back down on the bench and talk. When they did, she positioned herself as a buffer between them.
Although still glaring at Duffy, Zeke was persuaded to tell his entire story, from Decker's threats to O'Connell's attempt to shoot him in cold blood to the escape in the balloon.
"The balloon. That's the first I heard of that." Duffy gave an ecstatic sigh. "What a story! I hope it's all true. With a tale like that the editor would give me the whole front page. Those smart-mouthed reporters from the Times would be green." As another thought appeared to strike him, Duffy looked more subdued. "That is if I still have a job. Lord, Morrison, you wouldn't sue the paper, would you, over one little mistake?"
"No, I'd be more likely to bust up your printing press."
Duffy brightened. "Oh, that'd be all right, but my editor hates lawsuits."
Ro
ry tapped her foot, growing impatient with the pair of them. "Before we worry about breaking presses or writing new stories, we need to deal with the problem that Mr. Morrison is still wanted for murder. Mr. Duffy, in a court of law, would you be willing to reveal the name of the man who gave you the false information?"
"Court of law, hell," Zeke said. "All Duffy needs to do is assure me it was Decker, and I'll take care of the rest."
Rory exchanged a glance with Duffy. He apparently understood her unspoken plea, for he hedged. "Well, the matter seems more complicated than that. There could be someone else besides Decker involved. That friend of yours, Addison, was doing extensive investigating, wasn't he? He implied he had uncovered more than one villain. It might be better, Morrison, if you kept a low profile and let me do a little nosing around."
Rory's heart sank as she saw that Zeke was not about to agree to that. Being inactive for this long had chafed him raw. Another argument ensued, but this time she had Duffy on her side.
"At least let me drop by police headquarters," Duffy said. "I have a few contacts there. I can see how their investigation is going, find out whether your place is guarded, if it's safe for you to return home."
When Zeke shook his head, Duffy continued to plead. "Aw, what's a few more hours? Look, I'll lend you a few dollars and—" He paused to grin. "I never thought the day would come that I would lend money to anyone, let alone the richest man in New York. Anyhow, you could nip off to some quiet restaurant and feed your girl here."
Zeke stiffened. "She's not my girl. She's my fiancée."
Rory nearly choked at that. As usual Zeke was rushing over her with the force of a gale wind. But she had no chance to protest in the face of Duffy's delighted exclamations.
"Another story! I can see the headlines. Tycoon Weds Balloon Girl. They'll have to give me a special edition." He looked as though he were about to die and cross the threshold of heaven. "Just remember, Morrison, when this is all over, you owe me. The entire tale of your life, starting with day one, where you were born, who your parents were—"
"I don't owe you anything except a punch in the nose." Zeke felt ready to deliver it. But his gaze went to Rory's face, her eyes clouded with an anxiety that hadn't been there when Zeke had first met her. She shouldn't have been that pale. Maybe there was some wisdom in letting Duffy pursue a few inquiries.
“All right. Give me the money and get the hell out of here."
Duffy turned out his pockets and managed to come up with a dollar. Folding it into his fist, Zeke was filled with a wry amusement, remembering the night he had taken Rory out to dine at Delmonico's. He had tipped the waiter more than that.
While Duffy disappeared on his mission, Zeke discovered the dollar was enough to purchase ham sandwiches and coffee from a little deli. Afterward, he and Rory returned to the park and lingered on one of the benches, watching the sun set over the rotunda at City Hall.
There was little talk between them. Rory was too tired. Zeke draped his arm about her, nestling her head against his shoulder. Perhaps it was foolish to hang about out in the open so much, but he didn't see much sign of an extensive police search for him. The city was a big place, the locale of many crimes. Maybe the murder of Addison had already passed into insignificance.
Zeke couldn't let that happen. He owed the man more than that. Maybe even the punishment of Decker would not be enough. So what could he do? Erect a statue to Addison's memory? The park was already full of them, just more places for pigeons to roost.
Yet until he settled this matter, there would be no future with Rory. He could tell he had startled her earlier, maybe even displeased her, when he had told Duffy she was his fiancee.
Although she didn't contradict him, he knew she hadn't really said yes. He was trying not to rush her, but it had been hard to hear Duffy refer to her in that disrespectful way.
He supposed it was odd, even inconsistent of him, considering that at one time he had proposed to make her his mistress. But he hadn't known he was in love with her then.
Love- the word itself was enough to scare the hell out of Zeke. Yet he could put no other name to the feeling in his heart as he gazed down at her.
He desired her, yes, an undercurrent of that was ever present. But another emotion settled deeper inside him in what he guessed must be his soul. He had never been sure he had one until he met Rory.
And how did she feel about him? The same. He was fairly sure of it, could read it in her eyes and taste it in her kiss. Why then did she hesitate to accept his offer of marriage? He didn't think it had anything to do with the warning Tessa had given. Rory had never paid much attention to that, even when Zeke had urged her to do so.
What then? She had never said so, but it was likely something to do with his attitude over her damned balloons. He wished he could understand, but he couldn't and it was owing to more than his own fear of heights. He had seen her come through two hair's-breadth escapes flying those blasted contraptions. He was damned if he would risk losing her that way again.
Almost unconsciously, his arms tightened about her. The movement roused her from the half-drowsy state into which she had drifted. She looked up, surprised, noting the moonlight spilling over the pathway.
"It's getting late," she said. "I wonder what happened to Duffy."
"I don't know, but we can't sit here on the bench all night. That's one sure way to attract the notice of the coppers."
They had agreed to take the chance of slipping back to Rory's flat, when Zeke saw a hackney coach drawing to a halt at the edge of the park. Duffy leaped out, barely taking time to pay off the driver. He raced through the trees as if the police were after him.
He drew up so short of breath, he could hardly talk, sinking down on the bench. Zeke and Rory barraged him with questions. "Where have you been? What did you find out?"
Duffy held up one hand, imploring them to stop. "Over- all over," he gasped.
Zeke frowned, finding no sense in the words. "What do you mean?"
"It's safe, Morrison. To go home. No more police. Decker confessed to everything."
"What!" Zeke and Rory exclaimed in one breath. Rory was swifter to accept the glad tidings than he.
She flung her arms about him. Zeke patted her back in distracted fashion. After all these harrowing events, this seemed all too easy.
"I don't understand any of this," he said. "I still want to see Decker."
"Impossible." Duffy managed to straighten, fanning his flushed face with his derby.
"Why not?" Zeke demanded. "Even if he's in jail—"
Duffy shook his head. "Not jail, the morgue. Decker's dead. He shot himself through the head last night."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zeke Morrison had never realized that returning to his own house could feel so strange to him. True, the mansion on Fifth Avenue had never been exactly like a home, but he had gone over the plans with the architect, had been there at every step of the construction, was intimate with every brick, every panel that had been laid.
Why then did the place seem so alien, so overwhelming tonight despite the welcome he read in the faces of his staff? Footmen, maids, even the cook stole peeks at him and Rory from the shelter of doorways. Their eyes reflected a kind of awe. He supposed it wasn't every servant in New York with a master who had nearly escaped facing the hangman's noose.
Only the pert one called Maisie dared to step forth and greet him. She curtsied, dimpling with that saucy grin. "So good to have you back, sir. I told the rest of these simpletons that you hadn't done anything."
"Thank you, Maisie," Zeke said dryly, but the girl was already being elbowed aside by Wellington.
"That will do, Abrams." While Maisie retreated, Wellington made Zeke his best bow.
"Welcome home, sir. When I heard you were coming, I took the liberty of arranging a late supper by way of celebration for the safe return of yourself and-" his gaze skated doubtfully to Rory, "the young lady."
While Zeke was touched by the noti
on, he didn't quite feel as though he had anything to celebrate.
"That's very considerate of you, Wellington, but I don't think either myself or Miss Kavanaugh is really hungry. Just damned tired."
Tired? That seemed an inadequate word to describe just how drained he was, and if he felt a little lost in his own house, Rory appeared even more so. She had wanted to return to her own flat, but he couldn't bear to let her out of his sight.
He draped his arm protectively about her shoulders and watched her weary features summon a valiant effort to smile. The devil knows, his staff had enough already to gossip about, but Zeke didn't care. He had every intention of carrying Rory upstairs, tucking her into his own bed.
"Miss Kavanaugh will be occupying my room tonight," Zeke announced, "and I will take the guest room." He ignored the protest that escaped Rory. "So perhaps you could just send up a bit of that supper on a tray."
"Very good, sir. I shall send Peter up to draw your bath." Turning, Wellington chastised the staff for standing about and gawking. He sent them about their business, which left Rory and Zeke alone in the foyer.
They faced each other in silence. He could tell they were both feeling a little strange, but it was Rory who put it into words.
"Suppers, baths, I guess everything really is back to normal. It's just like everyone is telling us we were having a nightmare." Her lip quivered a little. "Only we know it was all real."
Zeke held out his arms, and she walked into them, burrowing her face against his chest. "Yes, it was real," he murmured. "But it is all over now."
They had spent the last few hours at the police station with Duffy, confirming that fact. Charles Decker had indeed killed himself, leaving behind a written confession of how he had arranged Addison's murder and of his plot against Zeke. The document had detailed Sergeant O'Connell's role in the affair, and he, along with the two thugs who had assaulted Zeke, were in jail themselves. Zeke had made positive identification of the two street toughs. He would have liked just a few minutes alone with the scarred one but of course that wasn't granted him.
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