by Kate Belli
This was no accident. Someone knew she was alone and wanted her afraid.
She listened.
From the opposite end of the hallway, near the elevator, came the barest scrape of a footstep. Trying to control the sound of her own rushing breath, she strained her ears.
Was that a slight rustling? Was it getting closer?
This standing and waiting wouldn’t do. She wasn’t about to allow herself to become victim to whoever was intent upon terrifying her. Despite how terrified she felt.
Moving as noiselessly as possible, Genevieve slipped across the pitch-black hallway and ran her hand along the wall until she felt the doorknob to the office opposite. She turned it, praying it would be silent. It was, but the door was locked, and she wasn’t about to try her key when her vision was cloaked by darkness.
Another few careful steps, fingers running along the smooth coolness of the wall, and she came to the next doorknob. She tried again, wincing as the knob made a slight creaking noise. No luck; also locked.
Terrified that the noise of the knob had revealed her location, she felt an involuntary shaking begin to take hold of her hands. The feeling of exposure was almost more frightening than attempting to remain absolutely silent in the sightless hallway. She paused and listened again, her heart fluttering like a bird’s.
Another scrape. Whoever was here, they were definitely closer.
Almost numb with panic, Genevieve rushed forward another few steps as quietly as she could until she found another doorknob. This one turned inaudibly in her hand as she stifled a sob of relief.
Now would the door creak on its hinges, or would she have another stroke of luck?
Genevieve bit her lip, waiting, hand on the turned knob. Another shuffling footstep sounded, even closer.
There was no time to wait. Holding her breath and whispering a quick prayer, she pushed the unknown door open as slowly as she could, desperately hoping it led into an office with a lock and not an overstuffed broom closet.
Her luck held, and she slipped into somebody’s empty office. The blinds of the window were open, and scant light from the streetlamps below and moon above offered just enough illumination for shapes to coalesce into forms: a desk, a file cabinet, a chair slightly askew in a corner.
With shaking hands, Genevieve shut the door as quietly as she could and fumbled for the interior lock. She was almost safe.
Unless the intruder also had a key.
Rushing footsteps sounded outside the door. Panic leapt into her throat as she scrambled for the lock, but in her haste her fingers slipped on the slick metal.
The door burst open, banging against the side of her face with a painful thwack and sending her flying backward against the desk. A figure in dark, nondescript clothing lunged at her. She rolled to one side before scrambling to her feet. Running around the desk, she shoved the chair toward her attacker, causing him to stumble.
Losing no time, Genevieve scurried around the other side of the desk and toward the open door. If she could just get out of the cramped space of the office, she could run toward the stairs, begin to scream, and hope somebody heard her. She had seen Verna in the elevator; perhaps people knew she was here. Her fingers had just grazed the edge of the doorway when a strong arm wrapped around her waist and yanked her back, nearly forcing the breath out of her. She kicked with all her might, but it felt useless. She was spun around, and the man’s body weight suddenly pinned her to the desk, a pair of hands wrapping around her throat. Screaming, she managed to wedge two fingers between the attacker’s hands and her vulnerable neck, pushing against him with all her strength. The man’s face hovered mere inches above hers, covered by the type of mask one might see at a society ball, a grotesque incongruity.
Light abruptly flooded the exterior hallway.
“Genevieve?” It was Luther’s voice, thick with concern. “Genevieve!” There came another sound of footsteps rushing, only this time they were welcome, the noise of a savior.
The hands instantly released from her throat, and her attacker sped through the open door into the hallway.
“Hey! Stop!” A moment later, Luther’s figure filled the open doorway. He rushed toward her. “Genevieve! Are you all right?”
Clutching her bruised throat, Genevieve frantically gestured that he should chase her assailant. “Go!” she creaked.
Luther dashed out the door again. She listened to his retreating steps as she shakily sat up on the desk, pushing her hair, which had come partially loose, behind her ears with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling.
Shaking his head, Luther returned. “He was halfway down the fire escape outside Morgan’s office; there’s no way I could have caught up.” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Jesus, Genevieve, what happened? Can you walk? We need to call the police.”
“No.” She winced; talking hurt. A lot. “No police.”
“Are you crazy? Genevieve, someone just tried to kill you.”
She shook her head, Daniel’s reminder about Commissioner Simons ringing in her ears. “No police. I can’t explain. Not yet.”
“Then a hospital. We need that throat of yours looked at.”
She shook her head again. “No. It will be fine. All I need is a cab.”
There was only one place to go: Lüchow’s. She needed to get to Daniel, and fast. Despite the numerous, swirling uncertainties, one thing now was certain: this was no wild-goose chase. She and Daniel were onto something, and somebody was desperate to stop them.
CHAPTER 13
Checking his gold pocket watch for the fifth time in seven minutes, Daniel swore lightly under his breath.
She was almost thirty minutes late.
A black-jacketed waiter arrived with the wine he had ordered, and Daniel allowed him to pour. He liked Lüchow’s; it was slightly more casual than Delmonico’s, and while the food wasn’t the type that made one’s eyes roll into the back of one’s head in ecstasy, it was satisfying, solid German fare. The restaurant catered to the after-theater crowd, and it somehow managed to be both elegant and cozy, with the heads of taxidermied game set against deep golden walls. He nodded to a few acquaintances while he took a sip of the burgundy liquid, hopefully seeming to all the world like any man casually waiting for his dinner companion to arrive.
But he was in a turmoil of anxiety.
Dammit, he shouldn’t have encouraged her to pursue any of this, not when he suspected it could be dangerous.
He tried to reassure himself that anything could be causing Genevieve’s delay—a broken carriage wheel, a horse with a lost shoe, a traffic snarl, or even the unpleasant but not unrealistic possibility that she wanted nothing to do with him and had decided not to keep their appointment—but couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that something was amiss.
Daniel was getting ready to signal the waiter so he could pay for his half-drunk glass of wine, hop a cab downtown, and pound on the door to the Stewart townhouse until someone produced Genevieve whole and well, when he spotted Otto, the restaurant’s unflappable maître d’, leading the very cause of his worry toward his table. Relief caused his body to momentarily sag, before he composed himself and rose to do the honors of pulling back Genevieve’s chair at the white-linen-covered table.
But another man was already there, helping Genevieve into her seat and glaring at Daniel with what appeared to be the force of a thousand suns, an expression that seemed out of place on the fellow’s round, amiable face.
Confused by this stranger’s appearance, Daniel looked to Genevieve for clarification, only to have his recent relief replaced by white-hot rage.
Something horrific had clearly transpired. Her lips were set but pale, and while she seemed composed, there was a slight tremor to her hands as she reached for the wineglass instantly filled by Otto. But what set every fiber in Daniel’s being on edge was the beginnings of a bruise, at present delicately purple, along her right cheekbone. She had been struck, and hard.
His hands instantly clenched in
to fists, and he felt the muscles of his back tense. He was familiar with bruises and could tell hers would blossom into something truly spectacular by the following day.
“Will there be three?” Otto asked, having moved a discreet step back.
“No,” Daniel ground out, staring down the newcomer, who stared back with equal force.
The maître d’ bowed slightly and retreated, seeming to rightly read the sudden strain that enveloped the table.
“What happened?” he asked in a low voice, directing the question toward Genevieve but keeping his eyes on the other man, who still looked ready to pounce. “Are you quite all right?”
Genevieve nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but the stranger interjected. “What have you got her mixed up in?” the man growled.
“I got myself mixed up in it, Luther,” Genevieve said. Daniel’s rage went up a notch as he heard the harsh rasp of her voice and noticed the soft woolen scarf around her neck that she had failed to relinquish to Otto. “Mr. McCaffrey is helping me, and bears no responsibility for what happened tonight.” Even as she said the words, she slanted Daniel a look with slightly narrowed eyes, as if she were still trying to decide if what she said was true.
If anything, the man’s gaze hardened. “I thought that might be you, McCaffrey.”
“Then you have the advantage of me,” Daniel replied icily. He was in no mood for games.
“This is Luther Franklin, a colleague at the paper,” Genevieve said. “He covers homicide, and is a friend.” Something in the other man’s demeanor shifted at this label, his gaze softening in obvious affection and gratitude, but his shoulders also falling slightly in defeat.
Luther tried to assert himself again, though. “I can’t allow you to continue whatever put you in such danger tonight, Genevieve.”
She looked incredulous. “It’s not your place to allow or disallow me anything, Luther,” she snapped in her new husky voice.
A look of genuine hurt crossed the man’s face, and Genevieve instantly seemed sorry. She placed a hand on his arm.
“Thank you for your help,” she said simply. “It meant the world, and possibly my life.”
Her life? Alarm flared in Daniel, and he struggled to keep his face impassive. They were in public, after all, and with his and Luther’s obvious standoff, they were already getting curious looks from the other diners.
“I’ll be careful, I promise,” Genevieve added. “But I can’t tell you anything further, at least not now.”
“But—” Luther started.
“I’m asking you to leave,” she said gently. “I need to discuss matters with Mr. McCaffrey. I will see you tomorrow and tell you what I can. And please remember what I said: I tripped down the stairs. And no police.”
Daniel watched the reporter wrestle with being dismissed, until he seemed to realize he had no choice in the matter.
“Fine,” Luther relented. He shot one final, hard look at Daniel. “But know that I am here for you. And if anything further happens, I may have no choice but to speak to Arthur. And the police.”
Genevieve did not respond to the threat but patted his hand gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she repeated.
Luther looked on the verge of continuing, but instead nodded to both of them and took his leave. Genevieve heaved a weary sigh and picked up her wineglass again.
“Do sit down, people are staring.”
Daniel did as he was told, barely able to keep his anger in check. He had nowhere to put it, and it clawed at his insides furiously, desperate to be unleashed. But upon whom? Not this Luther fellow, who really had no part in this, and certainly not Genevieve. It would have to wait until he learned who had caused that bruise; that person would feel the full force of his temper.
Of course, he could always turn it on himself. Whatever had happened to Genevieve, ultimately he was to blame.
The waiter reappeared, ready to take their orders, and Daniel winced internally as Genevieve requested only a bowl of turtle soup while briefly touching her scarf-covered throat. Once they were alone again, she favored him with a peevish look.
“Why is it all the gentlemen of my acquaintance continually try to tell me what I can and cannot do?”
“I believe they are trying to protect you.” He sympathized mightily with the other men in her life—her father, whom he knew only by reputation, and her brothers, whom he’d met socially on and off throughout the years. This woman took risks with herself, and undoubtedly had been doing so since she could walk.
She blew out a raspy, exasperated sigh. “I neither need nor want anyone’s protection.”
“Apparently it was in order tonight,” Daniel managed to say through clenched teeth. If within the next sixty seconds he didn’t hear the particulars of what had happened, he might in fact lose the temper he was holding so closely in check.
Genevieve flushed slightly. “As would be the case with anyone, were someone trying to kill them. Male or female.”
Daniel gripped the edge of the table. “Genevieve. For the love of Christ. Tell me what happened.”
Thick, leathery wings of dread engulfed him as Genevieve quietly relayed her story, keeping her voice low to avoid being overheard. She paused once as the waiter returned with their food, resuming her tale once they were alone again. The schnitzel in front of him looked as perfectly prepared as usual, but Daniel’s desire for food had fled. The telling of the story, however, seemed to strengthen both Genevieve’s resolve and her appetite, as she dug into her soup heartily and then requested an ice cream parfait.
“My throat is already feeling better. This is helping,” she said, gesturing with her spoon toward her now-empty bowl.
Daniel felt completely wrung out after hearing the particulars of the attack. There was no doubt that someone had attempted to murder Genevieve, and to do so at her place of work suggested three things to him, none of them reassuring: First, that whoever was trying to protect this information was getting desperate. Second, that he and Genevieve were getting closer to the truth. And third, most disturbingly, that somebody, or multiple somebodies, was watching them.
Or at least, they were watching Genevieve. Any of her interactions with him thus far could be written off as either social encounters or the routine work of a journalist intent upon a story. He may have escaped the unknown person’s scrutiny thus far.
He glanced around the restaurant with new eyes. The room, which moments ago had seemed friendly and comforting, was suddenly full of unseen menace.
Daniel took another deep drink of wine and pushed his untouched schnitzel aside, relaying his conclusions.
Genevieve smiled at the waiter as he set down her parfait.
“Yes, I think you must be correct,” she agreed, smile fading as soon as the waiter departed.
“All of which means,” he said, pausing to take another sip to embolden himself, “is that your friend was right. This is getting too dangerous for you.”
Her gaze snapped from the parfait to him, eyes full of fury. “Didn’t we just have this conversation?”
“You are being watched, Genevieve. Which makes you a target. You cannot put yourself at risk any longer.” She had opened her mouth to speak when a new thought jumped into his head, unbidden and shockingly appealing. “Unless …” he began, cutting off what was sure to be another protest.
“Unless what?”
Daniel drew himself up in his chair. “Unless whoever is watching you believes you are under someone’s protection. My protection.”
For a moment she simply blinked at him. “What would that entail?” she finally asked, slowly.
Daniel took a breath. She hadn’t said no, which was a start. “If we spend more … physical time together. If they think we are courting.”
He watched a series of emotions play across her face: confusion, understanding, followed by a slight flush of embarrassment.
“But how would that help? If we were to undertake such a scheme? When we’re together, certainly, but
what about times we’re not together, like when I’m at work?”
Dipping his head in acknowledgment of her reservations, Daniel thought about how best to explain. “Do you recall how we met?”
Amusement flashed in her eyes. “I would be hard-pressed to forget.”
“I have a reputation in certain quarters of this city as someone not to be trifled with, as do my associates. If word gets out that you are under my protection and a plot is afoot to do you harm, I may hear of it through certain channels.”
Her mouth dropped open slightly, and she regarded him with fascination. “Well. Curiouser and curiouser.”
He felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Down the rabbit hole we go.”
A smile that likely matched his own twitched her mouth. “How would we make such information known? Take out an advertisement?”
“We’ve had dinner, in public, twice now. I can accompany you to a few other locations this week, and perhaps we ought to dance more than is seemly at an upcoming party. These will send the appropriate social signals.”
Genevieve nodded slowly. “All right. Well, the Porters’ costume ball is the next major event of the season.”
Daniel groaned inwardly. It had to be a costume ball, didn’t it? “That will do fine. We’ll meet there, and I shall wait on you hand and foot.”
“This arrangement is sounding better and better,” she said wryly. “Are you planning to peel me a grape?”
“If you wish it. And in the meantime, please do me a favor: try not to be alone, especially after dark. Leave work when there is still plenty of traffic. Take cabs instead of walking. Conduct shopping trips with friends.”
“Yes, yes, I know what it means not to be alone, Daniel.”
“Good,” he said, yielding to her obvious distaste for being lectured. “It’s settled, then.” The thought of showering Genevieve with attention in a public venue was absurdly, inexplicably pleasing. He would escort her home tonight, then go straight to Paddy and ask him to keep his ear to the ground.