by Joanna Shupe
“That’s all,” Will finally said. “Finish up for the day. After that, go home, and I’ll see you both in the morning.”
The two men stood and hurried out, but not before casting furtive, curious glances at Ava on the way. She hardly noticed. Intent gray eyes now pierced her and energy crackled in the room. A jolt coursed through her, a heady buzz in her blood that stretched to every part of her body. She recognized that feeling—attraction—and instantly resented it. To experience animal lust for a man so far out of her reach was laughable.
Not that she could want such a repressed and arrogant man. She needed to remember as much and put an end to the way her insides reacted to him. If only he were not so damned handsome.
“Ava. This is quite a surprise.”
There was no time to lose. “I need your help. My brother is being held at the police precinct, and I need someone with influence to get him out.”
One arrogant brow rose as he leaned against his desk. He crossed his arms, the fine wool of his evening coat pulling to show off wide, strong shoulders. “Your brother . . . At the police precinct. What’s he been arrested for?”
“Picking pockets,” she forced out, her face hot with humiliation.
She expected him to laugh or use the opportunity to draw parallels between the arrest and her own profession, but he surprised her. He strode to the hallway door, opened it, and called for the butler. “Frederic, have my brougham brought around, will you? I have an errand this evening.”
Ava nearly sagged to the floor in relief. He was going to help her, thank God.
“This is certainly an interesting turn of events,” he said, his attention on her. “Not only will I learn your last name, but I’m to meet your brother as well.”
Both of those things were true, unfortunately. “Not by choice. If John hadn’t already left for Yonkers, I would have asked him for assistance.”
“And how would that have worked? John would have realized your brother is not Russian. Sort of throws the Madam Zolikoff routine in a new light, doesn’t it, getting a sibling out of the stir.” He grinned, showing a mouth full of teeth.
“I would have figured something out.”
“I have no doubt,” he said, though his voice suggested otherwise. He rubbed his hands together almost gleefully. “Well, then. My good fortune for remaining in town instead. Let’s fetch your coat.” He yanked open the door. “You can tell me about this situation in the carriage.”
* * *
Will assisted Ava into his carriage and followed inside. He could scarcely believe his luck. The mystery of Madam Zolikoff was about to be unraveled, all because her brother had been arrested for picking pockets. What the hell sort of family was this? Were they all engaged in various criminal activities?
Her beautiful face had been shockingly pale when she’d arrived, a small bonnet hanging on for dear life on her head. No doubt the situation distressed her . . . and he found that he liked being her knight in shining armor. Stupid, considering their circumstances and how much the woman hated him.
But an unguarded honesty shone in her expression tonight, a naked vulnerability he’d never seen before that tugged at a place deep within him. She’d come to him for help, and Will would be damned if he could tell her no.
Besides, he was used to being needed. He’d raised his sister from the age of eight, including seeing her through the death of their father, the transition into a young lady, her debut . . . But she was now married and expecting her first child. Lizzie had a husband—a coarse, unrefined brute in Will’s opinion—whom she miraculously seemed to love, and Will wasn’t the most important man in her life any longer. That had taken some getting used to, even though logically he’d known it would happen one day.
So he didn’t mind coming to Ava’s rescue, especially when it meant she would be in his debt.
“Let’s start with the precinct your brother is in.”
“The thirteenth.”
Good. He knew the captain there, Hogan. Ringing the commissioner would not be necessary. Will gave the direction to the driver and sat back against the plush seat. His shoulder touched Ava’s, yet he made no move to pull away. “Now, tell me his name.”
“Thomas Jones.”
Ava Jones. Excellent. “And he’s a pickpocket.”
“No,” she said, her voice suddenly loud, as if increasing the volume made her statement more credible. “He is not. He works in a cigar factory on Rivington. He’s worked there for four years, even though he hates it. He’s . . .”
She bit her lip, a gesture Will felt deep in his gut. Predictably, blood pooled in his groin, his body reacting on pure instinct. He’d never met a woman who affected him in such a visceral, earthy way. The urge to taste her, to learn her, had been driving him insane for days. He’d slept with beautiful women of every shape and size, women more stunning than the one sitting next to him, so what was it about Ava Jones that made him want to learn all her secrets? Lose himself inside her?
Whatever the attraction, he needed to ignore it. He could not bed this woman, no matter the stunning bosom she possessed.
“Yes?” he prompted since she remained silent.
“He found a group of boys and wanted to join up with them. I told him absolutely not. But the other night, he came home with a roasted pheasant, one bigger than we’d certainly ever been able to afford before. I was angry. I tried to make him see reason, that stealing is wrong, but he wouldn’t listen.” Her head swiveled toward him. “And if you say one word about my profession I’ll push you under the carriage wheels.”
Will held up his hands in surrender. He could sympathize with siblings who wouldn’t listen. He’d repeatedly told Lizzie she could not open a brokerage firm, yet she’d gone ahead and done it anyway—thanks to her husband’s financial backing. “How many other siblings do you have?”
She sighed, and he knew she hated telling him so much about herself. “Two. A younger brother and a younger sister.”
“And do they work?”
“My sister is a finisher in a garment factory. My youngest brother is a newsie.”
“Parents?”
“Dead.”
So she was responsible for the other three, which is why she’d adopted the Madam Zolikoff persona. No doubt she earned more money off fools like Bennett than all her siblings combined. He almost admired her for it.
“And these friends your brother has been associating with . . . Allow me to guess, the police are quite familiar with them.”
“Yes, it appears that’s true. When I went to retrieve him, they told me the other two boys have had several run-ins with the police. They wouldn’t believe me that Tom is not a full-time criminal like the rest.”
Stood to reason. Street thieves had friends for one purpose only: to help them steal.
“The sergeant said they’d end up in the Tombs.” Her voice broke in the middle, and her vulnerability burrowed deep under his skin, gnawing at him. The crack in her confident, brash façade elicited protective feelings in him, feelings bordering on tenderness. Good God, what was happening to him?
He cleared his throat. “Only a judge can decide as much, Ava, and I’ll get him out before it comes to that. You’ll probably pay a fine, but he’ll walk out tonight.”
“I am very grateful for whatever you can do.”
How grateful? he wanted to ask, but to hint of something lurid in exchange for tonight’s help would make him the biggest cad in New York. Still, he did want something from her. She wouldn’t like it, but that was too damn bad.
The carriage turned down Houston Street. The station sat just up the block, at the corner of Sheriff and Houston. “I want you to wait here,” he told her. “I’ll go inside and get Tom’s situation sorted.”
“Shouldn’t I come along? I am his sister, after all.”
“No. You’ll only make it worse. He’s undoubtedly feeling guilty, and he won’t want you yelling at him in front of the officers or other prisoners. More important, the
captain is an acquaintance of mine. It’ll be easier to get Tom out if he and I can speak privately.”
“Fine.” She clasped her hands in her lap with a small huff. “I’ll wait here, like the useless woman I am.”
“You are not useless. Indeed, your brother will need you. Just don’t go too hard on the boy. Being the man of the family at such a young age is not easy.” I should know, he wanted to say. I couldn’t breathe for the first three years for fear of failure, of losing everything my family had built over four generations. Of proving my father right.
The carriage stopped and Will threw open the door. “Before I go in, I want to ensure you’ll agree to my terms for performing this favor.”
Predictably, her eyes narrowed. “And what would those terms be?”
“Are you in a place where you can negotiate?”
Her face hardened, muscles growing taut, but she did not argue. “Quit being so dramatic and just tell me what you want, Sloane.”
“You’ll find out soon enough, Madam Zolikoff.”
* * *
Dirty and dark, the police station was unpleasant no matter the side of the bars on which you resided. Even the captain’s office, one of the few private areas in the precinct, held an aura of desolation and desperation, a hopelessness that had seeped into the cracked plaster walls.
It took Will twenty minutes to convince the captain to release the lad. Hogan hadn’t been keen on letting Jones go—the police had intended to make an example out of all three pickpockets—but finally relented at Will’s insistence.
Very few refused Will Sloane, especially when one message from him could cost the captain his position. Moreover, Will had promised that, from now on, the boy would stay out of trouble. That seemed an easy promise, considering Ava would likely keep her brother on a short string beginning tonight.
Hogan departed to retrieve the lad, leaving Will to wait. No sense in sending for Ava yet. He wanted to speak with the boy privately first.
Finally the door opened. Hogan entered, dragging in a young man behind him. Thomas Jones didn’t have much substance to him. Thinner than he ought to be, the boy possessed the gangly limbs of a soon-to-be man who hadn’t yet filled out. His clothes were too small and frayed at the ankles and cuffs. He bore a strong resemblance to Ava, with brown eyes and hair as well as that damned stubborn chin.
“I’d like a moment with Mr. Jones,” Will said to the captain. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, Mr. Sloane.” Hogan left the office, closing the door behind him.
Ava’s brother shifted nervously on his feet, yet set his jaw and faced Will squarely. Will was impressed; the boy had spine. “Who are you?” Tom asked warily.
“My name is Mr. Sloane, and I am a friend to your elder sister.” The boy’s eyes rounded on that. “Shall we sit?” Will gestured to a pair of chairs by the desk.
Tom moved to a chair, sitting cautiously. “What’s one of Ava’s fancy swells want with me?”
Will settled into the uncomfortable wooden chair. “I want to talk to you.”
“What for? I already told them leatherheads that I—”
“I don’t care what excuses you gave the police. I want the truth. What happened?”
“And just why should I tell you anything?”
Will could understand the boy’s suspicion, but this defensiveness bordered on stupidity. “Because I’m the one who saved you from serving three months in the Tombs. And if you don’t tell me, I shall call Captain Hogan back in and inform him that I made a mistake.”
Tom’s face paled, and, as Will suspected, the threat got him talking. “The other boys, they’re just friends. We were having fun, gettin’ a bit of swag. I never thought . . .”
“You never thought you’d get caught,” Will finished when he trailed off. “So were you the stall or the whisk?”
Tom’s jaw fell open. “How do you . . . ?”
“Yes, I know how the racket works, Tom. One boy stalls the mark while the other swipes the goods. So which were you?”
“Neither.” He crossed his arms and glanced down. “I was the lookout. Supposed to be watching for the flatty. They said I wasn’t ready to do more’n that.”
And that had upset him, obviously. Tom was quite eager to join the criminal ranks. “Your sister tells me you work in a cigar factory.” The young man didn’t answer, and Will immediately knew why. “You quit, didn’t you?”
“Don’t tell Ava.” He sat forward, his eyes pleading with Will. “She’ll tear my head off.”
“Rightly so, in my opinion. Why are you determined to turn to a life of petty thievery?” The boy opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Will prompted, “You can tell me, Tom. Whatever you say will be kept in confidence.”
“Even from Ava?”
“Even from Ava.”
The boy sighed heavily. “Ava’s been takin’ care of us three—my brother, my sister, and me—for a long time. She works hard. Even moved us out of the tenements and into a decent apartment house on the West Side.” He focused on the armrest, digging a groove in the old wood with his fingernail. “I’ve been working in the cigar factory since I was twelve. Before that, another meaningless job that paid for shit. The four of us, we’re barely scraping by. I don’t want to barely scrape by no more. I’m tired of being hungry, of sharin’ my bathwater. Of cutting my younger sister’s food because her hands are sore from sewing all day.”
Will had never known poverty such as the boy described, but he’d certainly seen countless grim examples of the struggles some faced in this city. Yet there were opportunities, too. “You don’t need to steal and risk arrest to better your circumstances.”
Tom snorted and shook his head. “Ain’t many other ways to do it, far as I can see. I’m nearly sixteen. I need to start providing for the family. Besides, it works for Ava.”
“What works for Ava?”
“Stealing.”
Something tightened in Will’s chest, an emotion he was not ready to examine—because he suspected it might be guilt. Hadn’t he accused her of that very thing? He heard himself say, “Your sister does not steal. She’s a performer.”
“A performer? She’s no actress.”
“You’re wrong. She plays a part as Madam Zolikoff, one that people enjoy. She’s not robbing anyone or holding a pistol to their heads. They give her money of their own free will.”
The bizarre fact that he was defending her was not lost on Will. Yet even though he knew her to be a swindler, there was no reason for her brother to think the same. The family had enough problems.
“I guess that’s true,” Tom said. “But it ain’t all on the up and up, either.”
Will couldn’t hold back a smile. The boy was bright. “True.”
Tom was nearly the same age Will had been when his father died. The Sloanes came from more than a century of wealth and privilege—but what if circumstances had been different? What if Will had been struggling to provide for Lizzie, working jobs that paid pennies and living with two or three other families in a single-room apartment? He might have done exactly what Tom had. What young boy wouldn’t at least consider it?
Will arrived at a decision. “I’d like to give you a job.”
Tom narrowed his eyes, a reaction far from the relief or jubilation Will half expected. “A job? Me? Doin’ what, exactly?”
“Have you heard of Northeast Railroads?”
“Sure. What does that have to do with me?”
“I own Northeast. We have large offices on Vesey Street, not far from City Hall. I can always use another intelligent, hardworking young man in the office.”
“What’s it pay?”
Will had to swallow a bark of laughter. He liked this boy. “I’ll give you ten dollars a week.”
That had the desired result. Tom’s jaw went slack as he blinked at Will. Then he collected himself, shaking his head. “I don’t have any fancy office clothes. I—”
“You allow me to worry on that,” W
ill assured him. “All you need to do is show up at my office on Monday morning. Deal?”
Tom offered a grubby hand. “Deal.”
They shook and then Will rose. “Now, let me give you a little advice. Your sister is upset—and justifiably so. All you should do is apologize and not argue with her. Because even if you attempt to explain yourself, you won’t win.”
Tom came to his feet, smiling broadly. “Yep, you are definitely a friend of Ava’s.”
Will clapped him on the shoulder. “Yes, which is how I know your ears are going to be ringing all night. Come, let’s get it over with.”
Chapter Six
Ava tapped her foot, resisting the urge to dash across the street and burst into the police precinct. What was taking so long? According to the watch pinned to her dress, she’d been waiting for nearly thirty minutes.
She never should have involved Will Sloane. God only knew what was happening in there. Why had she listened to him when he told her to remain in the carriage?
Ava was not used to having others tell her what to do, let alone obeying said order. Yet Will Sloane said to stay, and Ava had jumped like a dog to do his bidding. What was wrong with her?
Just as she turned the handle to escape the brougham, the precinct doors opened. Will emerged—and there was Tom. She sagged into the seat. Thank heavens. Annoyance quickly replaced the relief, however. Her brother wore a mysterious smile, which struck her as odd considering the boy had been in jail. Did he have no notion of the dangers he would have faced in the Tombs? He should be weeping with gratitude and remorse right now.
She clenched her jaw as the two approached. Will pointed atop the box and said something to Tom. Her brother nodded and, after a brief wave at her, climbed up next to the Sloane driver. Will opened the door and slid inside.
His large frame overwhelmed the small interior of the carriage, his presence seeming to suck up all the abundant air. They were pressed together, shoulder to knee, and she tried very hard to ignore the tingling, rushing sensation sliding over her skin.