TWICE A HERO

by Susan Krinard

  "If it weren't for the urgency of this, Chen, I couldn't risk it. You know I was to propose to Miss Gresham tonight."

  "I understand, Mr. O'Shea," said the accented voice. "Do you wish me to tell the others—"

  "No. If the tongs expect us to act tomorrow night, then we'll have to do it now, before they get new information. Only you and I know about the change. By the time we tell the others, whoever we can gather at this short notice, there won't be any time for the informant to betray us."

  "Are you certain it is a matter of betrayal, Mr. O'Shea?"

  A pause. "I'll find out. But it's a sign that we'll have to change our methods." He sighed. "Tonight will be my last raid. When this is over we'll meet with the others and decide who should take over the leadership."

  "As you say. I shall set things in motion. I have messengers waiting."

  "Good. I'll join you as soon as I can. I have another matter to take care of."

  "And may I wish you luck, Mr. O'Shea?"

  Liam's answer was long in coming. "Thank you, Chen."

  There was the muffled scraping of feet. Mac had just time enough to flatten herself against the wall before the door opened and someone emerged from the room. Mac caught a glimpse of book-lined walls before the door hid her view again.

  The man whose back she saw retreating down the hall was definitely not Liam. He was shorter, dressed in a different kind of suit, and his hair was very black. Chen, she surmised. She was certain Liam had mentioned his name before.

  A sense of self-preservation ended her speculation. Best to get back to the ballroom before she was missed—or before Liam caught her. What she'd heard gave her plenty to think about.

  The tongs, raids, informants, betrayal—it sounded ominous indeed. And dangerous. She remembered something about the tongs—powerful criminal associations that had ruled Chinatown with an iron fist for most of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

  What kind of raid would Liam be making on them? Something he wanted kept secret. Something that might be likely to win him enemies.

  And just as ominous was his confirmation that he planned a certain proposal tonight…

  Footsteps sounded inside the room. Mac lifted her skirts and jogged down the hallway toward the ballroom doors. She reached them and had just slipped through when Liam came striding after, the light of battle in his eyes.

  He came to a stop when he saw her. "Well, Mac. You look a little distracted. Have you been dancing?"

  She sucked in a steadying breath before she thought to wonder if she might pop out of her low-cut bodice. This was almost as much as he'd said to her in a week, and she felt oddly giddy.

  "Actually," she said, bluffing her way, "I've been up to no good. Isn't that what you'd rather hear?"

  "I'd certainly be more inclined to believe it."

  "Well, I haven't been dancing." She grimaced. "I'm not exactly great at it, I'll admit. It's probably a good thing for the gentlemen's toes that I've been bowing out."

  "What? Caroline hasn't succeeded in her transformation of you? She'll be distressed."

  "Oh, I doubt that. She's keeping herself busy. I'd say this is her perfect milieu."

  Liam scanned the room. Mac could tell when he located Caroline—still gossiping, still flitting about like a brilliant butterfly, the center of attention and loving every minute.

  "So I see," Liam said, with no smile to spare for his ward's antics. But when he turned back to Mac the smile came, edged with the usual mockery. "Do you know, Mac, that when I first came to San Francisco I wasn't much of a dancer myself."

  It took her a moment to absorb the fact that Liam had just admitted to an imperfection in himself, and for no other apparent reason than to make her feel better.

  Nah. He must have an ulterior motive. But the very notion made Mac's heart fill to overflowing and her throat catch.

  "You can dance," she said. "I was watching."

  "And were you now?"

  Her ears caught fire. "There isn't much else to do around here. Except maybe contemplate how profitable it would be to introduce the local ladies to the virtues of high-top sneakers." She pointed to her slippered feet. "These shoes are killing me."

  "Perhaps you'd prefer to dance barefooted. That should suit you better and provide entertainment for everyone."

  "Hmmm. Maybe you're right, at that. Might put a little life into this party. I don't know about you, but I'd rather be back in the jungle, climbing pyramids and slogging through the mud and battling mosquitos and scorpions. That's the life—"

  He didn't respond. He was searching the room again as the musicians came back from their break and began to tune up. Mac followed his look and did a double take.

  Good grief. That masked man with the cape, crossing the room directly to Caroline, was Perry. He was going to ask Caroline to dance. She was still laughing as she turned to him; she stopped and went very still.

  Liam was watching. Liam was clearly wondering, and he was getting ready to—

  "Liam!" Mac said brightly. "Since you're talking to me again, why don't you ask me to dance?"

  He glanced at her, distracted, and slowly focused on her face. "I thought you didn't dance."

  "This is a waltz, isn't it? That I can do, more or less. And since you've been there, maybe you can teach me a thing or two."

  His grin was startling. "You tempt me, Mac." He flashed one last look across the room, but the dance had begun and Caroline and Perry were lost in a crowd of couples. He held out his hand. "Will you do me the honor, Miss MacKenzie?"

  She gripped his fingers. "Of course, Mr. O'Shea. Wouldn't want to disappoint you."

  Liam maneuvered them into the dance with surprising grace. Mac concentrated on keeping pace with him until she got the rhythm.

  "You're not as bad as you claimed, Mac," he said.

  But after the first few steps Mac wasn't thinking about her feet. She was thinking about other parts of her body, and his: the heat of his hand at her waist, burning through the layers of cloth as if they were nothing; the strength of his fingers joined with hers, cradling them as if they were fragile; the breadth of his chest brushing her breasts, the flex of muscles beneath his trousers, the width of his shoulder under her palm.

  "You seem preoccupied," Liam said, his tone oddly husky. "Nothing to say, for once?"

  "I… I'm trying not to step on your feet."

  Liam whirled her about so that they danced at the very edge of the crowd. "Come, Mac. This will be our last dance together. We should make the most of it."

  "Last dance" didn't sound very good at all. "It's also our first," she quipped. "Can't expect to be Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers."

  "Another of your strange jests? I may not be this Astaire, but perhaps I can make up for the lapse."

  And he did, with a vengeance. As the next phrase of the waltz began he pulled her into a ferocious embrace that carried her like a whirlwind about the room.

  No formality here, holding her at arm's length; not for Mac the swirling, floating waltz of a Scarlett O'Hara in her crinolines. The bustle required a more sedate, boxlike motion, but Liam pushed well beyond anything sedate. Mac didn't have to concentrate on her steps; Liam controlled every move. He made the waltz the devil's dance people had once named it.

  The air left Mac's lungs and never quite returned. Liam's breath sighed against her temple, her cheek, her lips. His arm was like a vise around her waist.

  "Are you enjoying yourself now, Mac?" he asked.

  "I'm still trying to decide if you're breaking a social rule."

  "By dancing with a scapegrace vixen?"

  "No. By trying to see if we can occupy the same space at the same time."

  His chuckle held an edge. "Ah. You mean this." He pulled her impossibly closer, so that she could feel every bump and plane on his body from knee to chest. "We know each other, Mac. Why should we be formal?"

  "Does that mean you finally think of me as a friend?"

  "Friend?" His mou
th was very close to her ear. "I don't make friends with women."

  "What a thing to say to a lady," she said. "But then again, you've pointed out that I'm not a lady."

  "Admitting the truth at last? I could almost admire your honesty."

  "That's a start. I'll bet you could find something else to admire if you worked at it."

  "You may even be right, Mac." His voice had gone lower still, almost caressing. Shivers raced from the nape of Mac's neck to the base of her spine. An area Liam was rubbing with the palm of his hand…

  "This is much nicer," she said quickly, "than the silent treatment you've been giving me. Formality puts up so many barriers between people, doesn't it?"

  "Rather like a corset," he said, "which you are not wearing."

  His hand flexed on her waist in emphasis. Damn it, she was blushing, and it had been her choice to dump the torture device—without telling Caroline, of course. No one would know the difference, unless they were holding her the way Liam was…

  "You're right," she said. "I'm not. Where I come from, we don't need that kind of armor to protect ourselves."

  "You speak as if you had something to protect."

  She flashed her teeth. "Not anything I can't defend on my own."

  Liam held her eyes so long and intently that she almost lost her footing. Good grief, he wasn't making it easy for her to work up the nerve for what she was preparing to do.

  "Do you expect to be defending it soon, Mac?" he asked.

  "I guess that depends, doesn't it?" She threw herself into the image of what she must try to be from now on—the shameless hussy he'd always claimed she was. "I can't think of too many temptations. There are only so many good men in the world."

  "And less who'd fall for your wiles."

  "You think so? But then again, you never did finish what you started in the jungle, so you'll probably never know."

  His steps faltered and he caught himself, muttering an apology to the couple they'd nearly collided with. Mac felt real hope then—hope that she'd awakened something in him, if only uncertainty—enough uncertainty to set him off course, to delay his plans for one more day…

  But his mouth hardened. "It won't matter," he said. "Not when this dance is over."

  "Wrong, Liam," she said softly. "I think you need a bit of reminding."

  With a tug and a wrench she took the lead, turning them toward the edge of the ballroom. There was a convenient row of decorative pillars close to one wall. Mac maneuvered Liam behind one of them and shoved him against it.

  "As I said," she purred, "it's time for a few reminders."

  And she kissed him for all she was worth, hard, pulling his head down to hers. He was stiff for about half a second, then crushed the breath out of her as if he were a human corset. His lips ground on hers, and his tongue pushed inside with potent force.

  It was just as it had been in the jungle—as wild, as crazy, as overwhelming. It was challenge given and accepted, a battle royal between two people determined to claim victory. Until something changed. Mac almost lost the memory of her purpose, almost melted, almost let the kiss last far too long.

  But she heard the music stop somewhere very far away, and that was enough. She pulled back, meeting his unguarded gaze with naked triumph.

  "Was it like that with Caroline? Can you live the rest of your life married to a girl who'll never give you what I just did?"

  He grabbed for her, intent on prolonging their tête-à-tête. "You brazen—"

  "There you are!"

  Mac and Liam snapped apart like two halves of a wishbone. Caroline was standing beside the column, a fixed smile on her lovely face. "I have been searching all over for you, Rose. You keep disappearing… it is really too bad of you!" She flashed a bright glance at Liam. "How lucky you are to have Liam take care of you."

  Mac did her best to appear nonchalant. Maybe Caroline hadn't seen anything. Maybe she wasn't actually glaring at Mac behind that pretty smile…

  Liam quickly offered his arm to Caroline, who hesitated just ail instant before taking it. "I'm sure there are others who would be happy to dance with you, Rose," she said sweetly.

  "Thank you," Mac murmured. But Caroline had already dismissed her with a toss of her head.

  "Won't you ask me to dance, Liam?" she cooed.

  "With pleasure," Liam said—for Mac's benefit, she felt sure. But as he led Caroline away he threw Mac a look of hot challenge that made her glad she had skirts to cover her wobbly knees.

  The music was beginning again, and Liam was with Caroline as if nothing had happened between him and Mac. He could be getting ready to make his proposal at this very moment. Mac watched the couples take their positions on the dance floor; Liam's features were unreadable as he gazed down at his ward.

  His expression remained so when Biggs suddenly materialized at his elbow, conveying some message that stole his attention from Caroline. Mac saw Biggs retreat, Liam speak to Caroline as the other couples began to dance, Caroline's angry response. Liam took her hand and she snatched it free.

  Liam said a final brief sentence, bowed and turned away, following in Biggs's wake. Caroline's stare pursued him until an attractive young man took Liam's place. With overstated cheerfulness she accepted his partnership, and they began to dance.

  Mac tracked Liam's progress across the ballroom and out of it. Through the back doors again; she caught a glimpse of another man standing with him—Chen, she recognized, before the door closed.

  It didn't take much guesswork to figure out where Liam was headed, given his earlier conversation with Chen, and Mac was determined to find out what was going on. At the very least it had stopped him from proposing to Caroline; at worst it could expose Liam to dangers she didn't understand.

  But she fully intended to.

  Praying that Caroline was well occupied and not watching the doors, Mac sneaked out of the ballroom. She'd gone no more than a few paces into the hall when she ran right into someone, who caught her arms and quickly let her go.

  "Mr.—Chen, isn't it?" she said, flustered.

  He bowed. "And you are Miss MacKenzie. Mr. O'Shea told me to expect you."

  "He did?" She tried to see over Chen's shoulder. "I mean… where did he go?"

  "He has important business to attend to, Miss MacKenzie. He asked me to request that you not attempt to follow him."

  "Follow him where, Mr. Chen?" She looked beyond him again, wondering if she could get past. "He's doing something dangerous, isn't he?" Something that could get him killed…

  She made an exploratory feint to the left, and Chen smoothly intercepted her without appearing to move at all. "It would be difficult to kill Mr. O'Shea, Miss. Very difficult. I know—he saved my life once."

  That arrested Mac's attention. "He did?"

  "And more than mine. The work he does now is very important to those who would suffer otherwise. I beg you not to make it more difficult."

  "What work? At least tell me that much."

  "I regret that I cannot, except that it helps many who are innocent."

  She bit down hard on her lip. "Mr. Chen—I'm afraid Liam is in more danger than—whatever it is he's doing. I'm afraid someone may be trying to kill him."

  "Mr. O'Shea is aware of that. But I will watch him, Miss MacKenzie. Please do not worry or attempt to pursue. It will only distress Mr. O'Shea."

  Distress him? Distressed about her worrying, or her interfering? But Mac stifled her laugh and thought about Liam getting farther and farther away as Chen delayed her.

  "I regret to be asking such a thing of you, Miss MacKenzie," Chen said solemnly, "but I must have your promise that you will not follow. Until then I cannot go with Mr. O'Shea and watch him."

  Blackmail. Everyone was good at that around here. She had an idea that Chen was dead serious; he wasn't going to let her past. "Okay," she said with great reluctance. "My word. But please—"

  "Miss MacKenzie, I would die before I let Mr. O'Shea come to harm."

  Th
ere was no doubting his absolute sincerity. Mac was startled by the power of her immediate, gut-level response.

  So would I, Chen. So would I.

  But Chen was already running down the hall, the opposite way from the library. Mac fought an inner battle and kept herself from going after him. She had given her word.

  Damn. But there was someone who might be able to shed some light on all this. If anyone had answers, it would be Perry.

  She went back into the ballroom cautiously. The dance was winding down again, the couples scattering to the perimeter of the room. There were plenty of men, but none with swirling black capes as part of their costumes. Perry, it seemed, had made his escape.

  What he'd said to Caroline during their dance remained a mystery, but Mac assumed he'd been working on her. His talk about "drastic measures" kept ringing in Mac's mind. If he didn't contact her again soon…

  If Liam didn't show up safe and sound tomorrow morning…

  Her troubled line of thought wasn't eased when she saw Caroline watching her from across the room—keenly and with uncharacteristic absorption. Mac had a feeling it was not a friendly examination. Her brief period of intimacy with Miss Gresham was probably at an end.

  You've definitely blown it, Mac. But at least the ball was drawing to a close, and she wouldn't have to be standing here making nice when she wanted to be pacing in her hotel room, tearing her hair out and swearing a blue streak.

  That was the best she could hope for tonight. She was damned sure she wasn't going to get any sleep.

  * * *

  Mac jerked awake in the chair by the fireplace. Someone was knocking on the door.

  She glanced at the mantel clock. Ten A.M. So she had slept—for about an hour. Far too long, at that. She struggled to her feet and went hastily to answer the knock.

  The bellman was not one she recognized. "Miss MacKenzie?" he said with something like relief. "I have a letter for you." He passed an envelope into her hands and backed away.

  "Wait a minute. Who is this fro—"

  He wasn't hanging around to answer. In five seconds flat he was out of sight. Mac shut the door and tore at the flap of the envelope with shaking fingers. Her gaze went to the bottom of the single sheet of paper.