She knew how to get to Chinatown. The location hadn't changed in over a century; it was still centered on Grant Avenue, though everything else had altered drastically since the 1800s. No famous pagoda-like arched gateway welcomed her arrival, but she knew when she'd come to the right place.
The buildings were different than the Chinatown she remembered from her own time: more crowded, closer together, built of wood and brick and surprisingly plain. This was not a place designed for tourists.
Streetlamps here were few and far between. The faint scents of fish and sandalwood mingled in the air along with less pleasant odors. On Grant itself there were ordinary little shops displaying silks and lacquered trays, dried fish and fresh poultry, herbs and medicines.
But what Mac sought wouldn't be in the open. She shivered and moderated her pace, every sense alert. The alleys branching off the main street were as narrow as canyons, pitch dark, with overhanging balconies almost touching to either side. They might hide anything, including an ambush. Or a certain Irishman who'd get himself killed trying to take on the world single-handedly.
Damn you, Liam, she thought desperately, if you die after all the work I went to to save you—
Someone bumped hard into her shoulder from behind. Mac spun around, the ridiculous little knife in her fist.
The attacker stumbled back, raising a gloved hand to ward Mac away. "Pardon me," the person whispered in a strained voice.
Mac looked into the pale eyes that peered from beneath the brim of an oversized hat. At a body muffled in a coat that nearly dragged on the ground and trousers rolled up to flap around slender ankles. And feet wearing dainty pale blue lace-up boots.
Her gaze snapped back to what she could see of the face.
Good grief. It was—
"Caroline!"
"Rose!"
They stared at each other, dumbfounded. Mac was the first to regain her senses. She grabbed Caroline's arm through the bulky coat and dragged her into the doorway of a closed shop.
"What in hell are you doing here?" Mac hissed.
Caroline tugged the muffling scarf from around her chin and thrust out her jaw. "I could ask the same of you. But I shouldn't be surprised. I knew you were part of this somehow—"
Mac prayed for patience. "I know a lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours, and even I don't know everything. You may think you have a good reason to hate me, Caroline, but this isn't the time to discuss it. Someone's life is at stake—more than one person's life—and—"
"It's Perry, isn't it?" Caroline clutched Mac's arm. "Is he in trouble? I knew it. I knew something was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me at the ball, and after Liam—" Her flush was visible even in the dim predawn light. "Liam has turned against him. I know he needs my help. Last night I found some of Papa's old clothes and snuck out to find him. There were men watching the house, but I got past them and—"
As if things couldn't get any worse. "Caroline, I can't talk to you now. You have to go home. It could get very dangerous here."
"I know." Suddenly she seemed like a much older woman, calm and competent and grave. "I was wrong about a great many things, but I'm not wrong about this. Everyone has told me what I must do and how I must behave. But now I'm old enough to make my own decisions." She hesitated. "I don't know who you really are, and I'm not sure I like you, but you're not afraid to do things, no matter the risk. Liam wouldn't stop you. Now he can't stop me. And you can't send me away."
Mac scrutinized the beautiful, feminine, obstinate features under the hat brim. The features weren't Sinclair, but the spirit was—a spirit Mac hadn't really perceived until now. Or maybe she hadn't known where to look.
Something had changed in Caroline almost overnight. This wasn't a spoiled child standing here, or a frivolous airhead, or a wild imprudent girl intent on ruining herself. This was a young woman who was finally figuring out what she really wanted.
Great-great-grandma was destined to become a reformer and suffragette—who was to say it wouldn't begin here? And Caroline wanted to help Perry, the man history said she was supposed to marry.
"If you're going to come with me," Mac said quickly, "you're going to have to stay down and be quiet. Don't do anything reckless, or you could endanger everyone even more. Stay with me. Agreed?"
Caroline grinned—no simpering smile but a fullblown flash of white teeth. "Agreed."
Mac peered up Grant Avenue. Already the sky was beginning to brighten, and God only knew what had happened during the precious minutes they'd been standing here gabbing.
"We've got to find out where they went," she muttered. "They could be anywhere."
"I think I might know the direction Perry was going," Caroline volunteered. "I saw him in a closed carriage outside my house just as he was leaving. I followed him here, and I was beginning to—"
Mac didn't let her finish. She gave Caroline a little push in the direction of the street. "Show me! And don't do anything stupid. Go!"
Caroline began to run with surprising speed in her oversized men's clothes. Mac stayed on her heels, casting a small and desperate prayer heavenward.
If you've got a few extra Sinclair guardian angels up there, Homer, send 'em on down.
* * *
"Run, Chen! Save your niece while you can!"
Chen hesitated, and Liam knew the man was torn between his loyalty to Liam and fear for the girl shaking in his arms. Chen had never lacked for courage. But in the end he did what he had come to Chinatown to do—save Mei Ling. The man hadn't asked for Liam to get involved, but he had the sense to take help when it was offered.
"I'll hold them off here," Liam shouted. "Get her to safety!"
Chen ran, urging his niece along beside him. Liam steadied his pistol, turned back the way they had come, and waited for their pursuers.
The streets and alleys of Chinatown were still strangely quiet, even so soon before dawn. Its people knew there was trouble this bright autumn morning, and they were going to avoid it—they, who usually suffered the most from the tongs' criminal activities.
But this time the tongs weren't hunting one of their own. Mei Ling's kidnapping had been a ruse. Chen had come alone to save her, refusing to involve his employer, and if it hadn't been for Bauer's watchfulness the kidnappers might have had to wait some time before Liam walked into their trap.
Liam hadn't made them wait. He'd found Chen quickly enough, and let the man know in no uncertain terms that the problem was Liam's to rectify. Together they'd found Mei Ling easily enough. The tongs had wanted her to be found.
But the tongs hadn't counted on the ferocity of her rescuers. Six hatchetmen hadn't been adequate to stop Chen and Liam, and now two of the enforcers lay wounded in the shadowed alley beside the house where they'd held Mei Ling.
The other four had fallen for a ruse that had sent them in the wrong direction—but only temporarily. Just long enough for Chen to get Mei Ling out of Chinatown, where the hatchetmen would not dare follow in the growing daylight.
Liam could hear the hoodlums coming now. He took careful aim. At least one of them would go down before they took him, and the rest would have one hell of a fight. It was too damned bad Perry hadn't turned up, so he could have put a bullet in him as well—
A heavy object smashed into the side of Liam's head. He staggered, struggling to keep his hold on the pistol. It was knocked from his hand. He didn't even have a chance to see where it had fallen before the next blow caught his temple, and then he couldn't see anything at all.
The next thing he was aware of was a voice, a jumble of meaningless sounds. His head throbbed as if someone were twisting a knife into his brain, but he concentrated in spite of the pain, and at length he began to understand.
And to recognize the voice.
"I told you to wait for me," Perry said. "It was all arranged. I have the carriage here. Your precipitous action could have ruined everything, and you would have had the police to deal with. They're probably coming now, thanks to your incompe
tence."
Someone answered—a gruff, angry voice heavily accented. "You were late. Why should we trust—"
"Because you haven't any choice. Your boss agreed to the plan. There's little enough time as it is. O'Shea walked into the trap as expected. I promised to deal with him, and I will. Your operations won't suffer from his interference beyond today. Now—" Liam heard a shuffling and someone took firm hold of his arms. "Kindly help me get him into the carriage, and then I suggest you hide yourselves before the police arrive."
Liam played senseless, keeping his body limp while they dragged him to his feet. He smelled the unmistakable odor of horses, heard their harness jingling as he was propped against the side of the carriage, supported by the one man he had so badly wanted to find.
The man he'd stop once and for all…
"If you can hear me, Liam, don't show it," Perry hissed into his ear. "If we're to get out of this alive, they have to believe I intend to kill you."
Liam almost gave himself away at the shock of Perry's words. His first instinct was to grab Perry around the neck and force him to explain himself then and there. He didn't have a chance to so much as debate the possibilities, for Perry gave a low curse and grasped his arm.
"I may have misjudged the situation," he whispered.
"From the look of things it seems they're planning to eliminate both of us here and now—"
"Boss doesn't trust you," the accented voice said, uncomfortably close. "He said get rid of you now. Police won't come for us if you kill each other."
"Eminently logical," Perry murmured. "If you can hear me, Liam, I suggest—"
Liam didn't wait for his suggestion. He surged up, ignoring the fiery pain in his skull, and heaved himself toward the accented voice. His body connected, and the man grunted under his weight as they hit the ground. A flash of movement from the corner of his eye showed Perry struggling with another hoodlum.
Then someone found a gun and fired.
* * *
THE GUNSHOT echoed through the streets like an explosion. Mac skidded to a stop, panic clutching at her gut, and searched desperately for the source of the noise.
"This way!" she yelled, grabbing Caroline. They pelted around a corner and into a side street, stopped, and turned into an even narrower alley.
A dark closed carriage waited at the end of it, the horses lunging against their harness in panic. Men were fighting, one pair on the ground struggling for control of a pistol and another grappling against the side of the carriage.
One of the men on the ground was Liam.
Mac didn't think. She ran for the melee as if her life depended on it, Caroline right behind. They'd just reached the chaotic scene when another pair of men emerged from a maze of close-set buildings, men in dark shirts and loose trousers with distinctly threatening attitudes. One of them brandished a hatchet, the other a gun.
"Watch out!" Mac yelled. The new arrival with the gun stopped and took aim at her. The man with the hatchet shouted something to his partner, distracting him, and the two of them went directly for Liam.
"Perry!" Caroline cried.
Mac had exactly one second to take it all in. Liam was crouched over his erstwhile opponent, swaying, blood on his temple, preparing for the new men's attack. Perry was busy banging his adversary's head against the side of the carriage.
Caroline rushed for Perry. Mac raised her knife, screamed bloody murder at the top of her lungs, and charged the guy with the hatchet.
For an instant her gaze met Liam's, and then he was moving—straight between her and the hatchetman. The man with the gun was taking careful aim for Liam's skull.
With a maneuver that would have made Wonder Woman proud, Mac changed directions, bent double, and used her head for a battering ram, hitting the gunman square in the stomach. He grunted and staggered back. The gun went off. Fighting dizziness, Mac stuck her knife to the hilt in the man's hand. He wailed and dropped the gun.
It wasn't over yet. She was about ready to dive for the gun when she saw Liam squared off with the hatchetman. Unarmed, and still swaying on his feet as if he might keel over with the next stiff breeze.
Instinct warred with sense. She didn't know how to use the gun—but Liam did. She went for it, rolling, and grabbed it around the barrel. By the time she was on her feet again Liam was dodging the swing of the vicious axe and losing his balance.
Mac did the only thing she could think of. She swung the gun and clipped the hatchetman on the back of the skull with the butt just as he was ready to connect the blade of his axe with Liam's neck.
The man fell. Liam tried to get up. Mac was going to him when something hit her from behind, and she was lying under the weight of the forgotten gunman, who had a knife to her throat. His wounded hand dripped blood onto her jacket.
Everything slowed down to a snail's pace. Liam gave a cry Mac had never heard from any human being, made an aborted movement toward her and stopped when the tong enforcer pressed the knife blade against her skin.
She met Liam's gaze and forgot the rest of the world. Her own danger meant nothing next to the pain and terror in his eyes.
The hatchetman raised his knife. Liam leaped up with an animal roar. Mac saw the knife descend, felt an explosive rush of air close to her cheek, heard a deafening bang, and then there was a great deal of blood and a man screaming in pain.
Part of her registered the sight of Perry standing by the carriage with a pistol in his hand… and a view of the man who'd been holding her, flat on his back, groaning, with a substantially larger hole in his arm than her knife had made.
"Mac!" Liam rasped, very close to her ear. "Mac—"
"I'm all right," she gasped. "Perry—Oh, damn it, Caroline—"
She got Liam's attention just in time. Perry's first adversary had apparently recovered from the pounding Perry had given him, for he'd taken advantage of Perry's distraction and grabbed Caroline. Caroline was fighting her captor like a banshee, all feet and little clenched fists; Perry was aiming his gun, as helpless to save her as Liam had been with the hatchetman.
But Liam moved. He dove for the knife Mac's attacker had dropped, positioned himself, and threw it with deadly accuracy at the enforcer's leg. It hit with enough impact that the tong man thought better of further argument. He dropped Caroline, tried to run, and fell with the knife still protruding from his calf.
Four tong enforcers lay on the ground in various degrees of unconsciousness or debilitating pain. Perry had Caroline in his arms, and she was clinging to him for everything she was worth, all but ignoring her guardian.
Mac more than made up for that lapse. She found Liam still on his knees, sucking in air, his hair tangled around his face and glued to a nasty cut near his temple. She hardly had time to move; he was already at her side by the time she forced her muscles to react. His hands clutched at her shoulders and he examined her with a thoroughness bordering on frenzy.
"Mac," he said hoarsely. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, but—"
"Damn you," he snarled. "Why did you come here? I didn't need your help."
"That's not how it looked to me," she retorted thoughtlessly. "Liam—"
He tried to shake her, but his grip had remarkably little power. In fact, his skin was draining of color, his eyes darkening with pain…
"Liam?" She reached for him and tried to focus. He was moving back and forth in her line of vision, undulating like a ship on the ocean. But it wasn't because she was dizzy. He was the one doing the tilting—crumpling, falling, his coat sleeve awash in blood.
She thought she screamed, or maybe it was the sound of police whistles coming closer and voices calling out in warning. She felt the vibration of many footfalls through the ground beneath her, recognized Chen's distinctive accent above the others. Uniformed men with guns and nightsticks swam in her vision.
"Miss MacKenzie!"
She looked up at Chen. "Please… get help. Liam's hurt—"
After that she didn't hear Chen's reply,
or any of the hubbub around her. She knelt in the sticky dirt, cradled Liam's head on her lap, and stroked his wet hair away from his forehead.
"This is the last time I'm going to come to your rescue, Liam O'Shea," she said, choking on tears that wouldn't stop. "You'd damn well better recover, or I'm never going to let you forget it."
For once he had no retort.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Time's glory is to calm
contending kings,
To unmask falsehood and
bring truth to light.
—William Shakespeare
"HE'LL BE FINE, Miss MacKenzie, I do assure you. They are only flesh wounds, and you did well to stop the bleeding so quickly."
The portly doctor closed his bag and gathered the other two watchers in with his gaze. "I'll grant you, if the knife had struck a little more to the right, it might have been far more tricky. But under the circumstances, I've stitched him up and all he'll need is a bit of rest."
Rest, ha, Perry thought. Liam would be on his feet within a day, if Perry knew anything about the Irishman.
And he did. He'd come to know more about many things in the past two weeks—more about Liam, and Caroline, and himself.
As for Miss MacKenzie… She was wan and pale, a mere shadow of her usually robust self; she sagged in relief at the doctor's news. She'd hovered at Liam's side all the way back to his house, ignoring Chen's anxious presence and Caroline's questions and the police Chen had summoned.
Now the police were gone. Chen listened intently as Rose questioned the doctor at length; Caroline was downstairs with Mei Ling, comforting the girl as best she could.
Perry smiled softly. Caroline. She'd surprised even him today with her bravery and common sense. He'd been shocked to see her in Chinatown with Rose—and then not so shocked, knowing how much rebellion lurked under that lovely, delicate exterior.
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