Dwyer, nearly too furious to speak, straightened his jacket. “You’ll regret this.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Anybody crosses Danny Dwyer learns how to regret.”
“I didn’t cross you, you stupid bugger. You ruined the deal.”
Dwyer raked Mitch up and down with a glare. “What in hell happened to you? Ain’t you supposed to be the fecking King of Prospect? Pitiful.”
Valerie crept out from under Mitch’s desk; Dwyer aimed a kick at the unit that nearly connected.
“Steamie sympathizer,” he spat before he shot from the office, stormed down the hallway, and slammed out the front door.
A series of heads appeared—some human and some mechanical—and eyes peered at Mitch.
He gestured to the nearest, which happened to be Marty, lurking for some unknown reason at the side of the foyer.
“Where’s my wife? Upstairs in her room?” It still being very early, no doubt she hadn’t yet emerged. She might not emerge at all, if she remained angry with him.
“No, Boss. She went out.”
“What?” Mitch’s head reeled. “But I gave orders she was to stay put.”
“Yeah, Boss, I know.”
Tiny appeared from the direction of the kitchen. Mitch, still glaring at Marty, barely noticed. “I told you not to let her have the car.”
“I didn’t, Boss. That’s why I’m still here.” Marty hesitated. “But she was real determined on going out somewhere.”
“Where?” Mitch demanded, his throat going tight.
“Don’t know, Boss. If I’d been driving her—”
Mitch could have kicked himself. Marty was right. In the chauffeur’s company, at least Tessa would have some protection. Now she could be any damn place.
Where might she go? Too early for one of her meetings. Might she go to a friend? That Mrs. Michaels she spoke of so often, the hybrid automaton. Or had she left him?
His chest grew as tight as his throat. Had she run to Trask?
He lowered his voice and stared Marty in the eye. “You saw her leave?”
“Yeah, Boss—while you was in with Dwyer.”
“She take anything with her? Was she carrying a suitcase?”
“No, Boss. Just that little bag of hers.”
A gentle bump against Mitch’s ankle reminded him Tessa had even left Valerie behind. Surely she wouldn’t leave for good without her pet.
To all the staring faces he said, “Find her. She might have gone to see someone called Lily Michaels.”
“I know where the Michaels live. I dropped her off there once,” Marty said. “I’ll go.”
Tiny asked, “But Boss, if we find her, you want us to bring her back even if she doesn’t want to come—by force?”
“No.” God, no. That’s all it would take. “Just keep an eye on her, make sure she’s safe. Let me know.”
So he had some hope of going on, of living.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tessa hadn’t walked four blocks before the weak morning sunlight faded and it began to rain. A cold rain, it contained a touch of sleet and battered her hat in a manner that rendered it useless for protection. She cut down an alley from Prospect, and on the corner of Massachusetts and Niagara she searched in vain for a cab before walking on, her anger making the very idea of returning home impossible.
She never wanted to see Mitch Carter again. She intended to throw herself on Gerald’s mercy, ask if she could stay with him and Dorcas until the marriage was dissolved. After that…
For the life of her, she could see nothing beyond that point. She’d once thought she loved Richard and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Now, though, what Mitch had said last night haunted her mind.
If he loved you, he’d have done anything for you. Whatever he had to. He’d move heaven and earth to be with you.
Was that true? Yet threats were threats, and Richard was a decent young man, not used to facing intimidation from the likes of Mitch Carter, a virtual savage who would say or do anything to come out on top.
A savage with whom she’d shared her bed—repeatedly—and whose child she might now carry. A man who’d made her feel emotions and sensations such as she’d never imagined and made her crave him the way she suspected some poor souls craved opium. And who had lied to her all the while, manipulating her life.
Over. Done. All those nights now were like a dream from the past. She would never return to the house on Prospect Avenue. Gerald could send for Valerie and her other belongings.
She stepped off a curb into an icy puddle, caught her heel between a grate and a brick, and felt it snap. With a bitter curse she swayed and foundered, fighting for balance.
To her relief, a cab drew up in front of her. At last. The driver must have seen her standing here and thought she hailed him.
However, a back window rather than a front cranked down.
“Ma’am, you seem to be in some difficulty.” The voice issuing from within sounded warm and Irish. “Would there be something I could do to help?”
“No, thank you. That’s all right.” For the life of her, Tessa could find no other words. She stood with the heel of one shoe clutched in her hand, the rain pelting down, and wondered how she’d ever make it to Bouck Avenue.
The passenger leaned forward so she could see him. About thirty years of age and wearing a workman’s coat, he had a shock of light hair and a disarming smile.
“Surely, ma’am, you’ll allow me to be of assistance?”
“Assistance?”
“I don’t think you’ll be finding a cab in this weather. But you’re welcome to share mine.”
“Oh, I couldn’t inconvenience you.”
“It’s no inconvenience, I assure you. I’m certainly in no hurry. And I believe, don’t you, there’s no such thing as happenstance.”
Tessa, no longer sure what she believed, hesitated one more moment. Then she hobbled forward two steps and climbed into the cab.
Her rescuer reached across her lap to shut the door. She caught a whiff of bay rum—and whiskey. Her stomach muscles tightened.
“I don’t think…” she began and drew a breath. “I think I’d rather walk after all.”
“No, you won’t.”
The cab glided off from the curb. Tessa’s companion sat back against the cushions and examined her with pale blue eyes.
He said, “I know who you are. You’re the fecking Queen of Prospect Avenue.”
****
“Boss, she seems to have disappeared for the moment. Two of the boys followed her away from the house. They lost sight of her in the rain and went in different directions, hoping to pick her up again. One of ’em did, but there was a lot of traffic. He dodged between some cabs, and she was gone.”
Tiny brought the ill news and stood with wide eyes, flat cap in hand, while he delivered it.
Mitch, desperate to distraction, raked his fingers through his hair and glared. “How could he lose sight of one single woman?”
“Like I say, there were a lot of carts and steamcabs, Boss, and it was raining pretty hard.”
“Which way was she headed?” Again, Mitch cursed himself for depriving Tessa of the car. With its use, at least he’d know where she was.
“She headed pretty much due north along Prospect, Boss. Maybe she was on her way to the Michaels’. Want me to call there?”
“Yes. No. I’ll go myself.” Mitch drew a breath and struggled to regain his composure. “What’s the address? Have Marty bring the car around.”
“Already standing by, Boss.”
Mitch assured himself he’d find Tessa drinking tea with Mrs. Michaels, possibly telling her friend how much she despised him.
But he had excellent instincts and knew damn well he wouldn’t.
****
The woman who opened the door of the apartment looked almost impossibly beautiful. Golden hair tumbled from a knot gathered on top of her head to kiss a pink cheek, and wide, ice-blue eyes reg
arded Mitch in cool examination.
As the last time he’d encountered her, he marveled at how little she looked like an automaton; then again, the hybrids rarely did.
“Mr. Carter,” she greeted him. “How lovely to see you again. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs. Michaels.” Mitch had made a concerted effort before he left Prospect Avenue to tame his wild appearance. He’d combed his hair, crammed himself into a clean shirt, and donned a respectable jacket. But he couldn’t hold back the anxiety that made him blurt, “I’m looking for my wife. Is she here?”
The automaton tipped her head. “I am sorry, Mr. Carter, but Tessa is not here. I was planning on seeing her later, at one of our meetings, and perhaps sharing tea, but that would not occur until later this afternoon. Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. I—I think so.”
“Please, come in.”
The apartment, large and located at the top of the house, appeared modest in the extreme. Mitch had no idea what Lily Michaels’ husband did for a living; he’d never bothered to ask Tessa. The place looked clean, though, and surprisingly homey, with touches like lace curtains at the windows and frilly cushions on the chairs.
He turned to look at the automaton. Sparing nothing, he said starkly, “We quarreled yesterday.”
“Couples do quarrel, I am given to understand. She speaks of you often—”
“She does?” Mitch couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Of course. I am privileged to be the recipient of your wife’s confidences. We are friends.”
“But she hasn’t been here today?”
“No, I have not seen her since after our last meeting at the Meadows Club, when we shared tea at a café.” Lily Michaels tipped her head to one side. “Was this quarrel you mention a serious one?”
“Yes.” Mitch took a deep breath and plunged forward. “She’s left me.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Are you certain she didn’t just go off for a while in order to calm her emotions?”
“Well, no.” Mitch listened hard to his instincts again. “Yes.”
“How very unfortunate. But she did not come here. I am certain, Mr. Carter, she will soon cool down, as people say, and return home.”
“I’m not. She’s quite upset with me.”
“Do you think she’s fled to her lover?”
“Eh?” Mitch nearly choked.
“Her former lover, I should say. I believe of late she’d transferred the bulk of her affections to you.”
“What?”
“She spoke of you in the way a woman speaks of a man for whom she cares deeply.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken.” Mitch’s heart began to thud in his chest sickeningly.
“I am rarely mistaken, Mr. Carter. I have a deep reference bank built up by all the reading I have done. Tessa herself may not realize how much she had come to rely on your presence in her life, but I could tell.”
Mitch reeled. “Listen, I need to find her. Where do you think she will have gone? To him? Richard Trask?”
“He rejected her.”
“But she’d recently found out why—that’s the reason we quarreled. Mrs. Michaels, if you can think of anything—”
Again she tipped her head. “When upset, women frequently return to their families.”
“Her mother? You think so? I’ll go there directly. And thank you. If you come up with any other ideas, will you let me know?”
“I will. I will also go out and look for her at the Meadows Club, inquire of the other members, and check at the cafés we frequented. If I find her, I will advise her to return to your house.”
“Thank you. I can’t express—”
“No need. I told you, Mr. Carter, I’m very perceptive. I can tell exactly how you feel.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Who are you? And what do you want with me?” Tessa asked sharply.
The man lounging opposite her on the seat of the cab retained his casual pose, seemingly at ease, but even in the dim light Tessa saw how his eyes quickened with emotion.
“With you? Not a thing, though I will declare you’re tempting. I must say, Carter has fine taste in women.”
“My husband, then. This is about him.”
“Smart cookie, as well as lovely. He broke off a deal with me. Nobody does that after they’ve given me their word; it means he’s got to pay. And what should I see while I’m nursing my anger but yourself, standing there in the rain. I’m a lucky bastard sometimes, and no mistake.”
Fear mingled with the dismay clogging Tessa’s throat. What a fool she’d been to enter this cab! Fool, fool, fool. This man, whose voice had sounded so reassuring, proved dangerous as a snake. She might as well have crawled into a sack with an adder.
Swiftly she strove to calculate her odds. The cab now moved quickly through the rain-drenched streets, and she had no doubt the door beside her was locked. She possessed no weapon save the heel of her shoe, still clutched in her right hand.
But Mitch—Mitch always had her watched. Her heart steadied and rose a bit. Surely his men had seen what happened to her. They’d follow, they’d tell him.
She said almost involuntarily, “He’s going to be furious with you.”
“Carter? No doubt. But he needs to learn some respect, right? Thinks he’s fecking royalty, when he started out no better than me. He values you, missus. And I always take what’s of greatest value.”
“Who are you?” Tessa asked again.
“Now, you can’t expect me to be telling you that.”
“Where are you taking me?”
He grinned, like a shark. “Can’t tell you that either. Wouldn’t be safe for you to know. No need for you to fear, though.”
As if she believed that.
“I’ll just hold you a wee while, send a message to your husband. Let him see how he’s underestimated me.”
Mitch. For an instant, Tessa longed for him so intensely she ached. She wanted to be with him, in the safe harbor of his arms. Then her anger returned, and she remembered why she’d left the house on Prospect Avenue in the first place.
Her fellow passenger moved for the first time since he’d leaned over to close the door for her. He seemed to coil, gathering himself; from a pocket he produced a length of fabric, with a flourish.
“Now, Mrs. Carter, if you’ll just cooperate with me and keep quiet, we can make this easy.”
“What—”
“Did I not tell you to hush? Do you want me to gag you as well?”
“Gag me?”
The length of fabric came at her, caught between the man’s hands. Ah—he meant to strangle her. She’d never get out of this cab alive.
But she wouldn’t die without a fight.
He flung himself on her, using all his weight, and pinned her between the door and the back of the seat. In response, Tessa erupted—she manipulated the broken heel in her hand so the point faced outward, brought it up and struck at him repeatedly, all while thrashing and kicking.
“Ah, feck! You shouldn’t have done that, Mrs. Carter. You truly shouldn’t.”
“Don’t touch me. Keep your hands off me. Keep away!”
Something came at Tessa from the gloom of the cab’s interior. When it made contact with her face, it felt very hard, with both weight and power behind it. The force of it tossed her back against the side door, where her head made contact with the window. Darkness descended on her, thick, black, and utterly complete.
****
The house on Bryant Street looked neat and well-kept, even in the filthy rain. The front door had been painted red, and a large pot of copper-colored chrysanthemums sat on the stoop. The place didn’t appear at all like the home of an automaton.
Mitch shook his body like a wet dog and told himself he didn’t care. He’d left Prospect directly after a last powwow with his boys, during which the opinion had been expressed that Tessa had been snatched. Her trail had ended among the thick traffic on
Niagara near Massachusetts. No sign of her anywhere. Definitely not at her mother’s house, though she’d been heading roughly in that direction.
Mitch had no choice but to reach for logic, his ultimate resource in times of difficulty. It seemed logical to him that if someone—even an automaton—suspected you had snatched his wife, he might well snatch yours in return.
He’d brought three of the boys with him to Pat Kelly’s, but now he signaled them, and they took off on a turn around the block. He approached the red door alone.
When it opened to his knock, he saw a woman, but not the one he’d expected. He’d had a look at Pat Kelly’s wife down on the waterfront, and even though she’d been blindfolded at the time, he knew he’d recognize her.
This woman, just above medium height and ramrod straight, had brown hair and intelligent dark eyes. She carried a very small steam cannon in her right hand.
Not the customary way to answer the door in a nice neighborhood; Mitch, completely overset, barely noticed.
“Yes?” the woman said, just a bit aggressively.
“I’m looking for Patrick Kelly.”
“He’s at work.” The dark eyes narrowed. “Does he know you?”
“We’ve never met, but I think he has something that belongs to me. May I come in?”
“I told you he’s not here.”
“I’ll wait.”
“You won’t.” She began to swing the door shut. Mitch blocked it with one palm against the red paint.
“Is his wife at home?”
The steam cannon swung up and aimed directly at the center of Mitch’s chest. “What’s it to you?”
“I need to speak with her.”
“You need a lot of things. Rose isn’t seeing anyone.”
“Look, Missus—”
“It’s Miss. Miss Landry, actually.”
“When will Mr. Kelly be back?”
Before Miss Landry could answer, a voice sounded from behind her. “What is it, Ginny?”
A woman stepped into view, the woman Mitch had last seen captive in Danny Dwyer’s company. Taller than her companion, she had soft brown hair piled into a loose knot, a face rigid with tension, and worried brown eyes.
Tough Prospect Page 20