Oh, that accent! So sweet it soothed the pain in her head. How could he sound so seductive and so authoritative at the same time?
“Wonderful. Give me the benefit of the doubt. So I’m free to go?”
“Not quite. There’s the other charge.”
“Other charge?”
“Assaulting a police officer.”
Well, damn. She couldn’t exactly deny that, could she, with the evidence right there on his face? Plus she recalled a lot of witnesses.
After an instant’s consternation, she stepped closer to the bars. “Could I maybe persuade you to drop that?”
His gaze fell to her bodice which, with a circumspect movement, she shrugged further open. So that was the way of it, eh? She hated sleeping with handsome men. But she might be willing if it would get her out of this noisome cell.
A hint of ice invaded his blue eyes. “Trying to get bribery added to your sheet?”
“Me? Bribe you?” She widened her eyes. “I wouldn’t dare. You’re much too professional, aren’t you?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“Too proper. Too dull.”
He looked annoyed. “Very good. So. I’ll prepare the charges.”
“Charges, plural?”
“There’s drunk and disorderly as well as assaulting a police officer.”
Damn, she’d really done it now.
He began to turn away. She reached through the bars and grabbed his sleeve. “Wait.”
Did interest flare in his eyes? Not pausing to find out, she hurried on. “Will you do me a favor?”
“And what might that be?”
“Contact my lawyer. His name is Philip Ballister, and he practices here in the city.”
“Sure and you’re entitled to send a message.”
“Oh, and Officer—I didn’t catch your name last night.”
“It’s Sergeant. Sergeant Brendan Fagan.”
****
Didn’t catch your name last night, Officer—all nice and namby-pamby as you please. The woman was maddening. Of course she hadn’t bothered asking his name before socking him in the face.
Aye, and what a punch it had been! No mere slip of a girl, that, despite her beauty.
She’d been a tiger in that tavern, and no mistake. Now this morning she looked at him all doe-eyed—large, beautiful brown eyes—and spoke as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
Wanted out of the charges, she did…
And if he were a less ethical police officer—less ethical man—he might just contemplate making an entirely reprehensible deal with her. Tempting. She was very tempting.
He sat down at his desk and pushed aside a small mountain of paperwork. God, he hated paperwork. He scribbled a note, went out front, and called one of the lads usually hanging about.
“Take that to Mr. Philip Ballister. I think he’s over on Huron Street.”
A good lawyer, Ballister. Well known in this city. He had probably been Dr. Landry’s attorney. Who would have thought Dr. Landry had a daughter at all? At the time of her death, they believed she had no relations, no one to inherit her property. Thus her creations, the hybrid automatons known as Landry’s Ladies, had been set free.
He frowned as he returned to his desk. If the daughter—Virginia Landry, so the captain said she was—had come to the city because she’d inherited her late mother’s estate, would she in fact now own those automatons?
Not good news for them, not at all. Most had married and now strove to take up lives around the city. And Buffalo could withstand no more unrest such as had accompanied Dr. Landry’s brutal murder.
He’d better talk to Pat Kelly about this.
By rights, he shouldn’t be on duty this morning. He’d come in special to swear out the charges. Quite apart from that, he’d like to hang around and see what happened when Virginia Landry’s lawyer showed up. He’d have to search Kelly out later. Meanwhile, he’d better apply himself manfully to this paperwork.
Halfway through a report he paused, remembering what else Virginia Landry had said. She’d called him proper. Polite. Dull. His fingers contracted on his pen. Virginia Landry had no idea what he was like.
Suddenly, with shocking intensity, he wanted to show her.
****
The lawyer showed up twenty minutes later; the captain himself escorted him to the cells. Soon the two men returned to the captain’s office and Addelforce called Brendan in.
“Sergeant Fagan, this is Miss Landry’s lawyer. Mr. Ballister, Sergeant Brendan Fagan, the arresting officer.”
Ballister put out his hand; Brendan had no choice but to shake it.
“Let’s sit down,” Ballister suggested, “and discuss this reasonably. I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”
Brendan sat and said nothing.
“Last night’s incident at Clancy’s tavern was extremely unfortunate,” Ballister began. “My client acted under the impetus of grief. I hope, Sergeant Fagan, you will allow for her level of distress. She perhaps handled her emotions badly, but I’m sure both you gentlemen will agree that in these circumstances a measure of mercy is warranted.”
“Your client,” said Captain Addelforce, “assaulted my officer. Plus she fired a steam cannon within the confines of a building—repeatedly.”
“Which she did not realize to be an offense. You must understand, coming as she does from the western frontier…”
“Be that as it may”—Addelforce sounded severe—“no one of good sense would fire a steam cannon inside a wooden building. Fortunately the tavern didn’t burn down.”
“Fortunately. And I’m sure my client will be eager to compensate Mr. Clancy for any damages. She is a wealthy woman—a very wealthy woman.”
Brendan huffed inwardly, though he gave no outward sign. He had no tolerance for those who abused the law under the protection of their wealth. And in his opinion Miss Virginia Landry needed taking down a peg.
“As for the potential charge of drunk and disorderly,” Ballister said expansively, “I think we can write that off to the effects of grief. She drank away her sorrow—took a bit too much. Which of us has not done that at some point?”
Addelforce, looking sour, didn’t comment.
“That leaves the assault charge,” Ballister went on brightly. “And if Sergeant Fagan refuses to press that…”
Both men looked at Brendan.
“Why should I refuse to press the charge?” he asked steadily.
A slight flush came to Ballister’s cheek. “For the sake of the aforementioned mercy?” he suggested. “I know your reputation in this city, Sergeant Fagan. You’re a fine officer and a fair man—a light of the police force.”
Was he, then?
“I know my client sincerely regrets what happened last night and is quite embarrassed. I know she would be grateful if you agree to drop the charges.”
Brendan spoke at last. “We do not need any more loose cannons in this city, Mr. Ballister. And your client is—quite literally—a loose cannon.”
“She isn’t, though, Sergeant Fagan—not ordinarily. I assure you what happened at Clancy’s was an aberration. She has been under great strain and let off some steam in a most ill-chosen way.”
“My city, Mr. Ballister, is not the wild west.”
“Obviously, Sergeant Fagan—and it is my city too.” Ballister shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The situation is already difficult enough.”
“And”—Brendan leaned forward—“your client’s mother was responsible, in part, for the current unrest.”
“Is that my client’s fault, Sergeant? She never knew her mother and cannot be blamed for Dr. Landry’s failings.”
“Tell me, Mr. Ballister, what will happen to Dr. Landry’s former creations if Miss Landry has inherited her mother’s estate? Has she inherited?”
“She has, Sergeant Fagan.” Ballister sighed. “And the fate of those automatons is yet to be decided.” He quirked an eyebrow. “A reason to keep my client’s good
will, yes?”
Brendan rubbed at his face. “She socked me, Mr. Ballister.”
“And deeply regrets it. Now, Sergeant Fagan, I’m sure you’ve been punched by drunks before, in the line of duty. Did you prosecute?”
“Usually not. But that was different.”
“How so?”
“Your client knew exactly what she was doing.”
“Can you say that for certain, Sergeant? Were you inside her head? She was quite intoxicated.”
And what sort of woman, Brendan asked himself, came to a strange city on the occasion of her mother’s death and promptly went out carousing? One who meant trouble, that was what.
He didn’t suppose he’d want to be in her head.
He folded his arms across his chest and remained stubbornly silent.
Captain Addelforce cleared his throat. “Perhaps, Sergeant Fagan, this situation calls for both mercy and leniency.”
Brendan fixed him with a stare.
“Sergeant Fagan.” Ballister took it up. “I do not want to see my client in court.”
He and Addelforce both watched Brendan carefully while the moments dragged out. Finally Brendan said, “I want an apology, and a sincere one.”
Addelforce unclenched his hands, and Ballister blew out a breath. “An apology, of course. This is most decent of you.”
Aye, he’d admit to being a decent fellow but definitely not dull.
Chapter Seven
“I have to do what?”
Ginny stood with her hands on her hips and regarded her attorney through the bars of her cell.
“Apologize. It’s simple enough. You punched a police officer in the face, Virginia. He wanted to press charges.”
“Then maybe he should.”
“Virginia, given the ill feeling still existent toward your mother and given her…accomplishments in this city, I wouldn’t count on finding mercy in court. Many, including some of the justices, blame her for the current unrest.”
“Dammit.” Ginny’s head had started hurting again as soon as the police officer—Brendan Fagan—walked away. She felt dirty and unwell and—truth be told—just a little ashamed of herself. The last thing she wanted to do was apologize to the big, overly proper policeman.
“Look,” Ballister asked her in a low voice, “do you want to get out of here?”
“Of course.”
“Then I suggest you look him in the eye and apologize. And make it genuine. I think he deserves that.”
“Hmph.” Ginny dragged her hands through her hair and wished she could tidy herself. “Where must I make this grand apology? Here?”
“You’ll be brought up to him.”
Ballister strode off, and Ginny paced the tight confines of her cell, every step jarring her aching head. Facing the task ahead squarely, she asked herself, Am I woman enough for this?
Of course. He was just one big Irish policeman. She’d faced worse. But oh, how humiliating!
Minutes dragged by while she waited to be fetched, and she began to think Brendan Fagan had changed his mind. That made her stomach wobble alarmingly. She didn’t need a court case.
At last an officer whom she’d never seen before appeared, unlocked her cell, and—she being the only one remaining inside—left it open.
“Please follow me.”
She did, from the grubby area of the cells up some stairs and into a big room full of desks, where everyone stared at her. She must have come this way last night but didn’t remember, which gave her pause.
Maybe she did need to apologize. Punching a policeman—that was a new one on her list of accomplishments. Wait till she told her Pappy.
A wave of what felt surprisingly like homesickness joined the other ill feelings in her gut as the officer ushered her into an inner office where stood Ballister, an older man in a captain’s uniform, and Brendan Fagan.
Funny thing about Fagan—she’d been thinking about him more or less nonstop since his earlier visit, but now that she saw him again, he looked even more impressive. Or maybe it was the cramped room that made him appear so tall, so broad. Either way, he filled out that uniform far too well. His thick, reddish hair—neatly combed—swept back from a noble brow. On the whole, his face attained noble proportions that in some subtle way screamed Irish. But those blue eyes—yup, they definitely made an impression. A startling hue, quick and full of intelligence.
And, at the moment, fixed on Ginny. They’d found her the moment she stepped into the room, and they didn’t waver.
She glanced at Ballister before stiffening her spine and somehow meeting that blue stare.
The older officer spoke. “Miss Landry, I am Captain Addelforce. I believe,” he added wryly, “you’ve met Sergeant Fagan.”
“We met earlier this morning.”
“And,” Fagan spoke in a voice like iron, “at the tavern last night.”
How could his voice sound so hard and yet so soft at the same time? A man with an accent like that could persuade a woman into damn near anything.
Except her, of course. She wanted nothing to do with handsome men.
She cleared her throat. “Ah, yes.”
The captain announced, “Sergeant Fagan has agreed to drop the charges against you in order to avoid any…er…ugliness. This is a significant concession on his part. But we discussed it and agreed that having you appear in court at this time would stir up unwanted ill feeling and could prove detrimental to the city.”
“I see.” Ginny held Fagan’s gaze without wavering; in fact she couldn’t look away. How could eyes be that blue?
Addelforce rattled on, “We are not in the habit of arresting miscreants for just cause only to release them again. Sergeant Fagan is one of my best men.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“And I don’t like asking him to bend the rules. In return for dropping charges, he has requested an apology.”
Something appeared in Brendan Fagan’s eyes—a hard light. Victory? Enjoyment? Did he relish the prospect of seeing her humbled? But an apology didn’t mean she humbled herself. On the contrary; her father always said an apology demonstrated strength.
She drew a breath. “Sergeant Fagan, I honestly don’t remember much of what happened in the tavern last night. I’m not sure why I punched you…”
“I attempted to remove your weapon, with which you were after shootin’ up the place.”
Ginny nodded.
Smoothly, Ballister inserted, “I will speak with the tavern owner; Miss Landry will of course make good on any damages.”
Fagan snorted.
“Either way,” Ginny went on doggedly, “I know I did punch you. I can see the evidence of that and feel the effects in my hand. I shouldn’t have done that, Sergeant, and I am most sincerely sorry. Thank you for dropping the charges.”
He grunted, a sound that denoted both acknowledgement and skepticism. The expression in his eyes had become guarded.
“Well, Sergeant?” Addelforce prodded.
Fagan gave Ginny a stern nod. “Very well so, Miss Landry. I accept your apology.”
“But don’t do it again?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were about to add, ‘but don’t do it again.’ I could see you were.”
He shifted on his feet. “Well, obviously don’t do it again. That tavern was packed with people, and you might have burned it down.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Ginny bet he was frequently right, or believed himself so.
“Are we finished here?” Ballister asked briskly. “I’m sure my client is anxious to get home.”
Oh, she was. She wanted nothing more than to have the four steamies standing by in the house on Linwood to draw her a bath and make her a meal.
Fagan nodded and stepped back. Breaking eye contact with him felt like being slammed to the floor—a physical sensation.
“Brendan,” said Addelforce, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You’re not scheduled for duty anyway.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, sir.”
The word “sir” came out “sor.” Ginny, her ears clinging to his accent, wondered how long he’d been away from Ireland. She also wondered what Sergeant Perfect did with his free time. Did he know what to do with it?
She could show him.
That thought shocked her. She had no business thinking about the man and, in truth, never wanted to see him again. But only imagine what he’d look like out of that uniform!
She turned to Ballister. “Can we leave?”
“Yes, Miss Landry, to be sure. Officers, thank you for your forbearance and professionalism. I know we can also trust in your discretion.”
Ginny could feel Brendan Fagan’s gaze between her shoulder blades as she left the room.
****
“Brendan, me darlin’, will you be stayin’ for supper?”
“I’d like that, Ma, so I would.” The house on Haywood Street smelled of new-baked bread and tatty scones. Brendan inhaled deeply, and his mother pulled him into her arms.
Tall for a woman, Alanna Fagan had clear gray eyes—the blue eyes which marked most members of the family came from the Fagan side—and hair that, once fair, had turned to silver.
“It’s been far too long since you stopped by,” she declared and caught his face between her hands. “Why, what’s this? Belted in the line of duty, were you?”
Alanna Fagan had a cluster of sons; only Brendan had pursued the vocation of policeman. All but the two youngest children—a boy and girl—had fledged from the nest. Alanna often proudly declared that all her grown children earned a good living.
They all sent money home, too. It augmented the income Brendan’s father, Sean, brought in as a humble laborer and had allowed them to move to this comfortable house from the cramped flat where Brendan had been raised. Eleven children, all of them filled with energy, in three rooms. It had been enough to make a lad swear off breeding.
“A fight in a bar last night, Ma.”
“Is it so? Well, I hope you arrested the brute who hit you.”
“I did that.” Brendan turned his thoughts sternly away from Virginia Landry. “I have brought something for you.” Reaching inside his jacket, he extracted a healthy portion of his pay. “Here.”
Last Orders Page 4