Leo smiled with feigned indifference. "I'd like to see you try it."
The man eyed him for a moment, obviously puzzled by Leo's concern, then asked again, "What the hell is your problem?"
"The problem is that you've got your hands on someone you shouldn't have them on," Leo said simply.
But he ground his teeth painfully in an effort to keep things as civil as possible. On top of everything else she'd been through tonight, the last thing Chloe needed was to see two grown men beating the hell out of each other. And he feared that any altercation that ensued between him and this big ape would spill over into the rest of the bar. God only knew what kind of chaos would result after that.
"Now go away," Leo added quietly, "and leave her alone."
"She's wid me," the man said. "You go away and leave us alone."
"Mr. Freiberger, no," Chloe said, jerking her head up, her expression frightened, beseeching. "Don't leave me here. Please."
As if he would, Leo thought. God. The kid honestly looked like she thought he would leave her here with this guy. Just what the hell kind of life had she lived before coming to Philadelphia?
Putting that thought on hold for now, he turned his attention back to the gorilla still seated in the booth. "She's fourteen years old, Humbert," Leo informed him. "A little young for you. Not to mention jailbait. But if you leave right now, I'll be real nice and pretend you never touched her."
The man laughed. "Fourteen. Yeah, right. Like I'm supposed to believe that. Lookit 'er." Following his own advice, he turned to offer Chloe a salacious perusal. "Ain't no fourteen-year-old looks that good, pal."
Leo opened his mouth to comment, but a third voice cut him off before he could say a word.
"Yes, well, if you think she's pretty, you should have seen her mother."
Leo snapped his attention around at the voice that came from behind him, and was surprised to see Schuyler Kimball standing just behind Eddie.
"Where did you come from?" he asked.
Instead of looking at Leo when he answered, Kimball took a few steps forward and focused on the scene in the booth. He frowned when he noted the belligerent expression on the ape man's face, then, when he saw Chloe crying, he went absolutely rigid. Funny, but Leo had never noticed before how big and threatening-looking Kimball was. But dressed in black trousers and a black turtle-neck, with every muscle he possessed flexed that way, he cut a pretty damned intimidating figure.
But as furious as he obviously was, all the billionaire said in response to Leo's query was, "As luck—or, perhaps, irony—would have it, Freiberger, I was on my way to see you, hoping we might have a little chat. Then Lily darling called me on the cell phone to alert me to this other matter. I wasn't far from here. It was just a matter of having Claudio turn the car around."
That was when Leo noted that Kimball wasn't alone. Behind him, shadowing Eddie, stood another man—or something—who was even taller than Leo was. Gee. Suddenly the odds seemed much more workable than they had when he'd first entered Smoky Joe's.
"Oh, great, another one," the ape man said when he saw Kimball standing by Leo. He turned to Chloe. "Just how many men are you doin', sweetheart? You must be better than I thought. I can't wait to get between your sweet—"
He never finished what he was going to say, because Kimball lurched past Leo then and reached into the booth, grabbing the man by the throat and squeezing hard.
"Your next word," he said in a surprisingly calm voice, "may be your last. If I were you, I'd think very carefully before I chose it."
The man's eyes bugged out, and his face began to grow purple, and Leo wondered if he should step in and intercede before Kimball killed the guy. Nah, he decided. No reason to be hasty. Might as well let this thing run its course.
"Now then," Kimball continued in a benign voice, loosening his grip just the tiniest bit. "You were saying… ?"
The man had reached up to circle both of his beefy hands around Kimball's wrist, but he hadn't managed to alter the billionaire's grip one bit. He uttered a feral, guttural sound, then surrendered to Kimball's fury and loosened his hold. Roughly, raggedly, he somehow managed to mutter, "Who the hell are you?"
Kimball gritted his teeth in a way that made Leo take an involuntary step backward. In a voice that chilled him further, the billionaire announced quite clearly, quite threateningly, quite adamantly, "I'm her father, you bloated, revolting pig. And if you ever come near my daughter again, I will kill you. With my bare hands. And I shall take great pride in committing the act. Do I make myself clear?"
The ape man stared into Kimball's face for another moment, and Leo was pretty sure the guy's bowels were about to fail him. Sure enough, the instant Kimball loosened his grip, the man scrambled out of the booth and through a door nearby that was labeled in peeling letters, Res ro ms.
Kimball, however, didn't move. He only stood bent over the table with his white-knuckled fist gripping nothing but air. Chloe continued to cower in the corner, her shoulders shuddering in silent sobs, her face turned away, her entire body shrunken into a ball. Then slowly, very slowly, Kimball's fist unclenched, his fingers uncurled. But instead of dropping his hand to his side, he moved it toward Chloe's hair. For a moment, his hand only hung suspended there without touching her. Then he cupped his hand over the crown of her head in much the same way a father would if he were trying to comfort his daughter.
Chloe's head snapped up at the contact, her face a mess of running mascara and rouge. Still cradling her head in one hand, Kimball reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he used to wipe away the worst of her tears and makeup. Awkwardly, Chloe reached up and took the scrap of silk from his hand, then blew her nose indelicately into it.
"I'm sorry," she said in a very small voice. "I didn't mean to—"
"I understand," Kimball said, cutting off her explanation before she could even begin to offer one. His voice softened some as he added, "Believe it or not, Chloe, I do understand. And I'm sorry, too. We can talk about it on the way home."
Chloe started crying harder then, as if in doing so, she were releasing years' worth of pent up emotion. But somehow, she managed a brief smile through her tears. Kimball brushed his hand over her head one more time, then extended a hand toward her to help her out of the booth.
"We'll talk later," he said to Leo, the statement in no way inviting comment. Then, to the other men present, he added, "Gentlemen, if you'll all excuse me, I'm going to take my daughter home now."
Without a word, the big man who'd accompanied the billionaire into the bar extended Kimball's coat, and Kimball draped it around Chloe's shoulders. Then, after only a small hesitation, he dropped his arm around her shoulders, too. Gently, he led her toward the exit with the massive bodyguard right behind them. And all Leo could do was stand there watching them go.
Unbelievable, he thought. Kimball really had come through.
"Thanks, Eddie," he said to the man who stood gaping as he watched the scene conclude.
"No problem, Leo," he replied. "What can I say? I got a soft spot for kids. I'd like to have a couple of my own someday."
Leo started forward, more than a little anxious to rid himself of Smoky Joe's for good, but he halted mid-stride when the door to the bar opened again, and Lily Rigby came stumbling through.
Her long black hair was half-in and half-out of a ponytail caught at the top of her head, and an oversize leather bomber jacket hung open over gray sweats and a big, man-style shirt. She'd accessorized the ensemble with her enormous hiking boots, and, as a result, she didn't exactly look like a Victoria's Secret model. In spite of that, every male eye in the place—which was pretty much every eye in the place period—homed in on her, and she gazed about the room with much apprehension.
"Yikes," she said to the room at large, obviously not having seen Leo standing back in the shadows. She glanced around at her surroundings—and her companions—and went pale. "Um, hi. Nice place you've got here," she muttered. Smart woman that she was, she clearly s
ensed immediately that she shouldn't be there alone, and she quickly turned to go back out the way she'd come in. Unfortunately, another of the bar's missing link patrons entered behind her, halting when he saw her, blocking her way.
"Ah… okay," she said, spinning around again, evidently trying to make the best of a fast degenerating situation. She cleared her throat discreetly when two men at the bar rose and began to approach her. Then, once again, she directed her comments to the entire room. "I wonder if you… lovely gentlemen… could help me out. I'm looking for someone. Have any of you… lovely gentlemen… seen, um…"
She faltered a bit when the first of the two lugs from the bar stopped within a foot of her. Then, suddenly, she brightened.
"My husband?" she finished. "Have any of you seen my husband? He's a big, hulking guy, about six—" She hastily sized up the man nearest her before continuing, "Uh, six-five." She cleared her throat again when another man began to approach. "He weighs about, ah, two-fifty? Two-fifty-five? And he has big, beefy fists and hair all over his back. And no neck. None whatsoever. He, uh… he carries a switchblade in his sock. And… and numchuks, too. His name is, um, Rocco. Rocco Corleone. Do you happen to know if he's come in here tonight?"
The man nearest her reached out a hand to clamp it over her shoulder, chuckling evilly as he did.
"Did I mention that he's also insanely jealous?" she added halfheartedly as she recoiled from the man's touch. "And that he's out on parole for killing a man who tried to sell me some encyclopedias?"
"Here I am, honey!" Leo called out from the back of the room, wondering when he had decided to intercede on behalf of a criminal. Probably because she was a really cute criminal, he thought. That was why.
He took a step out of the shadows, tugging Eddie Dolan along for the ride. "And I brought my friend, Vito, with me," he added as the two of them strode forward. "He's in town visiting his godfather."
She was obviously more than a little relieved to see him. "Oh, darling!" she cried in a pretty convincing June Cleaver voice. "I'm so glad you're here. It's your Aunt Sybil. She's got an ingrown toenail again, and you know you're the only one she'll let near her with a pair of tweezers."
"Damn," Leo said blandly. "Oh, well. Duty calls. Gentlemen?"
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, hoping the men who had formed a ring around Lily would let them all leave with their lives—and limbs. Evidently, the guys at Smoky Joe's had bigger fish to fry that night—or else they were stupid enough to believe that bit about Eddie's godfather—because, as one, they parted to allow Leo and Lily and Eddie through.
Leo pretended that his heart wasn't pounding in his throat as he passed through the throng, nudging Lily ahead of him, hoping like hell that Eddie would pull up the rear. The moment they were outside, however, he grabbed her by the upper arm and propelled her forward as fast as he could, toward Eddie's apartment building at the end of the block.
But Lily struggled free and stopped dead in her tracks. "Chloe," she said.
"She's safe," Leo told her.
Her entire body seemed to relax at his assurance. "Oh, thank God. Where is she?"
"She's with… her father," Leo said.
Lily eyed him warily. "Schuyler made it in time?"
Leo nodded. "The guy came through. Big time. He and Chloe are going to have a lot to talk about during their ride home."
Lily nodded. "Good. As bad as this was, maybe, ultimately, some good will come of it. Now then," she added quickly, "how about the two of us make an example out of them and do likewise?"
He studied her in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"How about the two of us do a lot of talking on the way to your place? And even more after we get there?"
He shook his head adamantly. No way was he going to let her take advantage of his emotions right now. No way was he going to let her talk him into doing something he knew better than to do. No way was he going to let her get under his skin again. No way was he going to set himself up for that kind of fall.
"Forget it, Lily. It's over."
She expelled an impatient breath, running a restless hand through her bangs. "Leo, you have got to give me a chance to explain," she told him.
"No. I don't."
She dropped her hand in front of her, curling it into a fist. "Yes, dammit, you do." She snarled at him. Actually snarled, he noted. How incredibly… arousing. "You will give me a chance to talk about this before you take your findings to the board. You will."
"Why would I do something like that?"
"Because I deserve the opportunity, that's why. You know I do, Leo. You know it."
"Hey, kids, if I'm interrupting something here…" Eddie began, edging backward a bit, in an obvious effort to free himself of what was promising to be a pretty rabid confrontation.
"You're not interrupting anything, Eddie," Leo snapped. But he kept his gaze fixed on Lily. "Nothing except the usual farce that is my life, anyway."
"Oh, well, in that case," the other man said, jutting a thumb over his shoulder, "I think I hear my mother calling."
"Wait," Lily said, reaching out to curl her fingers around the other man's arm to prevent his flight.
Leo became unaccountably jealous at the sight, curling his own fingers into loose fists, before he remembered that he wasn't letting Lily Rigby under his skin again. He wasn't. He wasn't.
"Mr. Dolan," she continued, her voice much softer than it had been when she'd been addressing Leo, "I can only assume that you're the friend Leo called to help out. Thank you for what you did tonight, helping Chloe."
Eddie bunched up his shoulders and let them drop. "Don't mention it. I just hope everything works out okay for the kid."
Lily nodded. "Look, why don't you come to dinner at Ashling tomorrow evening?" she said. "It's the least we can offer you after your contribution tonight." Before Eddie could respond, she added, "And bring your friend Leo with you, would you?"
Eddie smiled, letting his gaze wander between Lily and Leo. "Yeah, okay. I think he's available."
"Eddie…"
"But ya know, Miss Rigby, he don't got the greatest table manners in the world. You sure you want him?"
Lily smiled, too. "Yes, I want him. And he'll have you there to keep him in line, won't he?"
Eddie smiled back. "Yeah, well, one of us will keep him in line, anyway."
She turned to face Leo again. "Will you come?" she asked him, her voice urgent now, instead of threatening. "And will you wait until after dinner tomorrow night to confront the board of directors? I promise you, Leo, it will all make sense to you after tomorrow night. You just have to give me the chance to explain."
He didn't want to. As Leo stood there in a spill of yellow lamplight on the street corner, he told himself not to go for it, not to give Lily the chance she was asking for, because she was a thief and a liar, and she didn't deserve an opportunity to mess him up again.
But her eyes were so big and so beautiful and so full of earnest need that he couldn't quite find it within himself to refuse her. It was only one more day, he told himself. Less than forty-eight hours. The board of directors would be no worse off hearing his report in two days, should he wait until then to get it all prepared.
God, he was such a sap.
But maybe, just maybe, if he gave Lily the chance she requested, she would tell him the truth. And better still, he thought—hoped—further, maybe, just maybe, that truth would even make sense.
* * *
Chapter Nineteen
As Schuyler's dark limo rolled down rural county roads toward home, he studied the young girl seated across from him, who, thankfully, had finally stopped crying. Considering the wash of tears she had released since they'd left that abominable place, he supposed that at this point, she was pretty much dried out. Now Chloe simply stared numbly out the window at the swiftly passing darkness outside. Whatever she had been through tonight, it had humbled her greatly. It had terrified her. It had humanized her. And now, Schuyler knew, he
r life was going to be even more difficult than it had been before.
His daughter.
How extraordinary.
Of course, he'd known since the day she arrived at Ashling that she was his daughter. Her eyes were identical to his, and he'd learned quickly that she'd been cursed with the same kind of brain. But something other than that, something more immediate, more profound, something he would be hard pressed to explain, had made the inescapability of their blood relationship even more clear to him.
Something in Chloe had spoken to him that day. Without words. Without expression. Even without thought. He had discovered within himself the existence of some previously unfelt emotion, the genesis of which had occurred that very day. Because as he'd gazed for the first time upon the young girl whom a now forgotten social worker had introduced as his daughter, Schuyler had known—had known—down to the very depths of his soul, that she was, quite simply, his.
And the knowledge of that had terrified him.
So he had turned from it. He had tried to deny it. He had made every effort to wish it away. Unfortunately, when one was "gifted"—he still curdled at that word—with the kind of brain capacity he had, one could never banish knowledge completely. And the recognition of Chloe's relationship never hovered far from his consciousness. Still, until tonight, he had never acknowledged it to anyone but himself. And now, of course, he realized how foolish he had been in thinking he could maintain that status quo.
Chloe was his daughter. He was her father. And now, he was going to have to deal with that, beyond the physical, genetic repercussions. Whether he liked it or not, from this day onward, he was going to have to accept the emotional ones, as well. Somehow, he was going to have to join the two without harming either structure. And he was going to have to try to make Chloe understand why he hadn't bridged the chasm between them before now.
To do that, he would have to make allowances, would have to offer explanations, would have to try and make sense of it all. He didn't relish the coming days and weeks and months and years, but he understood now that he could no more avoid them than he could stop the sun from rising in the morning. Reality, it would appear, had intruded into his perfect life, and would taint it for the rest of his days. He would have to be human now. He had no choice. And he would simply have to make the best of it.
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