Bishop Takes Knight

by McKenna Dean

  The smooth transition into a New York accent with his final sentence made me look up in astonishment. He didn’t return my glance, but he was grinning, and with his free hand, he tugged the brim of his fedora down a notch.

  “You don’t know my address. To tell the driver, I mean.”

  He flicked a sharp, speculative glance in my direction before answering. “Point taken.”

  I didn’t know where he lived, either, and it was clear he wanted to keep it that way. But I hadn’t come this far to let him slip away from me now.

  When we reached the taxi stand, I gave the driver my address and slumped with relief into the back seat of the cab. Fortunately, my wool coat was black, and though the damage to the sleeve might be noticeable, blood would not. Knight noticed my movement and put his arm around my shoulders for a small squeeze.

  I hissed in pain.

  He removed his arm with the speed of a man who’d inadvertently shoved his hand into a furnace. His eyes gleamed in the light of a passing street lamp, worry stamped on his face. In a voice pitched too low for the driver to hear, he said, “My word, but I’m sorry.”

  The temptation to close my eyes and lean into him was strong, which had to be reaction setting in. I couldn’t imagine expecting comfort or protection from any of my former set under similar circumstances. Tommy, offer support? He’d still be gibbering over the wolves, and no doubt blaming their appearance on the gin. And with the exception of Em, everyone else in my social circle had dropped me like a hot potato when my father went bust. As though poverty were contagious.

  We pulled up outside my building. I let Knight pay the driver. Instead of taking my arm again, he guided me away from the cab with his palm on the small of my back. Even through the heavy cloth of his coat, I was acutely aware of the pressure of his hand. We walked the short distance to the entrance of my building, and then I turned to face him.

  Leaning in to fuss with his collar, I murmured, “Go around back through the alley. You’ll see a fire escape. I’ll lower it. I’m on the third floor.”

  “Wait, what?” His native accent was back in full force. “I thought I was just seeing you to your door. You’ll call a doctor, right? Damn it, I should have ordered the taxi to take you straight to the hospital.”

  My fingers tightened on his coat sleeve. If he left now, chances were we’d never see him again. “How would I explain getting shot? It raises too many questions. You’re coming inside. I can’t take you in the front door—this is a single ladies’ residence.”

  He leaned back as though edging away from a dangerous dog or a crazy person. “The only place I’m going right now is home.”

  I swayed a little and let my voice grow faint. “Who knows what I’ll find when I take my coat off? I can’t bandage up my arm myself.”

  His resulting sigh had enough force to flutter a low curl dangling over his forehead. “You have me there. Very well. I’ll meet you at the fire escape.”

  I waited until he’d ducked into the alley that ran along the building before I climbed the stairs to the front door. The outer door was already locked. With any luck, Mrs. King, the landlady, would be in bed, even though it couldn’t be much past ten.

  A single lamp glimmered in the foyer, mute testimony to Mrs. King’s disapproval of anyone who came in later than she deemed proper. Even so, I tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the riser that creaked. The last thing I wanted was Mrs. King poking her head out for an unwelcome interrogation.

  Once inside my apartment, I dropped my purse on the couch and plucked at the bullet hole in my sleeve, craning my head around to examine my arm. The room spun as I did so.

  How odd. I clamped my gloved hand over the ruined material of my coat and the dizziness retreated. When I lifted my fingers to peek at the wound through the cloth, the room swam again. I clamped down over the injury once more. The pain didn’t made me woozy, but the sight of my own blood did. I didn’t consider myself squeamish, but then again, I’d never faced my own injuries before.

  I simply wouldn’t look at it. Not until I had Knight’s help at any rate. Provided he hadn’t run off the moment I turned my back.

  With that thought in mind, I gritted my teeth, peeled off my stained gloves, and hurried into the kitchen. A large window there led to the fire escape. When I put my shoulder into it, the sash opened with a wrenching groan. I froze at the sound, listening to see if anyone else in the building had noticed. A minute passed in silence before I pushed against the window frame once more. Thankfully, no one seemed to care. Once the window opened far enough, I crawled out onto the fire escape and looked down over the edge.

  Thank God. Knight stood below looking up like a disgruntled Romeo. I’d have to go down to the second floor to drop the ladder where he could reach it. I toed off my heels and clambered down the metal staircase.

  In order to prevent anyone from the street accessing the building, the management kept the ladder bridging the final drop to the ground stored in the locked position. The crank stuck at first, and I couldn’t get it to budge onehanded, but a hard shove with my foot got it to turn. With a loud screech of metal on metal, the ladder dropped in stages, as if it had the hiccups.

  Behind me, the second-floor window opened. My downstairs neighbor stood in a dressing gown observing me. Folding one arm over her chest, she used it to support her elbow as she lifted a cigarette to her lips. The tip glowed bright orange-red in the darkness of her room as she inhaled, and I could make out the ghostly wreath of smoke about her head as she exhaled.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t our little Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

  I didn’t know her name. I’m sure she didn’t know mine, either. Her platinum blonde hair rivaled Jayne Mansfield’s, and she had the voluptuous body to match. We seemed to keep different hours, and I did no more than nod to her on the rare occasions we met in the hallway. I didn’t know what I’d done to merit the sobriquet of “Goody Two-Shoes” unless it was my expensive, if outdated, wardrobe.

  “Pardon me?” I didn’t have time to say anything more. Knight had swarmed up the ladder with astonishing speed and now stood beside me, slightly out of breath.

  My neighbor motioned toward Knight with a flick of ash. “You. Of all people, you’re the last person I’d expect to see. With him.” She gave Knight the once-over, her slow smile showing her approval.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Knight slid in behind me to place his hands on my hips as if we were on the dance floor. He half turned me to face him, pressing me against the length of his body. Muffling a grunt as the action mashed my wounded arm between us, I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a fatuous smile.

  “Be a pal, will ya?” Knight leaned forward to beam at my neighbor. “You won’t rat on us?”

  The speed with which Knight had assessed the situation and how he’d chosen the right approach to take with my somewhat hostile neighbor impressed me. I also itched to slap him silly.

  She kept a cool gaze on us as she continued to blow smoke rings. At last, she shrugged and spoke, directing her comment to me. “You owe me.”

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  “I knew you were a sport the minute I laid eyes on you,” Knight said, listing a little. He gave her a sloppy grin.

  “You’re overdoing it,” I said out of the corner of my mouth.

  “You get tired of Miss High Society, I’ll show you a good time.” She had the effrontery to wink at Knight.

  My smile felt tight when we took our leave of her. My stockinged feet slipped a little on the metal risers I made my way up the iron stairs to my window. Knight, following close behind, put a hand on my bottom, then jerked back as though he’d touched a hot coal.

  My back stiffened, and I whipped around on the stairs to pin him with a glare. “Watch where you put your hands, unless you’re looking for a knuckle sandwich.”

  “You mistake my intention.” Equal parts embarrassment and offense colored his words. “I thought you might lose your balance.”
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  “Uh-huh. If I had a dime for every time I heard that one. I suppose next you’ll tell me you have a bridge in Brooklyn for sale, too?”

  That did it. His back was up now. “I don’t know what kind of world you live in, Miss Bishop, but a gentleman would never—”

  I’m afraid my laugh wasn’t very nice. “Oh, please. Gentlemen are the worst. Every secretary I know has been manhandled by a boss or coworker. At least the construction workers on the street rarely do more than catcall. Most gentlemen behave as if they have a God-given right to touch you anytime they feel like it.”

  I continued up to my landing and crawled through the window. Knight came in behind me, his expression thoughtful. He distanced himself from me as if I had leprosy, which had the perverse effect of annoying me. How was he going to help with my arm from six feet away?

  “Please shut the window. I’m freezing.” I headed off for the bathroom without looking back.

  The stark lighting in the bathroom revealed dark circles under my eyes and a ghost-like pallor that startled me. I eased off my coat, hissing as the frayed material, now caked with dried blood, stuck to my dress and the skin beneath it. I let the coat fall to the floor as I tried looking at the wound through the mirror in the hope an indirect assessment wouldn’t make me queasy. No luck. I closed my eyes and gripped the sink with my good hand while I waited for the spinning to stop.

  When I opened my eyes again, Knight’s face hovered behind mine in the mirror, and I frowned at him.

  “You weren’t kidding about needing help with that bandage, were you?” His crooked smile disarmed me. “And here I thought you were just trying to prevent me from ducking out on you.”

  “I’m not normally squeamish. But something about the sight of my own blood....” I cast a glance toward my arm. Blood had soaked through my dress sleeve, and the dark stain had that same draining effect on me as before. I locked onto his reflection instead, using his vivid blue eyes as a focal point for a world whose moorings had come unpinned. What he didn’t know about my motives wouldn’t hurt him.

  “May I?” He indicated my arm.

  Miracle of miracles, he was asking for permission to touch me. That was a first for me, and my estimation of him kicked up a notch. I nodded.

  I closed my eyes at his cautious, probing touch. It still burned when he lifted the stuck material from the bullet wound, and the way he sucked air through his teeth, combined with the warm seeping told me his action had started my arm bleeding again.

  Doubt colored his voice. “Well, now. That’s not too bad.”

  “Liar.”

  He surprised me with a chuckle. “No, really. We have to get this cleaned up and wrapped, but I don’t think you need a doctor after all. It’ll leave a scar, though.”

  “Damn. There goes my career in Hollywood.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get fresh with you on the fire escape.” His quiet words distracted me from his examination. “Not on the stairs, and not when we were talking to your neighbor, either. Or in the taxi, for that matter.” He winced at the recollection. “I was playing a part. I didn’t want the cabbie or your neighbor to see you’d been shot. Like you said, it would have raised questions you didn’t want to answer.”

  I opened my eyes. “Obviously. I’m not stupid. Though I still think you play the part of a drunk a little too well.”

  Small bloodstains where I’d pressed into him dotted the stark white of his shirt. His shrug seemed almost half-hearted. “It’s served me well in the past. Also, it’s not always an act.”

  I met his gaze in the mirror. He’d left his hat in the kitchen, and without it, seemed much younger than before. His eyes locked with mine for a long moment. The room seemed to shrink inward as I became conscious of the heat radiating off his body and the masculine scent of his skin. For several heartbeats this sense of heightened awareness thrummed between us, and my lips parted in response. In the mirror, our pupils dilated in unison as he recognized my proximity as well. Then he dropped his gaze, and just like that, the connection fizzled out as though it had never been there.

  “Let’s get that arm bandaged up. Then I can be on my way.” He pushed the hair out of his eyes and glanced around the bathroom, as though a first aid kit might magically appear.

  “You can’t go back to your apartment tonight. The people who were waiting for you outside the bar won’t give up. You’re not safe.” I refused to let him out of my sight until I could turn him over to Ryker.

  His gaze zeroed back on mine in the mirror. This time his laugh was harsh and without a trace of humor. “I might have known you had other motives for bringing me up here. Am I any safer with you?”

  He seemed not to notice the sexual implication of his words nor my blush, for he continued without missing a beat. “Those people, to use the term loosely, might know where my favorite bar is—you did—but they intended to take me on the spot. If anyone knew where I lived, they would have grabbed me long ago.”

  He had a point; one I didn’t want to concede. “Wolves,” I reminded him. “They sent a pack of wolves after you. It’s a matter of time before they hunt you down.”

  “How the devil does someone send wolves after a person?” He moved away to lean on the wall by the sink, one shoulder up against the peeling paper, his hips canted to the side as he crossed his ankles and shoved his hands in his pockets. The same lock of hair fell across his forehead again, glowing gold in the overhead’s light. He sounded almost petulant. “And who is this ‘they’ you’re talking about?”

  “The people after you, of course.” As soon as I’d spoken, I realized that made little sense. Why send gunmen and shifters after him? I wasn’t thinking straight. “There might have been more than one organization behind this ambush tonight. Who were the people who tried to recruit you before?”

  “Didn’t you know?” His clipped accent was cold. “The government.”

  That took me back a bit. “You think the US Government killed your wife and had you blacklisted because you refused to work for a secret division?” Ryker’s warning about the government’s potential interest in Redclaw matters came to mind, but then why hadn’t the dossier on Knight mentioned any of this?

  “Yes.” The single word could have been chipped from ice.

  “I doubt the government sent a pack of wolves after you.” But Redclaw could have. Or if not them, one of the competing organizations Ryker had mentioned.

  “I suspect you’re right on that one. Which begs the question who can direct a pack of wolves to attack someone? And why are you so calm? I have a feeling there’s more to this Redclaw than you’re letting on. How about we dress your arm and then you bring me up to speed?” His mood lightened once more, altering from frigid bitterness to amused tolerance so fast it gave me emotional whiplash.

  Nodding, I put out a hand to grip the sink as an unexpected wave of dizziness rolled over me. The edges of the room turned dark, and I wondered if the overhead bulb was burning out.

  Behind me, the toilet lid clattered shut, and then a firm grasp on my good arm guided me to sit down. Knight cupped the back of my head, sliding his hand through my hair to push me forward. “Bend over. Take a deep breath. I believe you were about to pass out there. Thank goodness.”

  “Thank goodness?” My voice quavered as I leaned over my knees and tried to focus on the black-and-white pattern of the tiled floor. The squares shimmied at first, but gradually stopped dancing.

  “Yes.” Humor laced his voice like warm honey in a comforting cup of tea. “I’m all for modern women and all that, but I was beginning to think you weren't entirely human.”

  What if I’m not?

  The thought made me shoot up straight, which was a mistake. The room whirled around in circles and Knight caught me before I fell ignominiously to the floor.

  “Careful.” He made sure I was sitting upright before releasing my arm and backing away with his fingers splayed as though I were a house of cards that might topple at any moment. As soon a
s he was confident I was stable, he began rooting around in my medicine cabinet. He held up a tube of wine-red lipstick with a frown and then tossed it back in the cabinet. “Do you have any sort of first aid kit?”

  “In the kitchen cabinet by the stove.”

  I took advantage of his departure in search of the kit to pull myself with care to my feet. No point in attempting to clean up my wound until I was out of the dress. As long as I didn’t look at it, I’d be fine, right? Wincing, I undid the buttons one-handed and peeled the dress off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. I was reaching for my bathrobe when he came back, kit in hand.

  Heaven knows what kind of image I presented, standing there in just a Merry Widow and garters. I gave a little shriek as heat blossomed in my face and I clutched the robe to my throat. Knight gaped at me for what seemed an eternity, went beet-red, and then spun to avert his gaze while at the same time leave the room. The abrupt action caused him to collide with the doorjamb.

  “Hellfire and damnation,” he muttered, holding his nose. He checked several times to make sure it wasn’t bleeding before extending the first aid kit toward me with his gaze fixed on the ceiling. I wasn’t able to take it without exposing more skin than I was willing, and I fumbled for the box.

  Peeping over his shoulder to see what was taking me so long to accept the kit, he scowled at me. “This is ridiculous. Sit down before you fall down.”

  I sat, holding the bathrobe up to my chin.

  He opened the metal box and rested it on the edge of the sink. “Let me see your arm.”

  Obediently, I uncovered my arm to allow him access. Tut-tutting a bit, he turned my upper arm over and inspected the wound, and then opened the taps until the water ran hot. “Washcloth? One you don’t care about?”

  I indicated the small closet behind the tub with a lift of my eyebrows and a nod. He poked around in the closet before holding up a washcloth over his shoulder for my approval. Once I assured him it would do, he held it under the hot water, wrung it out, and began sponging off the dried blood. I stared at the wall, my lips pressed in a tight line.