It was always Sunday afternoons now that seemed the longest, the time she missed her father the most. A tiny sigh came from Rory, which seemed to echo round the great cavern of the warehouse. As though to escape the sound, she turned and hurried up a narrow flight of stairs.
They led to a small office that overlooked the rest of the warehouse. Rory had reached for the knob when she stilled. A noise carried to her ears, one that had nothing to do with the scrape of her own shoe on the stair. Holding her breath, she listened intently. All was silent. She must have been imagining things. Just as she released the air from her lungs, she heard it again.
A stirring on the other side of the office door. Inching closer, she stole a peek through the door's small glass window. Someone was there. She could make out a masculine form sprawled on the floor behind her desk.
It would not be the first time some old vagrant had managed to sneak into the warehouse to sleep. Angelo was always so careless about locking up. Last time, Rory had gotten a real fright, tripping over a body at the foot of the stairs, but the poor old man had meant no harm.
All the same, Rory had prepared herself in case the like should ever happen again. Groping underneath a loose floorboard beside the door, she located a section of lead pipe she had squirreled away there. Hefting the heavy weapon, she inched open the door, her pulses racing.
This was foolish. She should go get help, summon a policeman. But if it was only that poor old tramp, she didn't want him arrested. She would take just one peek, and if the sleeping intruder looked at all dangerous, she would retreat.
Steeling herself, Rory tiptoed inside the office. She craned her neck, weapon at the ready, until she could see over the desk. The interloper was definitely male, his long limbs uncomfortably disposed on a makeshift bed of silk material. Rory could just make out a profusion of jet-black curls.
"Tony!" Rory breathed.
Relieved, she dropped the pipe onto the battered old desk and managed to light the oil lamp. Neither the sudden glow nor any of the sounds she made were enough to rouse Tony.
Coming round the desk, Rory stared down at her friend, wondering what he was doing here asleep on the office floor. How long had he been there? Had he waited up for her all night and through the day too?
She was stricken with remorse. During the past hours, she had hardly scarce given her old friend a single thought. She had wondered why he hadn't come to the flat earlier looking for her, but she had been too grateful to be left in peace to give the matter much consideration.
Bending down, she brushed aside his dark tumble of curls, her fingers skimming over a cheek roughened with a morning's growth of beard. It still seemed odd to note signs of manhood on one who in her mind would forever be the boy who used to tie her braids together, swing off her fire escape and share his peppermint sticks.
At her touch, Tony stirred. He rolled onto his back, his eyes fluttering open. Their brown depths clouded with confusion and then cleared as he focused on her.
"Rory!" He jerked upward. Too close to the desk, he banged his head on the corner and swore. As Rory straightened, he struggled to his feet, rubbing his crown.
"What time is it? When did you get here? Where the devil have you been?"
"Which question do you want me to answer first?" She stretched, flexing her back muscles like a lazy cat. She tried to keep her voice light, sensing a quarrel coming and wanting to avoid it.
When he glared at her, she settled on the most harmless question and replied, "I think it must be close on five o'clock."
"Five o'clock! And you're just now getting back here?"
"No, I've been at the apartment all day."
"No, you haven't. I sent Angelo round to look for you early this morning."
"He must have just missed me. Look, Tony, I am sorry I wasn't here to help with the balloon last night. I hope you managed all right."
"Oh, I managed all right—to go half out of my mind worrying about you.
Sinking into the chair behind her desk, Rory used the scarred surface as a barried between them. "You needn't have fretted so much about me. I can take care of myself. I hope you haven't been waiting here all day."
"All night and all day, until I fell asleep! I didn't know what you were up to, where to find you, but I was sure this would be the first place you would come."
His words only added to her discomfort, for he was right. Ordinarily that would have been her one thought, to get back to the warehouse, to examine the damage to the Katie Moira. It was the first time in her life, anything or anyone had ever managed to distract her from her work with the balloons.
"I had something more important to attend to," she said.
"You mean this?" He drew a crumpled paper from his pocket and tossed it on her desk. She recognized the remains of the note she had left for Tony at Morrison's house.
"I spend all day tracking you from those stupid fairgrounds, thinking this time that you must have broken your fool neck for sure. I finally located where the balloon went down, only to be told you have gone flitting off with some strange feller."
"I wasn't flitting," Rory snapped, then checked herself. She hated it when Tony assumed this badgering, dictatorial tone. But she also hated the deep shadows beneath his eyes, the look of hurt lurking beneath the anger. She resumed in gentler accents, "I had a business meeting with Mr. Morrison. He took me to supper at Delmonico's.”
"It took you all night to eat?"
"No, afterward, we went dancing,” Rory admitted reluctantly.
"Dancing! That sounds like a funny kind of business meeting to me."
"I was spending as much time with Mr. Morrison as I could, trying to persuade him to invest in the balloon company."
"And did you?"
"No. After all, it seems he was not interested."
"Damn right. I could have told you what he was after. I thought you had better sense than to set yourself up as a mash date for some rich swell."
"It wasn't like that at all."
"No, I suppose he was a perfect gentleman," Tony sneered. "He didn't even try to get fresh."
Rory didn't want to blush, but she couldn't help it. The memory of how it felt to be in Zeke's arms was too strong. Tony stared deep into her eyes and looked as though she had just kicked him in the gut.
"Gawd, Rory. You didn't let him kiss you?”
Rory wished she could glare back at him with defiance, even deny it. Instead she said,"That's really none of your business, Tony."
He whirled away from her and slammed his fist against the wall. "Damn it!" he choked. "I don't care how rich or powerful the bastard is. I'm going back there and break his face."
"Don't be so silly. You will do no such thing. Honestly, Tony, you are worse than my Da ever would have been. Sometimes I think you have been trying to take his place."
"No, it's not your father I want to be." He was regarding her with that hungry look again, the one that made Rory ache for him and want to shake him as well.
Please, Tony, don't. Don't say anymore, she begged silently. Seeking any kind of distraction, she yanked open the desk drawer and produced a well-worn ledger book. But it was impossible to make sense of any of the rows of neatly inked figures, not with Tony hovering over her desk, his hands jammed into his pockets.
"We have more important things to worry about than Zeke Morrison," she said. "Like how I am going to pay the rent on this warehouse. I don't suppose you collected our fee from Mr. Dutton before you came looking for me yesterday?"
"No, I didn't. Since I was expecting to find you dashed to pieces over New York, the money somehow slipped my mind. But I guess you can always have another go at that rich friend of yours." The bitterness in Tony's voice was as scalding as acid. When she didn't reply, he demanded, "Are you going to see him again?"
"Who?"
"You know damn well who. That Morrison."
It would have been so easy to set Tony's mind at rest, assure him that she never expected to keep company with Z
eke again. Hadn't she already decided as much? Instead she surprised herself by murmuring, "I don't know."
"Don't you ever read the papers, Rory? The World calls him the mysterious millionaire. Everyone wonders where he came from, how he got his money."
"Not everyone. I never gave it much thought." Rory tried to sound indifferent, yet she could already feel herself begin to tense, ready to rush to Zeke's defense, and Tony had not even accused the man of anything yet.
But Tony was working up to it. He braced both hands on the desk and leaned over her, glowering, "You might be interested to hear that Angelo knows this fellow who says that Morrison—"
"Doesn't Angelo always know someone? Your brother is a worse busybody than Miss Flanagan."
"Angelo knows this fellow name of Julio from the old neighborhood," Tony said, raising his voice to drown her out. "And Julio says there's nothing mysterious about Morrison. He's nothing but a bum that used to work down on the docks, an orphan kid who ate out of garbage cans and picked pockets until he was adopted by this widow."
"How many dockworkers do you know that could earn enough money to live on Fifth Avenue?'
"None that could do it honestly. Julio also said—"
"Oh, stop it, Tony!" Rory slammed the ledger book closed, "I don't care what Julio says. And as for you and Angelo, I think you could find better use for your time than to gossip like a couple of old hens. I begin to wonder what I am paying the lot of you for."
Tony straightened, a bright flush stealing beneath his olive skin. "You don't have to pay me for nothing anymore 'cause I quit."
"Good!"
Spinning on his heel, he stomped toward the door. Their arguments always ended this way.. If she didn't end up by firing Tony, he would resign. But he always came back; they always patched up their disagreement.
Somehow it felt different this time as the door slammed shut behind Tony. Their quarrels had always been over trivial matters, mostly concerning some aspect of the balloon company. Tony had never left her looking as hurt as he was angry.
She should go after him. She rose from the desk and had started across the room when the door was flung violently open. Tony stood framed on the threshold, his rage fading, but the beseeching look he wore was far worse.
"I'm sorry, Rory. I don't mean to make you mad at me. You know I wouldn't be saying all these things if I didn't care so much about you."
"I know you do. Why don't we just forget this whole thing and—"
Her heart sank with dismay when he caught up her hands in a hard grip. "Rory, I-."
"Oh, no, Tony, please." She tried to retreat, but she saw there was no stopping him this time.
"I love you, Rory. I always have."
"Of course. Like a brother you do."
"No, not like a brother!" He yanked her into his arms. "I go just about crazy with jealousy thinking of you being with any other feller, not just this Morrison. And to let him kiss you! Why couldn't it have been me, Rory? Why not me?"
"Tony, stop!"
But he pressed his lips hard against her mouth. It was useless to resist. He was far too strong for her. All she could do was hold herself rigid and unresponsive. It was all wrong, and Tony was quick to sense that himself. He drew back, his eyes filled with longing and despair. She struggled to find the words to let him down as gently as she could.
But she didn't have to speak. After staring into her face, he released her, his shoulders slumping.
"Tony, I am so sorry," she whispered.
He swallowed hard and nodded, a heavy silence descending. Rory could feel something precious dying, another piece of her childhood slipping away. She retreated behind the desk again.
Tony gave a harsh laugh. "There's no need for that. I won't try to touch you again. I'm through making a fool of myself. You have nothing to fear from me."
"I know that, Tony."
Somehow her assurance only made things worse. He picked up his jacket that he had forgotten before and moved toward the door."I guess I better be getting home. Ma'll be ready to skin me for being late for supper again."
Simple words, the sort of easy remark he might have tossed off as he left any evening, only now it all sounded so strained.
Her voice came across as too hearty when she agreed. "Goodness yes, I don't want your mother mad at me again for keeping you. You run along. I'll lock up here,"
"Don't you stay late either. It's getting dark."
Rory promised she wouldn't. She thought he meant to go without another word, not even good-bye. But he looked back one last time to ask with a wistfulness that nearly broke her heart, "Is it because of that Morrison fellow? Is that why I don't have a chance with you? Did you fall in love with him?"
"Heavens, Tony, I only just met the man yesterday."
"Sometimes that's all it takes. There's something different about you. I can tell."
"I'm a day older." She tried to smile, but couldn't manage it. Only a day. Why did it suddenly feel like years?
Tony drew himself more erect, some of the fire returning to his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to stand by and let you get mixed up with some stranger. I'm going to find out more about this J. E. Morrison."
"Tony!"
"And if he does turn out to be a bad one, you are going to stay away from him, you hear?"
"Tony, please. Just go home."
But she could tell from the stubborn look on his face, her plea would go unheeded. When he let himself out, she sagged down onto the chair. Folding her arms upon the desk, she buried her face against her hands, her heart feeling too battered even for tears.
"Damn you, Tony," she mumbled. "You've ruined everything." She wanted to curse him and Zeke Morrison too. The pair of them had robbed her of her tranquility—Tony, with all his talk of love, spoiling their friendship; Zeke with his kisses, stirring desires inside of her she had never dreamed of.
Strange that for all her grief for her father, her worries over the fate of her company, she had still managed to stay relatively carefree. She had known exactly who she was, Seamus Kavanaugh's daughter, Tony's friend, the hoyden of McCreedy Street.
Now she felt so unsure of herself. Everything was so blasted complicated—most of all her confusing feelings about Zeke Morrison. Why hadn't she told Tony she never expected to see the man again? Why had she been so ready to fly to Zeke's defense when Tony had begun hinting things about him?
If she had given Tony the reassurance he sought, he would have let the matter drop. Now she knew he would never do so. He would keep prying until he got himself into trouble or else found something damning to tell her about Zeke.
And she had a feeling that might not be so hard to do. Zeke carried an aura about him, of ruthlessness certainly, but also whispers of a past that she sensed had not been pleasant.
Yet whatever Tony might uncover, it wasn't going to matter. Rory's instincts had never failed her, and she had looked into Zeke's eyes enough to know that he was not a bad man.
An odd judgment to pass on someone who had, after all, tried to seduce her, lure her into the very sort of wickedness that Tony warned her against. Zeke himself would admit that his intentions had not been honorable.
But there had been a tenderness in his voice that spoke of more than mere lust. Zeke Morrison had needs Rory doubted the man was even aware of himself. The trouble was he made her too much aware she had needs of her own.
Blast Tony anyway! She had been struggling to put the entire encounter with Zeke from her mind. Tony had stirred up all her memories of last night, raised questions she had not even thought to ask.
Did you fall in love with him?
What an absurd idea. Rory pressed her fingertips to her temple. Her head had begun to ache all over again with all these tormenting speculations chasing through her brain.
Rory leaned back in her chair and wished it could be yesterday again, when all she had had to worry about was going bankrupt. She thumbed through the ledger, knowing she should put some energy into going over
the accounts or go below and make a stab at repairing the damage to the Katie Moira. But she could not summon the energy to do either.
To her disgust she caught herself daydreaming of night-dark eyes, a strong, square-cut jaw, waves of brown hair framing a man's face too bold for her peace of mind. Daydreaming? No, it was going to be more like night dreaming if she continued to hang about the warehouse, mooning over Zeke in this idiotic fashion. Rory cast a glance toward the window and realized that she had done exactly what she had promised Tony she wouldn't.
She had lingered at the warehouse until the sky beyond had turned a dark shade of purple. Scrambling to her feet, Rory cursed herself.
"Idiot!"
As if she hadn't done enough imprudent things in the past twenty-four hours. Even without Tony's warning, she knew it was sheer folly to be caught in this part of town after dark. Of course there was no question of riding her bicycle home. She would take the El, but even that was a good two blocks' walk to the nearest platform.
Hastening downstairs, Rory took one last look around to make sure that all the doors were secured for the night. As she let herself out onto the street, she noted with dismay that it was even later than she thought. All trace of the sun had gone, the moon a pale distant sliver in a cloudy night sky.
The street lamps had been lit, glimmers in the murky darkness. Up the street, honky-tonk piano music spilled out from one of the saloons, along with coarse, drunken laughter. But it was not those noisy denizens of the night that Rory had to worry about, but other silent shapes, which might be lurking in the doorways ahead.
Her fingers shook a little as she locked the side door, and she despised herself for a coward. As she set off down the pavement, her shoes made a solitary clatter, heading away from the raucous doings of the saloon, whose bright lights seemed a veritable haven compared to the darkness ahead of her.
Passing the textile dock, she could just make out the East River, a mysterious moving shadow. She could not help thinking of tales she had heard, of bloated bodies fished from those chilly depths.
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