Deadly Pleasure

by Brenda Joyce

  Francesca hesitated, then nodded at her. What she hoped to communicate was that she would try to help them if she could.

  Daisy smiled in relief.

  Francesca realized that Bragg had noticed the exchange. He said, “You may give me a ride to police headquarters. Dickens, escort Miss Cahill and the kid to their brougham, and have them wait for me there.”

  Francesca realized she was wide-eyed. She tried to remain composed. Why did he wish to ride with her? Unfortunately, she knew his motives were not social ones. “Do you not have a vehicle, Bragg?”

  He ignored her and walked out of the bordello and over to Mrs. Pinke, the only woman now left standing on the street. She had a fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders. As Francesca was led toward her coach, she strained to hear their exchange.

  “Have you had a change of heart?” Bragg asked the madam.

  “If you mean will I reveal the names of any of my customers, the answer is no.”

  He smiled at her and it was dangerous enough to make Francesca shiver. “But protecting your customers no longer matters, as you shall never be open for business again.”

  Mrs. Pinke stuttered and then said, “You will never survive in this city, Commissioner. I beg you, give me a private audience.”

  “Why? To offer me several thousand dollars? I cannot be bought, Mrs. Pinke, unlike my predecessors. You have a choice. It is a simple one. You may rot in the Tombs and face charges for pimping, prostitution, fraud, blackmail, bribing a police officer, and anything else I can think of successfully prosecuting you for, or you may tell me everything I wish to know, and you will get off with a warning.”

  She stared. “And my establishment?”

  He smiled. “You are out of business, Mrs. Pinke, and from my point of view, it is one less nest of corruption that this city and its inhabitants have to suffer with.”

  Mrs. Pinke trembled. “I have a lawyer, Bragg. A damned good one!”

  Bragg turned his back on her. “Throw her in the wagon.” Then his gaze settled on Francesca, who was poised to climb up into her own coach, and narrowed with speculation and intent.

  Her heart turned over hard.

  And she thought, He is all business; he is about to lay into me now. I am such a fool, because seeing him makes me happy.

  Bragg strode over to her coach. He held open the door. Francesca smiled at him. He did not smile back.

  Her own smile faded. She tried to think of a truly good reason for her to have beaten him at his own game, and she failed.

  He followed her inside.

  * * *

  They traveled a few blocks in silence. Joel sat on the seat facing them, and occasionally, as the coach bounced over a rut, Bragg’s knee touched Francesca’s. She stole several sideways peeks at his profile. He seemed very preoccupied.

  “Bragg? I do have good news,” she finally said, nervously.

  He turned so he was partially facing her. “How did you know about Daisy and Rose? Did you speak with Calder since I last left you?”

  Francesca bit her lip. Even though Joel was in the coach with them, she was acutely aware of Bragg’s proximity. He was such a masculine and powerful man that he somehow dominated the space inside of the brougham, making it seem very small indeed. “No.”

  “I see. You were eavesdropping on Calder and myself.”

  She hesitated. “It is because I care.”

  He shook his head. “Do the ends always justify the means?” he asked.

  She paled. “Of course not.”

  “Then why? Of course, this is a huge part of your charm. This is what makes you unique and unlike any other woman I have ever known. But it is also frustrating. I never know when I shall open a door and Francesca Cahill will pop up— like a jack-in-the-box.” He did not smile.

  But he didn’t seem terribly angry. He wasn’t shouting. In fact, his tone was fairly mild. She smiled a little. “So, I am unique?” She did like the sound of that.

  “Terribly, tirelessly so.” He finally smiled.

  And Francesca was elated. He was the only man, other than her father, who understood her and appreciated her for being a different kind of woman. “Thank you, Bragg,” she said.

  He sighed. “I have come here to chastise you, and somehow I have wound up flattering you. Only you, Francesca.”

  “I don’t mind.” She grinned and almost took his hand. Wisely, she restrained herself. Then, “Why aren’t you angrier with me?”

  He seemed slightly amused. “Do you wish me to be angry?”

  “You were angry last night,” she pointed out.

  “I found you with a corpse!” he exclaimed. “It was the last thing I expected.”

  “And you were angry this morning.”

  “Yes, I was. As my preference is not to have you involved in my work. However, I have had some time to think about it. You were extremely helpful in the Burton investigation, Francesca.” His eyes narrowed.

  She flushed with pleasure and reached out to touch his hand. The moment she did so, she shivered and dropped her palm. “You know I only have the best of intentions. You know that, like yourself, I am appalled by injustice.”

  He smiled a little and shook his head. “Yes. I know. Which is why I have done some thinking and have decided that perhaps you might have a role in this case after all.” His gaze slowly lifted to hers.

  His look was odd, but it was only later that Francesca recalled it. She was elated, ecstatic even. “You do? You wish my help? Shall we be a team, then?” she cried.

  “Do you truly believe Miss de Labouche to be your client?”

  Francesca hesitated. Now was not the time to dissemble. “I am certain she will agree if I offer my services for free.”

  He smiled. Then, somberly, “She approached you in the first place. And she is still missing, Francesca. She is a prime suspect in this case even if you believe her to be innocent. I must question her.”

  Francesca understood. She almost clapped her hands together in her excitement. “You want me to find her.”

  “Immediately,” he said. “I have put a detective on it, but he already has a huge case on his hands. You have heard about the theft of Mrs. Graff’s jewels?”

  “I think so,” Francesca said.

  “Then I realized that this is so unorthodox, perhaps you should work on your own—reporting directly to me and me alone.”

  She was so thrilled she was reeling.

  “Peter is a jack-of-all-trades. If you have need of an assistant, he could help you, Francesca.”

  She blinked at him. “I have an assistant. Joel.” She glanced at him, but he was staring out the window at the passing street, appearing bored by their conversation—when Francesca knew he was listening intently to their every word.

  Bragg’s eyes widened. “Joel—the kid—is now your assistant?”

  She nodded proudly. “I have hired him. And do not worry, Bragg; he has given up his criminal ways and he can be trusted completely.”

  Bragg groaned.

  But her mind was racing. With Peter at her side, she could face down the worst thugs—perhaps even a half a dozen of them at one time. “Perhaps, just perhaps, I might use Peter, from time to time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is he to spy on me?”

  “No.” Bragg smiled. “He is to protect you, Francesca, and keep you out of harm’s way.”

  She smiled back at him, sweetly. “I did manage to fend for myself during the Burton Affair.”

  “You managed to escape several extreme situations by a hair’s breadth,” he returned evenly.

  That was true. “I will find Georgette de Labouche for you, Bragg,” she decided. As quickly, she decided not to tell him about her best lead, Georgette’s brother, Marcus Anthony. “But she might refuse to speak with you.”

  “Then she will speak with you, and you shall be my eyes and ears.”

  Francesca smiled happily. “This is my dream come true,” she blurted; then she wished she had not been so open.

 
; “Perhaps you will decide sleuthing does not suit you after all,” he said.

  “I doubt it.” Sleuthing would always suit her, especially with Bragg at her side. “Don’t you want to know what Daisy and Rose told me?” She was somewhat coy now.

  “Please,” he said, lifting a hand.

  “First of all, they are nice women and not at all what you think them to be.” She truly intended to impress this fact upon him before their ride was through. “They should not be incarcerated, Bragg.”

  He faced her fully. “Francesca, they are not nice women, they are prostitutes, and solicitation for the purposes they solicit for is against the law.”

  “No.” She touched his hand reflexively. This time, she took a moment to feel the texture of his skin. “Rose changed when she was with you. Before, when we were alone, she spoke as if she came from a fine family and had attended fine schools. I swear those two women were gentlewomen before they chose this life. I am certain of it.”

  “And what difference does it make? They are prostitutes now. They offer their bodies for a price.” He stared. “They make their livelihood by breaking the law, Francesca.”

  She stared back. He was right—but so was she. “You are the one who told me, not very long ago, that nothing is black or white—that there is always some shade of gray to be found in every situation.”

  He sighed. “Touché. I concede.”

  “You do?” She was pleased and smiling openly.

  Briefly he smiled back. “In fact, I did notice instantly, in spite of Rose’s vulgarities, that they were not the harlots one encounters in a bordello. I suspect they had an unusual arrangement with Mrs. Pinke. Knowing my brother, I can say I truly expected no less.”

  Francesca couldn’t help seeing Calder Hart in a very compromising position with both women. She said brightly, “In any case, I do have wonderful news. Hart was there last night.” She paused and flushed. “He was with both Daisy and Rose, as he said, until almost nine. He even told the women he had a party to attend.”

  Bragg eyed her.

  She stared back, blushing hotly.

  “Are you warm, Francesca?” Bragg asked softly.

  She tensed. His tone had changed, becoming soft and sensual. It caused an immediate reaction within her, making her breathless, as if afflicted with anticipation. “I am ... somewhat surprised ... that is all. Your brother is ...” She stopped.

  “Immoral, depraved, cunning, and very selfish,” Bragg finished for her.

  “Daisy said he is kind.”

  Bragg laughed. “Only to get what he wants. If he wanted Daisy in a certain manner, then trust me, he would be kind.”

  “Perhaps you do not know your brother as well as you think,” Francesca suggested, rubbing her arms.

  He stiffened at once. “Do you now defend my reprehensible half brother? Are you now his champion?”

  She flinched. “Of course not! I mean, I do not think he is quite so bad!”

  “All women fall in love with Calder. I see that you are no exception,” he said rigidly.

  She inhaled, stunned. His reaction to her simple and innocent suggestion was so swift, so intense. “I am not in love with Calder Hart!” she exclaimed. And she felt like hitting him over the head with a plywood board. She almost exclaimed, “I am in love with you, you foolish man!”

  “For your sake, I hope that is the truth,” Bragg said. “As he is incapable of loving anyone but himself.”

  Francesca was unmoving. Had she just admitted to herself that she was in love with Bragg? She began to tremble; she did not know whether to be aghast or elated.

  “What is it?” Bragg asked.

  She recovered, swallowing with difficulty. “It is the truth. He is your brother, and that is why I am fond of him, if I am fond of him at all,” she managed.

  Bragg stared out of the window. They were approaching 23rd Street. He seemed sullen now.

  Francesca folded her arms across her breasts. “I do not wish to argue, Bragg. Why, we are a team now!”

  “We are not arguing. Just stay away from Hart.”

  “I promise,” she said. Was she really, truly, in love?

  Her heart was telling her now, in no uncertain terms, that there was only one possible answer.

  He turned to study her. “I mean it.”

  She swallowed. “So do I.” Did she? If she had to choose between Bragg’s friendship and an association with Hart, there was no question of what her choice would be. However, right now, there was no choice to make—there was merely a case to solve and an astounding revelation to ponder. She was in love. She was in love with Rick Bragg.

  But was it truly so surprising? He was a devastating man, handsome in a very unique way, with his dark complexion and tawny hair and his high, high cheekbones. He was also extremely powerful, and not simply because he was currently New York City’s police commissioner. His power came from within, and it had everything to do with his intelligence, his ethics, and his ambition. She was already so proud of him— and they had only just met. In short, given all that they had in common, he was so perfect for her.

  Bragg was regarding her quite closely. Francesca started as she realized it, hoping that he could not be guessing her thoughts.

  She straightened, smiled, and said, “Well, Hart does have an alibi.” Her voice came out high in pitch with nervous tension.

  Bragg looked at her. “Are you all right?”

  “Truly, I am fine!” But she wasn’t fine; she was in love with the most amazing man.

  “Those two women are bought and paid for by Calder, Francesca. They would never say anything he did not wish for them to say.”

  She gaped, successfully diverted from her stunning thoughts. “You—you do not believe them? You think he has ... he has ... bribed them to claim that he was with them last night?” She was shocked.

  “Do you not understand life at all, Francesca?” Bragg asked angrily. “I fear that one day your trust and naiveté will truly hurt you. Calder has millions. He is a powerful man. If two prostitutes, whom he frequents, claim he was with them last night, it is a meaningless claim. Of course they will say whatever Hart wishes them to say. They will not go against him, and neither will Madam Pinke, and I doubt Calder even had to bribe them—as that is a crime and he is hardly so stupid.”

  Francesca stared. His features were hard now, his eyes flashing. “But it might be true—and I think it is,” she finally said, but now she wasn’t so certain.

  “It might be true,” Bragg agreed. “And for Calder’s sake, I hope it is true, but I doubt we will ever know for certain whether or not he was with the girls last night.”

  “Then why have you sent them to the Tombs?”

  “Because I am an officer of the law, they have broken the law—and it is my duty to try to get to the truth. Perhaps Daisy will break. She strikes me as softer than Rose. Clearly, in this case, as they are so attached to one another, divide and conquer is the best course of action. If they are lying, perhaps a night that is cold and foodless and unpleasant—and spent separately—will make one of them speak out.”

  “But it is cruel.”

  “Perhaps. But what is worse is allowing Randall’s killer to get off scot-free,” Bragg said.

  Francesca did not agree. “I have decided that I like Daisy and Rose. I detest seeing them sent to the Tombs.”

  His brows arched. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” She met his golden stare. “Unlike other people in this city, I keep an open mind. Sometimes rules are made to be broken.”

  “And when should the law be ignored, or even flouted?”

  “That is an ancient question, one of philosophy, and we could sit here all day and all night debating it,” Francesca pointed out.

  “Yes, we could.” Bragg shook his head, but he smiled. “I do not think this is about likes or dislikes. You are interested in Daisy and Rose because they are so different from anyone you have ever known, because they are so different’ from yourself.
And until you understand what they are about, you will grapple with the subject of how two women from genteel backgrounds could become what they have become. Am I right?”

  She blinked at him. “Perhaps. Perhaps you know me very well, Bragg, considering our acquaintance is so short.” Her heart began to beat hard.

  “I have already told you, I am an extremely astute judge of character.” He was smiling.

  So was she. And somehow, their gazes locked. Francesca felt herself becoming breathless, all over again, her smile fading. There was no one she wished to be with more. Even arguing about the two prostitutes was somehow exciting with Bragg. Surely there was no mistaking the tension between them now, and she felt certain it was not one-sided. She hesitated, but only for a fraction of a moment, then blurted, “Was police business the real reason you canceled our drive in the country?”

  “No,” he said.

  She inhaled. She had wanted an answer—but not that one. “Why?” she whispered.

  His jaw flexed; his entire face tightened. He leaned forward and slid open the window partition between their cab and the coachman. “Driver, turn right on Houston,” he said.

  She wondered if he intended to answer her.

  He finally looked at her. Something flickered in his eyes, but she could not define what it was or what it signified. He said, “I realized after impulsively suggesting a drive in the country that my behavior was entirely inappropriate—and misleading. I apologize, Francesca.”

  She was trying, desperately, to keep her head above water, but she was sinking fast. “Inappropriate? But how?”

  He glanced away. “My only intention has been to offer you friendship, Francesca, from the moment we met. Again, if I have misled you, I apologize.”

  Francesca was speechless.

  After dropping Bragg at police headquarters, she had assured Joel that their day was done, taking him not home, but several blocks from his flat. “Let’s plan to continue our work tomorrow,” Francesca told him with a smile. “What time?” Joel asked eagerly.

  “How about ten? Could you come uptown and meet me at my house?” Joel already knew where she lived, as she had briefly found him employment in the stables there. However, he did not like horses, and it had not worked out.