by Addison Cain
Brindle couldn’t believe her nerve. “Caw?”
She gave a nasty smirk. “You heard me.”
The arm around her tightened, Matthew silently commanding that she shut her mouth. “Nathaniel, see that our friends here get on their way. Eli, go with Nathaniel.”
The door shut, the room got quiet, and they both waited for the sound of engines and the crunch of tires rolling over gravel.
The gangsters were gone but Charlie was still hanging, uncomfortably at that, against the chest of Matthew Emerson. “Feel free to put me down anytime.”
Her body slid lower until her toes touched the floor. She moved to step away, but Matthew kept his arm firm around her middle. When he wouldn’t budge, she tossed her head back and warned him with one vicious glare that he better let go or he was next on her list.
Pale eyes darted over her face, his expression nearing violence. “You’re hurt.”
“I am not hurt,” she countered. The other man was hurt. He’d be sitting funny for a week.
Furious, Matthew hoisted her up again and walked to an undisturbed table. Propping her on the edge, placing his hands on either side of her body, he boxed her in and leveled her with a glare. “What the hell is wrong with you, woman? You got any idea how dangerous those men are?” When she opened her mouth, ready to spit out something nasty, he cut her off. “Say one goddamn smartass word and I will make you regret it.”
Bristling, Charlie leaned nearer. “You don’t frighten me, Matthew Emerson. That man had it coming.”
Clenching his jaw, Matthew grit out, “You got any idea what men like that would do to a pretty thing like you?”
“Yes, I do.” Her expression made it clear she knew exactly what men like that were capable of. “Which is why he needed a beating. You think I don’t know what they were doing here? I just saved your ass! Radcliffe won’t mess with you again; your reputation stands. Business will continue.”
She didn’t think it was possible for him to look angrier. She was wrong. Belligerent, trying to get up, Charlie began to holler, “Why the hell won’t you let me up?”
He lifted a hand and wiped his fingers across her forehead, holding them out so she could see the bright smears of red. “This is why. This is why, Charlotte! You’re fuckin’ bleeding all over yourself.”
She looked confused when a small drip of warm liquid ran down the side of her face. Glancing down, Charlie found the little stream was staining the fabric of her collar. “Damn it. I liked this dress.”
Bringing his face so close she could smell the tobacco on his breath, Matthew practically roared. “You dress like a man, catch one high profile criminal, and you think you’re so goddamn hard?”
She could hardly believe her ears. Growing before him, Charlie cracked her neck. “You think he was the first? There have been over two dozen. He was just the most important! I was eight when that bastard cut up my mama’s face and slit my twin brother’s throat. He would’ve killed me too if Charles hadn’t shoved me under the bed.
“In less than ten minutes that monster ruined my life, left me with a mama who was never right in the head again, who needed constant care—who I had to spoon feed and support. There were no jobs for little girls that would’ve paid enough and I was too young to sell my body. But I looked just like him… just like my brother… and that made it easier. I cut my hair, wore his clothes, and took his job, working with some of the most ungodly men around. I paid attention. I knew where the evil men liked to play, who they knew, where they fucked. I watched them my whole life. And that man you saw me with last winter—Ronnie Pearson, the Slasher himself—the one I sat and watched fry on Old Sparky.” Charlie showed her teeth. “I tracked him for two years once I got wind of where he might be. Hunted him down like a dog, made his life hell all the way to the electric chair. That man, he was my father, Matthew. So yeah, I think I’m pretty goddamn hard!”
The look on his face… If he’d found her unacceptable before, he sure as hell must have thought she was repulsive now. Sneering at his expression caused something foreign and mortifyingly warm to slide down her cheek. Confused, Charlie reached up to wipe it off and stared down in horror to find the clear fluid wasn’t more blood.
She shoved Matthew away with all her strength, scurried off the table, and used her skirt to wipe off every last trace of tears.
Nathaniel and Eli stood at the door, each having heard, their expressions just as disturbed as Matthew’s.
It was the moment of truth; Eli had finally pieced it together, knew who she was. Of all of them, he was the most horrified, blinking at her like it couldn’t be true.
Closing her eyes, Charlie reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Get outside and keep watch,” Matthew snarled, chasing them off with one warning. “Brindle might be as stupid as he looks.”
Tripping over one another Nathaniel and Eli rushed to obey.
Her short-lived moment of weakness passed. Voice steady, Charlie said, “I need to get back to the boarding house.”
Matthew came up behind her, close enough she could feel the heat of his body. “You ain’t going nowhere till your wound gets tended.”
Jaw tight she argued, “I can do it myself.”
“Sit down, Charlotte.” It was the same tone he used on his bullheaded kin, the one that made it clear she better behave.
Wanting to get it over with, Charlie sat on the nearest table edge and stared at her toes while Matthew gathered what he needed.
When he came back, she reached for the damp cloth in his hand, only to have him fist it and hold on tight when she gave it a yank. Letting go with an irritated snort, she closed her eyes and waited.
The brush against her skin was cool, cautious, Matthew following the path of blood that had trickled down the side of her face, dirtied her neck, washing all the way to where crimson stained the top of her dress. When the mess was cleaned, a fresh corner of the towel passed under her eyes.
It could not be borne. “Stop coddling me. I’m not Eli, for Christ’s sake!”
Matthew agreed. “No, you ain’t. If you was Eli, I would’ve slapped you twenty minutes ago.”
She couldn’t help but snicker. “You ever try to slap me, Mr. Emerson, and I think it’s safe to say it won’t end pretty for either of us.”
For a fraction of a second she thought she saw a tic at the corner of his lips.
Moving his fingers carefully to part her hair to find the source of all that blood, Matthew said, “This needs a stitch.”
Great… “I can do it. There’s a first aid kit in my car.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
Impatient, she grumbled, “Then you do it.”
He fetched her box, watched her thread a curved needle, while she explained sewing skin was no different than sewing a shirt.
Taking the needle, Matthew paused for a moment. “It’s gonna hurt.”
Charlie rolled her eyes, sarcasm thick as she mocked, “Is this where you offer to hold my hand?”
Those pale eyes glanced down to hostile sapphire blue, staring long and hard at her expression before he did what had to be done. Charlie didn’t flinch, but she did close her eyes as he pulled the thread through her skin.
When it was done, she felt his fingers take hers, opening her eyes to see their hands joined on her lap.
Chapter 6
They hadn’t spoken once she’d let go of his hand. Matthew just held up her coat and helped her to his truck. The ride into town was equally silent, Charlie trying her damnedest not to steal glances at the stoic driver.
She was angry, her ankle hurt, and no matter how hard she’d tried, she had to accept that she couldn’t make it in Monroe—not after what she’d confessed.
There would be no more amusing Saturdays at the grill, no more explorations.
She’d have to leave, as soon as possible.
When Matthew’s truck came to a stop outside Fontanne’s Boarding House, Charlie didn’t wait to see if he
would break the silence with a goodbye. She hopped out, ignoring her ankle, and fled inside before he got it in his head that she might need his help.
Even though her coat concealed the bloodstain on her dress, the utterly annoying Mrs. Fontanne gave her a world of grief when Charlie barged in looking half wild. One heated look had shut the old woman’s mouth long enough to stagger upstairs and slam the door.
She didn’t come down for dinner.
When morning came, Charlie styled her hair to cover the small gash, packed her things, and went straight to Gap Mill’s modest train station. She was debating on destinations, ready to fork over money to hightail it to White Sulfur Springs, when someone tapped her shoulder.
Glancing back, Charlie found Eli out of breath, sweating like he’d just run a marathon.
“Miss Charlie, what are you doing here?”
“What does it look like?” Her tone was dry. “I’m getting out of Monroe.”
The boy seemed nonplused. “But… I came down to getcha. Your car is all fixed.”
The Emersons must have wanted her out of town badly to have repaired her car overnight. Frowning, she tightened her grip on her suitcase. “Then let’s not waste time.”
* * *
Matthew glanced at the clock, chewing the toothpick between his teeth.
“You can stop checking the time every two minutes, Matthew,” Nathaniel muttered, eyeballing the liquor in his jar. “She won’t get far without her car.” The glare Matthew shot his brother only made Nathaniel chuckle. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and the damn thing’ll break down again. Want me to go pull a few wires?”
Matthew turned his back on the drunken jackass and sprinkled seasoning over the steaks he’d just finished grilling.
Five minutes later, the noise of Eli’s car sounded on the drive. Peering out the window, Matthew watched Charlie climb from the blue Ford she’d abandoned ten months back.
She looked unhappy, her hands fidgeting nervously with the buttons of her coat.
Eli was quick to her side, filling her ears with a stream of babble, taking her arm so she might lean on him. His cousin dragged her up the steps and got her through the door, but when Eli began to take off her coat, Charlie held it tight, unwilling to hand it over. The kid gave a good yank and green velvet left her shoulders. There was no cotton frock underneath. Instead Charlie wore a suit far too formal for Monroe.
Seeing her dressed for the city confirmed Matthew’s suspicion—she was planning to run off.
Nathaniel gave a low whistle. “Well don’t you look purdy, Miss Charlie.”
Her brow hitched, Charlie blasé. “And it looks like you’re soused again before noon.”
“All it takes is dedication.” Nathaniel winked. “Take a seat, I’ll buy you a drink.”
As Nathaniel patted the chair at his side, Matthew set a plate on the counter before her usual place.
Steak and scalloped potatoes, steaming and smelling good, waited. But she looked down at them as if the sight made her queasy. He saw her swallow the little jump in her throat, and he knew. She stared at the plate because she couldn’t bring herself to meet the eyes of the chef.
Matthew cleared his throat, biting down on the toothpick between his teeth. “You don’t like steak?”
She limped nearer, eyes still downcast. “You made me lunch?”
He answered by setting a cup of hot tea next to the plate. That was the ticket to entice the golden girl to crawl up on her stool. Three more plates were placed out on the counter—all the Emersons, even Matthew, sitting down to eat.
One bite and the tightness around her eyes softened. She hummed appreciation, sat a little straighter… until Nathaniel opened his mouth and set her on edge. “Who taught you to throw a punch?”
“Leave her be, Nathaniel,” Matthew warned, turning the full strength of his glare at his stupidly grinning brother.
But she answered, speaking as if it were nothing. “I was smaller than the rest of the boys. I got beat on a lot. My boss got tired of seeing me black and blue, so he took the time to point out the way to tackle a larger opponent. How to... I don’t know, fight dirty, I guess.”
“Who’d you work for?” Eli asked, chomping a hunk of steak.
Squeezing his fork until his knuckles went white, Matthew said, “Stop prying into Charlotte’s life.”
The way she jumped in her seat, one would have thought he’d struck her, using her name. Not Charlie. Not Miss Elliot. Charlotte. And then there they were, those bright blue eyes turning to him. Uncertain, she peeked at his shoulder, then at the jaw that hadn’t seen a decent shave in weeks. As if it were an act of pure will, she met his pale-eyed stare and said, “The steak is very good, Matthew. Thank you.”
Voice low, he offered, “Thought you might be hungry’s all.”
Charlie nodded dumbly and went back to the meal.
“I found her at the train station.” Eli piped in. “Chased her all the way from the boarding house.”
“Oh yeah?” Nathaniel asked, after a belch. “Where were you headed?”
Charlie shrugged. “Anywhere I wanted.”
Rolling his eyes, Nathaniel gave her shoulder a smack. “You really think you’d find a better place to sit and look at things?”
She only grunted, and went back to her food.
Nathaniel had no intention of being ignored. He gave her a pinch so she’d stop moping. When that didn’t work, he pulled a lock of her hair like he was some dumb school yard boy.
Snapping blue eyes threatened very real retaliation, his brother leering like a fool. “You’d be back. We both know you’re secretly in love with me.”
And like that, Charlie burst out laughing. Leaning back, she pursed her lips, nodding as she looked Nathaniel over from his muddy boots to his stained mess of a shirt. “You figured me out.”
He had a look in his eye, a look of pure trouble only made worse when he winked.
Working his jaw, Matthew got up and circled the counter.
Charlie took that as her cue to leave. Wiping her hands and preparing to stand, yet she startled when her plate was suddenly yanked away, and a small recipe box was plopped down on the bar in front of her. As if to answer her questioning gaze, Matthew handed her a notepad and pushed the recipes closer.
“Those Aunt June’s?” Eli asked, flipping the box open. “Well I’ll be damned—haven’t seen those in years.” The grin he leveled at Charlie was one hundred percent genuine. “When I was real little, I remember she used to make the best peach cobbler. It was just out of this world. Almost as good as the one Ruth makes.” Stammering, cheeks turning red, he whispered, “Ah… don’t tell Ruth I said that.”
“That’s probably light years beyond anything I could make,” Charlie admitted. “I can hardly fry an egg.”
“How did you eat before?” Eli asked.
“Well, most places I lodged in fed me, and I’m really good at opening a can. Bread and butter were also my specialty.” She spoke the truth, aware it sounded awful, and couldn’t help but sigh. “Truth be told, I spent so much time in the woods, I learned how to cook over a fire pretty well—you know, squirrel, rabbit, venison—but that’s just a matter of turning a stick.”
Mouth full, Nathaniel grunted, “Good thing Matthew here could cook for you then.”
Reading over the instructions for meatloaf, she absently answered, “Yeah. Good thing.”
Charlie dove right in and began studying the cards, taking detailed notes as she scribbled out recipes and occasionally hearing Matthew grunt something like, “Takes three minutes longer than the card says,” or, “You can skip that step.”
She’d been at it so long Nathaniel was working on his second jar, and from the way she clutched and unclutched her fingers, her hand was starting to cramp. Which was well and good. Distracted, Charlie had failed to register the sound of cars driving up. Just as she hadn’t seen Eli circle the bar so he might be near the shotgun hiding beneath it.
The screen door opened and
shut.
“I heard some crazy broad knocked the daylights out of one of my men. She around?”
Chapter 7
Charlie set down her pencil. Looking into the mirror hanging above the grill, her eyes locked on the speaker’s squinted baby blues.
It was then she saw how Eli cradled the shotgun. How Nathaniel looked mighty sober and ready to kill. And that Matthew wasn’t standing at her back to help her with her notes. He was shielding her.
Charlie turned in her seat and placed her hand on Matthew’s spine. Under her fingers his muscles jumped at the unexpected contact, the man going all the stiffer when she gave him a pat.
“That depends, Beau.” Charlie peeked around the broad wall of seething man in front of her and asked, “What do you want with her?”
With five of his goons preening behind him, Beaumont Radcliffe took a breath of smoke from the cigarette dangling between his lips, and offered his infamous grin.
Slipping around Matthew before he could catch her, Charlie limped right to the well-dressed gangster.
“My God…” Beaumont’s fingers touched the tips of her hair, fluffing them a little as his eyes ran all over her face. “I never thought I’d see the day.” He took her chin and turned her face side to side, his blue eyes sparkling under the brim of his hat. “You grew up into a fine woman, Blackbird.”
She’d always liked the way he spoke, a little nasal and smart—the way she imagined a shifty villain from the silent pictures would speak. Between the thin eyebrows and the charm, it wasn’t far off. He was still larger than life, a true kingpin, an incredibly dangerous man, and one of Chicago’s most notorious gangsters.
Smirking, Charlie replied, “I’m sure there are many who would disagree.”
Matthew was practically boiling watching the gangster touch her fondly—familiarly—waiting for one hint of concern on the golden girl’s face so he might yank her back.
“What do you mean?” The extremely handsome gentleman at Beaumont’s side took off his hat and gave Charlie a charming grin. “You have got to be pullin’ my leg. Blackbird was a dame?”
