Speak Low (8 page)

I saw no one. Moving quickly, I walked past doors labeled Dressing Room and kept my eyes peeled for one that might access the tunnels. There had to be an entrance to them on this side of the club—if the cops came in the main doors from the street, the room behind the bar wouldn’t provide a safe getaway. The logical exit would be in the opposite direction. I congratulated myself on this brilliant deduction, and when I came to an unmarked door, I squealed inwardly and threw it open.

Unfortunately it led to a prop closet where two women and a man were engaged in an activity that was definitely not the Charleston, although it looked just as rhythmic and entertaining, with limbs extended every which way. “Oops, sorry!” I whispered, backing out and slamming the door.

Damn.

I hurried further along the backstage corridor until I came to another door. Crossing my fingers, I twisted the knob and pushed it open, and found myself inside a closet full of cleaning supplies. But at the back of the closet I saw something else—the outline of another door. Stepping around buckets and rags, I prayed the door would open without a key.
Who has time to fumble with keys during a raid, right?
I pushed the cleaning implements aside.

No lock. Just a baseball-sized hole in the wood, through which I stuck my fingers and yanked.

It opened.

I took a second to pull the outer door shut behind me and ducked into the tunnel, my heart pounding at the sudden darkness. Enzo and I had snuck up to Angel’s office twice last week using the tunnels, but he’d had a lighter in his pocket that we’d used to illuminate the way. I fumbled in my purse, where I’d stuck a few cigarettes in a small case along with a matchbook. How many did I have left? My fingers shook as I felt for the number of matches—four. Saying a quick prayer they would last, I lit the first one and started walking.

With one hand brushing along the cement wall for balance, I moved as quickly as my legs would carry me down the dirt-floored tunnel. The music receded until I couldn’t hear it anymore, and my breathing got louder. I stopped twice to light new matches and once when the passageway forked and I had to make a choice about which way to go. I stayed to the right, reasoning I was traveling clockwise around the perimeter of the club and wanted to stay close to it. When my third match was nearly burnt out, I came to another wooden door. Crossing myself with my free hand, I pushed it open. Just as the match burned dangerously close to my fingers, I saw stairs.

With a sigh of relief, I blew out the match in my hand and lit the last one.

Then I climbed two flights of stairs and pushed open the heavy door at the top.

Bingo.

Angel’s office was just down the hall. Based on previous experience, I knew that office made Enzo feel powerful and confident, whether it was business or pleasure. Pushing the stairwell door closed behind me, I leaned back against it and blew out the match.

“Hey!” bellowed a deep voice. “How’d you get up here?”

I jumped. The goon in the dark suit who’d come for Joey was striding down the hallway toward me. He wasn’t that tall, but he was wide and thick-knuckled, and I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.

“I want to see Enzo.” I planted my feet and stood tall.

When he reached me, his eyes traveled down my body and up again. “What’s it worth?”

“Go to hell.” I scooted around him and bolted for the office, but he chased me, catching my upper arm with iron fingers.

“Let go of me, you ape.” I tried to wrench my arm from his grip. “Enzo! Help!”

The goon squeezed tighter. “Shut the fuck up.”

The door to the office swung open and Joey burst through it. The next thing I knew Joey had thrown a punch so hard it knocked the goon off balance. As he stumbled backward, he let go of my arm and Joey landed a few jabs to his gut before taking a hit in the face. “Joey!” I cried.

With the back of one hand he touched his nose, which was bleeding. He looked at it and then delivered a series of blows to the goon’s face and stomach that had him reeling. I flinched at each sickening crack and thump. Finally, the goon went down hard.

“What the fuck, Lupo?” Enzo elbowed his way past Joey into the hallway.

“He had his hands on her.” Joey’s chest heaved with heavy breaths, and he gingerly touched his nose once more.

Enzo looked at me. “Is that true?”

“Yes!” I snapped.

“Well, she doesn’t need
you
to defend her here.” Enzo took my face in his hands, brushing my hair back with his thumbs. “Are you all right?”

My stomach was roiling a little, but I nodded. “I’m fine.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, which somehow seemed more for Joey’s benefit than my own. “I’m sorry. Go into the office and sit down while I deal with this asshole.”

Which asshole?
I wondered. But I slipped through the office door and took a seat on the brown leather sofa.

Adrenaline had kept me alert, but once I sat still, I felt the effects of the whisky again. The pattern on the rug in front of my feet swirled like a whirlpool, making me even more sick to my stomach. Snapping my eyes closed, I put a hand over my belly and breathed deeply. The office smelled nice, like leather and tobacco. A moment later, I opened my eyes.

There. That’s better.

Now to find out what the hell was going on between Enzo and Joey.

Chapter Seven

Enzo didn’t return immediately, so I had a few minutes to myself. The office looked the same as I remembered—oak paneling, gold drapes at the windows, a sideboard along one wall topped with crystal decanters, and two red leather chairs in front of a large mahogany desk.

Oh, the things we’d done on that desk.

I pressed my knees together.

Stop it. This is no time to get distracted by sex.

But my body had never listened to my brain where Enzo was concerned, especially once I’d been drinking, and I felt the pull low in my abdomen as I recalled the way he’d set me on the desk, knelt in front of me, and run his tongue along—

“So here we are again.” Enzo’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned and saw him pouring a glass of something at the sideboard. He’d entered so stealthily I hadn’t even heard him.

“Darling, your ability to create chaos among men will never cease to amaze me.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Glancing at the door, I asked, “Where’s Joey?”

“He asked for a moment to clean up.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll be back soon, otherwise I can think of a few things I’d rather do with you in this office than talk.” He moved to the desk and sat behind it, looking more like Angel than ever. “Especially at this desk.”

“Then you should have told me what you were planning tonight.”

“Tiny, this really has nothing to do with you. Why don’t you—”

“Bullshit!” I exploded, fueled by whisky and frustration. I wouldn’t be brushed off. “You made me a promise and I intend to hold you to it.”

He looked amused. “I make a lot of promises. Which one are you referring to?”

I nearly launched myself over the desk to slap his handsome face, an urge I had frequently. Instead I clenched my fists and counted to three. “Tell me why you asked Joey here tonight, alone.”

“Leave it, Tiny.” I stood as Joey entered the room, tucking a bloody handkerchief into his coat pocket. “It ain’t your concern.”

I looked from one to the other, seething. “So that’s how it is.”

“That’s how it is.” Joey’s face looked pale, and I didn’t think it was because of the fight, which was nothing new for him.
Something
had happened before I’d gotten up here, but neither of them would tell me what it was. The idea that it was now the two of them against me drove me insane.

“Do you know what I went through to get up here?” I stamped my foot like a child. Enzo actually laughed, which only made me angrier.

“How
did
you get up here, anyway?” He sipped his drink.

“Never mind about that,” I snapped.

“I need to go,” Joey said. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Soon,” said Enzo.

Joey nodded. “Soon.”

“I’ll call someone to escort you down.” Enzo picked up the telephone on the desk and Joey and I stood in silence. It felt a little like we were two kids in the principal’s office, waiting for our punishment. I thought of the time five years ago when Joey’d had the brilliant idea to steal and bootleg the sacramental wine from church. Michigan had just gone dry and he was positive it was a brilliant scheme, sure to make some quick dough. I’d had the brains to turn him down, thank God, but he’d gotten caught. That’s when he’d entered the Bishop School, a sort of reform school for kids needing a last chance, and met the future members of the River Gang. He’d been tossed out of
there
for running crap games in the yard.

But he’d once beaten the tar out of this neighborhood bully named Timmy Toos for repeatedly eating out of my lunch box and stealing my milk money. And he’d threatened to cut off Mary McCarty’s long hair in her sleep if she didn’t stop calling me a dwarf. And when he found out I’d won a prize for mathematics in twelfth grade, he embarrassed me by announcing it at a family dinner at Bridget’s that Sunday. At the time I thought he’d just done it to annoy me.

Now I saw it differently.

“
Grazi
,” Enzo said before hanging up. “Someone will be here in a moment to take you both down.”

“Me too?” I said, surprised.

“Yes. I have some more business to do tonight. And I can’t leave the club just yet—my father is at his new establishment. With your father, actually,” he finished, smiling. “I wonder who’s having more luck at the tables.” His dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

“The house always wins.” Joey spoke quietly but firmly.

“That’s true,” agreed Enzo. “Now, darling, why don’t you go back to your friends and I’ll find you later.”

“I might not be here later. It’s already midnight, and I have to get up early.” It was a lie, Molly was ready to handle things at home in the morning, but I didn’t want Enzo to think I would just wait around for him.

“Oh? What a shame. Well, I guess I’ll be lonely tonight.” His tone implied he’d be anything but lonely.

A moment later, a couple moon-faced guys in dark suits showed up and took us back to the club. The music was still jumping, the dance floor was still packed, and the crowd at the bar was even thicker. All of it annoyed me. I marched ahead of Joey on stiff legs and flopped into our booth, across from Rosie, who, despite her threat, was still waiting for Joey.

“There you are!” shouted Evelyn over the music. She rushed from the edge of the dance floor over to the table and fanned her face, which was pink and sweaty. But her blue eyes were lit from within, and the glow in her skin was becoming.

“Here I am.”

Her brow wrinkled at my glum face. “Everything OK?”

“I’m fine,” I promised her. She deserved a good time tonight. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rosie tug on Joey’s arm until he sat next to her. “Really,” I went on. “Go enjoy yourself. I just have a bit of a headache, so I’m going to rest here a bit.”

“All right.” She glanced at the table and giggled. “Ted bought a couple bottles of champagne—it’s the bee’s knees! Maybe that’ll cure your headache.”

I plastered a smile on my lips. “It might. Go on, dance.”

“All right.” She tilted her head. “Sure you’re OK?”

No.
I looked across the table. Joey’s face was stony; Rosie’s was triumphant. She stroked his arm and whispered something in his ear. “I’m sure.”

She patted my arm and hurried back to Ted, who scooped her up close. I didn’t see Walter anywhere and figured he’d given up on me altogether.
Smart guy.

“So where’s that handsome man of yours? He dump you already?” Rosie’s shrill voice grated my last nerve. My nostrils flared as I took in her bobbed blond curls, perfectly coiffed around her flawless face, set off by a headband that sat low on her forehead. Her porcelain skin appeared even whiter than usual behind splashes of scarlet on her lips and cheeks, like blood in the snow.

“He’s busy.” Turning my attention to Joey, I gasped. “You’re still bleeding.”

Rosie squealed and shrank away from him. “Ew, what happened?”

“Nothing.” Joey pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at his face. “Just a bloody nose.” He met my eyes and the secret passed between us. My heart beat a little faster.

“Oh. I’ve never had one of those.” Rosie sounded as if we were talking about a giant wart or a festering wound.

“It’s nothing, but I should leave.” He braced himself on the table to stand.

“Wait—don’t go.” I put my hand over his, which was already bruised from the fight.

“Yeah, don’t go yet,” Rosie put in. “I want to dance with you again.”

But I wasn’t about to let her take him away. Not when another slow, sexy blues had just started. “Dance with me?” The words slipped out before I realized what I was saying.

Surprise flashed in his brown eyes. “You want to dance with me? To this?” He didn’t even bother to mask his shock.

“Yeah.” I set my little mesh bag on the table and slid out from the booth. “I do.” My heart was pounding now. Would he turn me down? Or worse, dance with Rosie instead?

“All right.”

I had to look carefully to be sure he wasn’t joking, but his expression was serious.

“Don’t be too long, now” Rosie called, a false cheery note in her voice.

We walked onto the dance floor, my knees jittering uncontrollably. What was I thinking, asking him to dance with me to this song? We might have done a tame fox trot or an awkward waltz at Bridget’s wedding, but that was in a room full of relatives, and we’d probably kept enough space between us to park a car. This was something altogether different. Where would he rest his hands? Was I supposed to put my arms around him like Rosie had? What if Enzo saw us?

Actually, that thought spurred my confidence a little.
Let him see us. Serves him right.

In the back of my mind was the dim realization I’d had the same exact thought in reverse just a week ago—I’d wanted Joey to see me with Enzo and be jealous. Tonight…I didn’t understand it completely, but I didn’t want Joey to leave, and it wasn’t only because I wanted to know what Enzo had said.

We found a sliver of open space and Joey reached for me, slipping his right arm across my lower back, and taking my right hand in his left. I rested my other hand on the top of his shoulder. Despite the crowded floor, he left so much space between us that I was disappointed.
We might as well do the foxtrot
, I thought grumpily.

But when he started to move, he pulled me into his torso, tight. As tightly as he’d held Rosie, maybe even tighter.

My breath hitched and my heart hammered my ribs so hard I was certain he could feel it. He swayed me in time to the lazy, throbbing rhythm, leading me so surely that my feet never fell out of step with his. God, the way he moved his body, and mine along with it…it was slow and sexy and sinuous. Warmth pooled at my center. My breaths started to come faster, and my dress felt heavy on my skin. Had it been this warm in here all night? I could smell the perfume I’d dotted behind my ears and between my breasts and at the backs of my knees, and hoped he could too. My left hand inched along the rough fabric of his coat until my fingers curved around his neck.

His movement slowed.

Rising on tiptoe, I pressed my face into the space between his ear and his collar.

He stopped dancing.

I inhaled deeply, letting the scent of his skin invade me. Soap and starch and aftershave, and the barest trace of something else—something delicious but not sweet, something herbal that brought the memory of cooking with him into sharp relief. My mouth watered.

His turned his head and I felt his lips against my temple. “Move your feet, Tiny.” His voice was strained.

Oh—right.
Was it me who’d stopped dancing? Recovering my senses, I let him lead me again, but I didn’t let him pull away. Against my chest I could feel him breathing, and I adjusted my breaths to his so that every part of our bodies moved in tandem, even our lungs. My body hummed with pleasure, warm and decadent. And though I knew it was wrong and misleading and maybe even dangerous if Enzo was watching, I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to the side of his neck.

Immediately I felt him spring to life against my hip. Arousal fluttered between my legs and hollowed out my insides.

He pushed me away. “What are you doing?” His eyes swept the room, as if he was trying to make sure Enzo hadn’t seen us. “Are you crazy?”

I found that extraordinarily funny and started to giggle. “Yes. I think I am.”

Joey rolled his eyes and grabbed me by the wrist, yanking me back toward the table. “You’re drunk,” he said through clenched teeth over his shoulder, “and I can’t handle this tonight. I don’t know why I even bothered to try.” We reached the booth and he shoved me in across from Rosie, who was fuming and trying to hide it.

“Well,” she said, bringing her cigarette to her lips for a puff. “That looked cozy.”

Joey looked around as he adjusted his pants. “Where’s your ride home, Tiny?”

I shrugged. “Dancing?”

“I’ve had it with this joint.” Rosie stubbed her cigarette out and looked up at Joey, batting her lashes. “You wanna go someplace quiet, sugar?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“See you around, kid.” Rosie offered me a smug look as Joey took her hand to help her from the booth.

It was my turn to fume. They walked off without looking back while I pursed my lips and tried not to stare at Joey’s ass.
Fine, go!
Beside the fact that dancing with Joey had me so riled up I could hardly sit still, I hadn’t asked him what he and Enzo had discussed, although he probably wouldn’t have told me anyway. As usual, the men called all the shots.

The bottles of champagne were still on the table, so I poured the remains of one into a glass and drank it down. Fast. Then I poured from another and did it again. Nothing about this night had gone as planned. I was wound up, I was jealous, and I was alone.

I was also drunk.

Propping my chin in my hand, I scowled at the tilting, swirling room full of happy people dancing to happy music. I hated all of them but Evelyn. I hated Rosie for taking Joey away and I hated Joey for leaving. I hated Enzo for his games and his goddamn good looks, and I especially hated myself.

At that moment, a flash of gold caught my eye, and I forced myself to focus on it. Gina was headed toward the ladies room with a friend.
Good idea. I need to reapply my lipstick too.
And if I happened to engage her in a little conversation…

Picking up my purse from the table, I stumbled after her.

#

A lot of speakeasies had been men’s clubs or saloons in the past, which, of course, were not equipped with bathrooms for women. I had no idea what the history of this building was, but the door labeled Ladies Room was near the hat-check, and when I entered, I almost ran headlong into the sloping ceiling. The room appeared to be tucked beneath a stairway or something. Ducking the sharply pitched angle, I headed through a little lounge area cloudy with smoke, nodded at the attendant, and entered the only unoccupied stall. On either side of me, girls chattered away.

“I still can’t believe you’re getting married next weekend,” said the girl on my right.