Page 31 of Daredevil Lady and the Mysterious Millionaire (The Hidden Hearts Collection #3)
He crumpled his cap some more, staring down at the threadbare carpet. “What I really came to say is that I know I was acting beyond the limit. No matter how I feel about you, I got no business meddling. You have the right to love whoever you want to even if it isn’t me.”
“Oh, Tony.”
“No, I mean it, Rory. You should be free to choose for yourself, no matter what kind of bum you pick, no matter how rotten?—”
“Thank you, Tony,” she intervened sharply, before he went on to ruin the whole effect of his apology and make her angry all over again.
“I just wanted you to know that I’ll always be here if you need me. I understand I can never be anything more to you, but we have been friends for a long time. I still want that.”
“So do I.”
She wanted to fling her arms about him, give him a big hug, but the longing in his eyes was yet keen. She couldn’t risk it. Instead she gave him a poke on the arm, which he returned, the gestures awkward rather than playful. But it was a beginning.
Tony settled his cap back on his head, exhaling a deep breath of relief. “There! Now that we got that all cleared up, maybe we can be heading for the warehouse. Did you eat breakfast yet? We could?—”
His voice wavered as he noticed the rumpled coverlet on the floor by the sofa and Zeke’s coat lying over the chair. Tony swallowed, looking a little sick. “He’s still here?”
Rory shook her head.
Tony frowned. He appeared to be biting his tongue in an effort to keep from haranguing her any more about Zeke. It was a heroic struggle, but he won it.
“You better get dressed,” he said gruffly. “So we can get to work.”
Rory hesitated, feeling reluctant to leave the flat.
There was always a chance that Zeke would come back here looking for her.
And how long do you propose to wait, you fool?
a voice jeered inside her. All of the morning, the day, the rest of her life perhaps?
She was being idiotic, but she had never felt less like going to the warehouse, dealing with the problems of her floundering company.
“I don’t know if I’m feeling up to going in to work today,” she said.
“Rory! You can’t have forgotten, this is the day the government man is coming to look over our operation, to decide about giving us the army contract.”
Rory let out a low groan. She had forgotten.
She couldn’t believe that she had let such an important happening slip her mind.
The truth was that ever since meeting Zeke, she had not been giving her full concentration to the Transcontinental Balloon Company.
She cast a guilty glance to where Da’s picture stood on the parlor table.
The youthful soldier that had been her father seemed to bristle with reproach, a reproach that Tony should have been heaping on her.
It was not only her own future tied up in that company, but Tony’s as well, Angelo’s, Pete’s and the handful of other young men who had given up good, steady jobs down at the docks in order to work for her.
Not only was her behavior stupid, it was incredibly selfish. For one day at least, she needed to get Zeke Morrison out of her head.
“You have a seat, Tony,” she said. “It won’t take me more than a few minutes to get ready.”
Darting into her bedchamber, she scrambled into a navy-colored Newport suit—a gored skirt with matching jacket, constructed of sensible repellent cloth, plain and businesslike. She managed to knot her unruly mane of hair up into a neat chignon.
Barely a quarter of an hour later, she and Tony left the flat.
It was a lovely spring morning, a little brisk, but the sun was shining, warming the front stoops of the brownstones.
Even Finn MacCool looked mellowed. Basking in the rays, asleep, he merely opened one eye long enough to growl at Tony and Rory as they passed.
It was like so many other mornings when Tony had dropped by to join her in catching the El, heading for the warehouse, talking balloons. This morning they speculated on their chances of getting that government contract.
If Tony lapsed silent a little more than usual, if he often avoided looking at her, Rory supposed that was to be expected.
And if her own thoughts frequently wandered to a certain brash Fifth Avenue tycoon, wondering where Zeke was, what he was doing, what he was feeling, why, that couldn’t be helped either.
Since neither she nor Tony had breakfasted, they took a detour by way of Grand Street as they often did, lured by the prospect of lox and cream cheese sandwiched between fresh-baked bagels.
The Jewish quarter of the city had always fascinated Rory, the narrow streets with their endless rows of pushcarts, selling everything from newly-killed chickens to violins.
Bearded peddlers haggled with their female customers, whose hair was bound up in kerchiefs.
Scholarly-looking men, wearing eyeglasses and skullcaps, lingered on corners, lost in what Rory was certain must be deep discussions, although she understood not a word of that mysterious language called Yiddish.
After she and Tony had made their purchase, they planted themselves atop a couple of herring barrels to enjoy their breakfast. Rory didn’t realize how hungry she was until she bit into her bagel, but as usual Tony had demolished his before she was half-done.
Licking his fingers, he glanced around, preparing to perform that other daily ritual, the purchase of the morning paper.
Although on Grand Street many of the papers for sale were printed in those strange Hebraic symbols, the ubiquitous New York World still made its appearance.
Tony flagged down a newspaper hawker and secured one.
Usually he would have taken a few moments to glance through it. But with the government man due to arrive that afternoon, neither he nor Rory dared linger too long. There was much to be done to get ready at the warehouse.
As they set off, retracing their steps to the nearest El platform, Tony folded up the paper and tucked it under his arm. But Rory caught enough of a glimpse of the front page headline to make her freeze in her tracks.
“Tony, let me see that a minute.”
She didn’t wait for him to comply, but snatched the paper from beneath his arm. She unfolded it, her pulse already racing with apprehension.
A bold headline jumped out at her.
Millionaire Wanted by Police.
She tried to read the accompanying article under the byline of a Mr. W. Duffy, but it was difficult with Tony crowding so close and the words blurring before her panic-stricken gaze.
“What’s the matter, Rory? What are you reading? Holy damnation!”
Tony grabbed the paper from her to gain a better look. She had not been able to make out more than the words “J. E. Morrison wanted concerning disappearance of Stanley Addison.”
“Tony!” Rory bounced on tiptoe, trying without avail to read over his shoulder. “What does it say? About Zeke? It has to be some sort of ridiculous mistake. Zeke was with me most of last night. How could he know anything about the disappearance of Mr. Addison?”
Tony lowered the paper, looking at her with troubled eyes. “Rory, this paper doesn’t say Addison just disappeared. He’s dead.
“And your Mr. Morrison is wanted for murder.”