Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
T HIS WAS NOT THE FIRST TIME E VELYN HAD SEEN THE INSIDE OF A jail cell. Growing up with the streets for a father, she’d tripped onto the wrong side of the law—that law being don’t be poor —more times than she could count.
But this was the first time she’d been brutalized into one. Bruised face. Chafed wrists. Ribs only saved from breaking by the boning in her corset. Blood dried around her mouth. Scraped knees. Aching shoulders. Hair missing from the base of her skull. And, to top it off, mud and prison grime of indeterminate origin caking one of her favorite dresses.
Not that Evelyn would have taken it back. Jules and Akio were safe. That was worth any price, as far as she was concerned.
What was a little prison time and a little—or quite a lot of—pain, when her friends had been in danger?
There were dark quarters of her heart that told her she hadn’t done this for entirely altruistic reasons. Facilitating Jules’s escape was one thing, but goading four police officers during her arrest? That was a new level of foolhardy, even for her. But the pain kept her from examining that thought too closely.
If she’d done this to punish herself for failing with Thomas—
If she’d done this to punish herself for dancing on the edge of more-than-lustful feelings for him—
If she’d done this to exorcise her emotional pain into something real and manageable—
She simply did not wish to know.
Tucked away in the back of the crowded cell of whores and pickpockets so the passing guards wouldn’t decide her face was worth ruining, she barely heard the voice that called from the other side of the bars.
“Cross! Evelyn Cross!”
“Yes?”
The cell immediately broke out into titters of excited conversation and gossip. In retaliation, the copper—Mr. Push Broom Mustache himself—slammed his billy club noisily against the bars.
Silence answered. Evelyn’s jailcell compatriots went quiet at the sound.
He jerked his veiny neck. “Come here to the bars, Cross. Hands behind your head.”
Dread bundled in her stomach, and if she were to judge from the faces around her, her cellmates had the same thought she did. This is going to be very, very bad.
Maybe she’d gotten out of her first encounter with this man mostly unscathed, but now that she was here, in a holding cell where there was no one to protect her but the equally terrified, equally helpless women around her, there was no telling what kind of abuse she might have earned.
In the piss-colored light at the far end of the holding cell, with only the metal bars separating her from the officer, she squared her chin. If she was going to get beaten within an inch of her life or worse, she was at least going to do it with some goddamned dignity.
He took her in—from the bloodstain on her lips all the way down to her muddy boots. Then, he spit on them.
“It’s a goddamned shame, you know that?”
“No,” Evelyn said, barely opening her mouth. “But I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”
“It’s the ones like you, the ones who have no respect for the law, the ones who take us for granted, that always have the connections.”
“Connections?”
“Someone’s gotten you out.”
Her heart lifted. Someone had come to her rescue.
“Who?”
“Don’t know.”
She mentally flipped through her list of friends. Bea would do it, but she couldn’t afford to pay anyone off without calling in favors she would not want to cash in. Jules and Akio would, too, but neither of them had the scratch either.
Officer Push Broom Mustache made no move for the ring of keys at his waist. Evelyn made a show of lowering her hands from her head and tapping her foot in anxious, annoyed anticipation.
“Well. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you could let me out of here. Teddy Roosevelt would positively die if he saw the way you treat your female prisoners.”
Invoking the name of the current police commissioner was probably a bit much. When she reached for the bars, he once again slapped his club down on them. She only barely rescued her fingers from the assault.
“One moment, Cross. I’m not done with you.”
“Oh?”
Glancing over her shoulder, no doubt at their audience cowering in the shadows, he invaded her breathing air with the foul stench of saliva and cigar. “You might have gotten away tonight, and so did your little queer friends. But don’t expect your luck to last forever. It’s going to run out. And when it does, I’ll be there. I have powerful friends too, you know.”
And he said it with such conviction that she shivered.
It wasn’t a threat. It was a vow.
The police released her into the precinct’s main office—a proud wooden-paneled room laid with a marble floor. The place was absolutely lousy with blue-backs, each of them crammed shoulder-to-shoulder around someone Evelyn couldn’t see. The character was visible only by the crown of his silk top hat, which stood out around the sea of coppers’ caps swirling around him.
Evelyn made her way toward the exit. Cops only got that excited for real bigshots—exactly the kind of person she didn’t want to run into tonight. Surely whoever had come for her would be waiting outside where it was safe.
But then, as if God himself had reached down and parted the crowd, the coppers shifted, giving Evelyn a clear sightline.
“Mr . Gallier?”
Blue eyes met green. And for the first time that evening, she felt safe.
He looked nothing like the stone statue of a man she’d encountered in his office this afternoon— this afternoon … had it really been just a few hours? That encounter felt a lifetime ago. Now, the muscles in his face relaxed and he suddenly appeared ten years younger, worry and relief and a mess of vulnerability gripping his handsome features in equal, devastating measure.
Shouldering past the coppers separating them, he reached for her, gripping her shoulders in his strong, warm hands.
A storm cloud passed over Thomas’s face when he noticed the blood smearing her mouth like cheap red lipstick. His entire body shook with rage. “What the hell have they done to you?”
“I’m fine—” she said, more out of force of habit than anything else.
He wasn’t appeased. He spun on his heel, unleashing the full curse of his rage onto the nearby cops. Evelyn had never seen him like this, so unbridled and so passionate. So emotional .
A thrill went through her, unbidden. He’d been worried about her. He was still worried about her. Angry for her.
She’d unraveled him.
“Who did this? I demand to speak to the arresting officer. I was at dinner with the police commissioner tonight, and I’m sure he’d like to see what kind of rubbish he’s employing—”
Evelyn nearly snorted at that. The police commissioner probably knew exactly what kind of “rubbish” he was employing. If he swept up all the rubbish, there’d be no Manhattan Police Department left.
The coppers quickly made themselves scarce because, well, of course they did. They were all very happy to do the head-bashing when no one was looking, but none of them wanted to be the ones with their heads bashed in once someone bigger and badder and more powerful came along.
Thomas kept shouting, his eyes wild and unfocused.
Evelyn reached for one of his hands, which was grabbing at the only copper left in striking distance.
That was all it took. One touch, and he stilled. His breathing didn’t calm and his eyes didn’t return to their usual, intelligent passivity. But at least he’d stopped trying to throttle the police trainees.
“Please?” she asked. “Can we just go?”