“No one said anything about kidnapping.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“I would call it keeping you here.”
She chuckled again. For whatever reason, perhaps because he spoke French or had priceless works of art in his office, Justine wasn’t afraid of him. Mulligan reminded her of her father, Duncan Greene, a man of more bluster than actual bite.
She also knew men like her father and Mulligan were incredibly stubborn. There was no getting them to change their minds.
This meeting was over. Standing, she started for the door. If this was how Mulligan wanted to play it, fine. Justine had encountered resistance before.
“You think I won’t do it?” he called after her, obviously back to the kidnapping nonsense.
Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she turned. He was on his feet behind his desk, his dark brows bunched together, jaw tight. She tried not to notice how his confusion and irritation only increased his handsomeness.
Focus, Justine. This man had just declared himself the enemy of her cause. That meant she was finished with him. “I know you won’t. You’re not a mustache-twirling villain, like the men in those penny stories.”
His jaw dropped open, but she didn’t have time for more banter. Gorcey must be found before Mulligan had a chance to warn him. She let herself out and started down the corridor. Just as she reached the stairs, Mulligan came up behind her. “Miss Greene.”
She looked up at him. His broad chest and shoulders nearly blocked all of the soft gaslight overhead. “Yes?”
“I may not have a mustache but I am indeed a villain. You’d be wise to remember it.”
Chapter Two
Jack Mulligan couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so astounded.
He’d seen it all in his thirty-two years on this earth. Had lived a life most men only dreamed of, with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Wealth beyond measure, hundreds of men awaiting his command. He had the power to sway elections, to change the landscape of the city. No one took a piss south of Fourteenth Street without his approval.
And one little do-gooder had just laughed in his face.
It was unthinkable. Untenable. Un-fucking-believable.
She had brass ones, that was for certain. He’d beaten men for less than the insult Justine Greene had handed him. Today, in fact.
Ah, but her face . . .
He’d thought her plain at first. Her sister, Florence, was an absolute stunner. The kind of woman every man lusted after, with big tits and a small waist. Smooth skin and blond hair, not to mention a gorgeous smile. Compared to that, Justine was less. No bosom to speak of, brown hair pulled back in a severe style, and eyes that neither danced nor twinkled. No one would look twice at her with Florence in the room.
Until Justine began talking. Then she came alive, some fire or inner determination burning bright inside her. Sitting in his office, she’d fairly glowed.
Now, she swept down the stairs, regal as a queen, dismissing him. Christ, that yellow dress was hideous. With her skin tone she needed deeper, warm colors. Her dressmaker should be fired, immediately.
“Miss Greene,” he heard himself call, not even certain what he’d say.
She paused on the last step and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
He waited for her to walk back up but she merely stood there. Solid brass, he thought and descended until he was directly above her. “What’s in it for me if I help you?”
“Knowing you did the right thing, I suppose.”
“You can’t tell me everyone you’ve approached has cooperated.”
“No, but I never said I needed your cooperation. It would make things easier, yes. But I don’t need it. I’m perfectly capable of finding Gorcey on my own.”
“And yet, if he’s in my employ—which I’m neither confirming nor denying—he is untouchable.”
“That’s ridiculous. No one is untouchable.”
“I am.”
It wasn’t a boast. Jack had spent the majority of his adult life ensuring he was beyond the reach of the police department. Beyond the reach of city hall, with their corrupt Tammany machine. Above the rest of the criminal class, who worried about being pinched.
Not Jack. Not any longer.
He’d amassed enough money and power that he didn’t need to look over his shoulder anymore. The police may not like it, but he had enough of the dirty officers on his payroll that the department couldn’t do shit to Jack’s organization without his approval. No one held more sway in this part of town than he did—not the mayor, the police commissioners or the head of Tammany Hall.
This hadn’t come easy. He’d toiled, fought, plotted and schemed for his position atop downtown’s criminal class. Had been knifed and shot. Endured countless brawls and fights. Suffered broken bones and dislocated joints. His face might not tell the story, but below the neck was a different tale. His body was riddled with the scars and marks of his violent past.
Yet he’d emerged the victor—and he would never fucking apologize for it.
Miss Justine Greene didn’t appear impressed with him, however. He didn’t quite understand it. Women had never posed a problem for Jack. Even when he was poor his face had ensured he was never lonely. Now that he was rich, women were even easier to come by. Singles, pairs, even groups . . . Getting a fuck was like cleaning his teeth.
Yet this one had laughed at him.
He didn’t hate her for the slight, though, which surprised him. No, he admired her for it.
“You’ve never come up against someone like me,” she said. “I’ll get to Gorcey whether you help me or not.”
He almost believed her. Of course, he had ways of hiding people that she’d never dreamed of, with her proper uptown upbringing.
Truthfully, Jack didn’t like Gorcey. And if the accusation was true? Jack liked him even less. But Jack didn’t care for anyone messing with his men or his organization. He preferred to stay in control.
“Well?”
Justine’s impatience broke through his thoughts. “I want to see her.”
Brown brows dipped in apparent confusion. “See who?”
“Mrs. Gorcey.”
“Absolutely not.”
He pursed his lips. “Then we are at an impasse.”
“Hardly.”
“I can make things very difficult for you, do-gooder.”
“By kidnapping me?”
He didn’t care for the twitching of her lips as she uttered this, as if the notion were ridiculous. He hadn’t kidnapped a woman before . . . but this one sorely tempted him, if only to prove that he could.
Just how much would Duncan Greene pay in ransom to get his youngest daughter back? Now, there was a business opportunity to be considered.
Not a villain, indeed. He nearly snorted. This girl had no idea.
Suppressing the urge to twirl an imaginary mustache, he said, “If I meet Mrs. Gorcey and hear her side, then I might be willing to force Robert to do right by her.”
Instead of appearing appeased, she frowned. “Hear her side? There are no sides to this story. The idea that she has to convince you of her hardships so that her husband will live up to his promises is insulting.”
Merde, this woman. Was she always so difficult? “Take it or leave it, Miss Greene. You may have your man before the sun sets, or you may flounder for weeks wondering where he’s gone.”