“Wait up,” Jack called. “You can’t mean to go and see him alone.”
“I don’t need a nanny.” He reached the corridor and started for the turnstiles. “Mulligan won’t hurt me.”
“I wish I shared your confidence. You two haven’t always seen eye to eye.”
“That was business. This is personal.”
“Which makes it worse.” Jack grabbed Clay’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Clay, think. Mulligan isn’t just going to hand her over. He’ll demand something in exchange.”
Clay swallowed. Jack was right but Clay didn’t care. “Then I’ll give him whatever he wants. Anything to get her out of there.”
A smile spread over Jack’s face. “Go and get her.”
Chapter Fourteen
The carriage ride took forever. Clay was nearly frothing at the mouth by the time he reached Great Jones Street. The sun had just fallen behind the buildings as he started toward Mulligan’s club, the long shadows giving cover to illicit activities of all sorts along the way.
The two guards at the door perked up at his approach. They were babes, no more than twenty, likely armed. Clay paid them absolutely no mind as he started up the steps. “Wait,” one of the guards called. “You can’t just—”
Clay brushed by him and flung open the door. The other guard reached out to grab his arm but Clay shook him off. What was Mulligan thinking, putting puppies on guard duty?
He’d been to the New Belfast Athletic Club a few times. Always at night and never for more than a quick meeting with Mulligan. Their business had overlapped in various places over the past decade, and it was a constant push-pull to stay in each other’s good graces. Clay had ceded most of the downtown gaming to Mulligan in the past two years, as he preferred to fleece fancy uptown patrons instead.
He took the stairs to Mulligan’s office two at a time. The guards were hot on his heels, calling after him and shouting for additional help. No doubt some men from the boxing area were joining the fun.
They wouldn’t catch Clay, not before he made it to Mulligan’s office.
He threw open the heavy oak door protecting Mulligan’s inner sanctum. A pistol greeted him on the other side, the barrel pointed directly in his face.
Halting, he waited, his chest heaving. Mulligan’s hard expression quickly turned to one of amusement and he lowered the pistol. “I’ve been expecting you, Clayton. Come in.”
A group of young men skidded and careened into the doorway like hounds on a foxhunt. Voices barked out in unison. “Sir!” “Mulligan.” “Ho!”
Mulligan put up a hand. “It’s all right, boys. I’ve been expecting him.”
The hounds cast disapproving glances at Clay. They drifted off, grumbling. One of the guards from the front door lingered, however. “Want me to stay?”
Mulligan walked over and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Clay and I have business to discuss. Try to stop anyone else from getting past you, eh?”
The guard apologized and left, but Clay was too agitated to pay attention. He dropped into the chair opposite Mulligan’s desk and removed his derby. Irritation echoed in every part of his body.
“Evening, Clay. You’re looking well. May I offer you a drink?”
Clay wanted to shake the other man, to demand every bit of information regarding Florence, but that wasn’t how these things were done. Though they were thugs to the outside world, from the inside their meetings were very civilized. “Bourbon, if you have it.”
“Of course.”
Sounds of glasses and pouring followed, and soon Mulligan was handing Clay a drink. “Thank you,” Clay murmured.
“How are things uptown?” Mulligan dropped into his large leather chair, a glass of beer in his hand. “I hear business is good.”
“Indeed, it is. You’d be amazed at how easily some of those fools risk their inheritances.” He forced himself to sip the bourbon, when he wanted to throw the glass against the wall. “I’ve heard you’re expanding into the beer business.” He tipped his chin at the pilsner in Mulligan’s hand.
“I am. Found a damn good brewer. He’s a genius with malt and hops. You should take some of it with you for the club.”
“Thank you. I’d like that.”
Mulligan sipped his beer then placed the glass on a tiny metal platter. “My pleasure. Now, tell me what brings you downtown on such a fine spring night.”
“You know why I’m here.”
“Yes, but I would love to hear you say it.”
Clay stared at the other man and struggled for calm. He had to act reasonably. No one could ever suspect what Florence meant to him. “I understand you’ve met Miss Greene.”
“I have had the pleasure.” Mulligan leaned back in his chair. “Remarkable young lady. I predict big things ahead for her.”
“How long has she been coming here?”
“Let’s see. She showed up three nights ago and has been visiting every evening since then. What can I say? We seemed to hit it off.”
Clay’s hands curled into fists. Seemed to hit it off? The idea of Florence and Mulligan together made Clay want to smash something. What was Florence thinking? Mulligan didn’t have her best interests at heart. He wouldn’t protect her and teach her. He wouldn’t care for her.
He wouldn’t hurt her feelings, either.
True, but Clay would apologize for that the first chance he got.
“I want her back.”
Mulligan smiled, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “She’s not a toy or a piece of property, Clay. We are talking about a strong-minded woman who has an uncanny ability with cards.”
“Let me rephrase that, then. I want you to stop tutoring her.”
“Don’t see why I should. She’s amusing, easy on the eyes. Livens up the place.”
The back of Clay’s neck tingled, anger sweeping over him. Mulligan was obviously baiting him, but Clay couldn’t stop from fantasizing about flipping this desk and punching the other man in the jaw. It would be so fucking satisfying. “You’ve taken her into the club?”
“Of course. Some of us actually leave our offices. Tonight I plan to take her to a little place I own on Mott Street—”
“Absolutely not,” Clay snapped. “The only thing you’re going to do is tell her you can’t tutor her any longer.”
A hard edge crept into Mulligan’s gaze, the blue of his irises turning to ice. “Not many have the stones to come into my office and order me around. You may wish to rethink your approach.”
Clay exhaled slowly and tried to reclaim some of his sanity. He couldn’t outmuscle Mulligan, not on the man’s own turf. No, he had to negotiate logically, with a clear head. “What do you want in exchange?”
Mulligan lifted his glass and sipped his beer. “What are you offering?”
“I’ll buy a hundred barrels of that beer for the club.”
Mulligan snorted. “Don’t insult me. By the way, I really like her perfume. It’s . . . orange and some spice I can’t quite place. Lingers for hours after she—”