Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 02] (17 page)

She was so thrilled she was reeling.

“Peter is a jack-of-all-trades. If you have need of an assistant, he could help you, Francesca.”

She blinked at him. “I have an assistant. Joel.” She glanced at him, but he was staring out the window at the passing street, appearing bored by their conversation—when Francesca knew he was listening intently to their every word.

Bragg’s eyes widened. “Joel—the kid—is now your assistant?”

She nodded proudly. “I have hired him. And do not worry, Bragg; he has given up his criminal ways and he can be trusted completely.”

Bragg groaned.

But her mind was racing. With Peter at her side, she could face down the worst thugs—perhaps even a half a dozen of them at one time. “Perhaps, just perhaps, I might use Peter, from time to time.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is he to spy on me?”

“No.” Bragg smiled. “He is to protect you, Francesca, and keep you out of harm’s way.”

She smiled back at him, sweetly. “I did manage to fend for myself during the Burton Affair.”

“You managed to escape several extreme situations by a hair’s breadth,” he returned evenly.

That was true. “I will find Georgette de Labouche for you, Bragg,” she decided. As quickly, she decided not to tell him about her best lead, Georgette’s brother, Marcus Anthony. “But she might refuse to speak with you.”

“Then she will speak with you, and you shall be my eyes and ears.”

Francesca smiled happily. “This is my dream come true,” she blurted; then she wished she had not been so open.

“Perhaps you will decide sleuthing does not suit you after all,” he said.

“I doubt it.” Sleuthing would always suit her, especially with Bragg at her side. “Don’t you want to know what Daisy and Rose told me?” She was somewhat coy now.

“Please,” he said, lifting a hand.

“First of all, they are nice women and not at all what you think them to be.” She truly intended to impress this fact upon him before their ride was through. “They should not be incarcerated, Bragg.”

He faced her fully. “Francesca, they are not
nice
women, they are
prostitutes,
and solicitation for the purposes they solicit for is against the law.”

“No.” She touched his hand reflexively. This time, she took a moment to feel the texture of his skin. “Rose changed when she was with you. Before, when we were alone, she spoke as if she came from a fine family and had attended fine schools. I swear those two women were gentlewomen before they chose this life. I am certain of it.”

“And what difference does it make? They are prostitutes now. They offer their bodies for a price.” He stared. “They make their livelihood by breaking the law, Francesca.”

She stared back. He was right—but so was she. “You are the one who told me, not very long ago, that nothing is black or white—that there is always some shade of gray to be found in every situation.”

He sighed. “Touché. I concede.”

“You do?” She was pleased and smiling openly.

Briefly he smiled back. “In fact, I did notice instantly, in spite of Rose’s vulgarities, that they were not the harlots one encounters in a bordello. I suspect they had an unusual arrangement with Mrs. Pinke. Knowing my brother, I can say I truly expected no less.”

Francesca couldn’t help seeing Calder Hart in a very compromising position with both women. She said brightly, “In any case, I do have wonderful news. Hart was there last night.” She paused and flushed. “He was with both Daisy and Rose, as he said, until almost nine. He even told the women he had a party to attend.”

Bragg eyed her.

She stared back, blushing hotly.

“Are you warm, Francesca?” Bragg asked softly.

She tensed. His tone had changed, becoming soft and sensual. It caused an immediate reaction within her, making her breathless, as if afflicted with anticipation. “I am … somewhat surprised … that is all. Your brother is …” She stopped.

“Immoral, depraved, cunning, and very selfish,” Bragg finished for her.

“Daisy said he is kind.”

Bragg laughed. “Only to get what he wants. If he wanted Daisy in a certain manner, then trust me, he would be kind.”

“Perhaps you do not know your brother as well as you think,” Francesca suggested, rubbing her arms.

He stiffened at once. “Do you now
defend
my reprehensible
half
brother? Are you now his
champion!”

She flinched. “Of course not! I mean, I do not think he is quite so bad!”

“All women fall in love with Calder. I see that you are no exception,” he said rigidly.

She inhaled, stunned. His reaction to her simple and innocent suggestion was so swift, so intense. “I am not in love with Calder Hart!” she exclaimed. And she felt like hitting him over the head with a plywood board. She almost exclaimed, “I am in love with you, you foolish man!”

“For your sake, I hope that is the truth,” Bragg said. “As he is incapable of loving
anyone
but himself.”

Francesca was unmoving. Had she just admitted to herself that she was in love with Bragg? She began to tremble; she did not know whether to be aghast or elated.

“What is it?” Bragg asked.

She recovered, swallowing with difficulty. “It is the truth. He is your brother, and that is why I am fond of him, if I am fond of him at all,” she managed.

Bragg stared out of the window. They were approaching 23rd Street. He seemed sullen now.

Francesca folded her arms across her breasts. “I do not wish to argue, Bragg. Why, we are a team now!”

“We are not arguing. Just stay away from Hart.”

“I promise,” she said. Was she really, truly, in love?

Her heart was telling her now, in no uncertain terms, that there was only one possible answer.

He turned to study her. “I mean it.”

She swallowed. “So do I.” Did she? If she had to choose between Bragg’s friendship and an association with Hart, there was no question of what her choice would be. However, right now, there was no choice to make—there was merely a case to solve and an astounding revelation to ponder. She was in love.
She was in love with Rick Bragg.

But was it truly so surprising? He was a devastating man, handsome in a very unique way, with his dark complexion and tawny hair and his high, high cheekbones. He was also extremely powerful, and not simply because he was currently New York City’s police commissioner. His power came from within, and it had everything to do with his intelligence, his ethics, and his ambition. She was already so proud of him—and they had only just met. In short, given all that they had in common, he was so perfect for her.

Bragg was regarding her quite closely. Francesca started as she realized it, hoping that he could not be guessing her thoughts.

She straightened, smiled, and said, “Well, Hart does have an alibi.” Her voice came out high in pitch with nervous tension.

Bragg looked at her. “Are you all right?”

“Truly, I am fine!” But she wasn’t fine; she was in love with the most amazing man.

“Those two women are bought and paid for by Calder, Francesca. They would never say anything he did not wish for them to say.”

She gaped, successfully diverted from her stunning thoughts. “You—you do not believe them? You think he has … he has …
bribed
them to claim that he was with them last night?” She was shocked.

“Do you not understand life at all, Francesca?” Bragg asked angrily. “I fear that one day your trust and naïveté will truly hurt you. Calder has millions. He is a powerful man. If two prostitutes, whom he frequents, claim he was with them last night, it is a meaningless claim. Of course they will say whatever Hart wishes them to say. They will not go against him, and neither will Madam Pinke, and I doubt Calder even had to bribe them—as that is a crime and he is hardly so stupid.”

Francesca stared. His features were hard now, his eyes flashing. “But it might be true—and I think it is,” she finally said, but now she wasn’t so certain.

“It might be true,” Bragg agreed. “And for Calder’s sake, I hope it is true, but I doubt we will ever know for certain whether or not he was with the girls last night.”

“Then why have you sent them to the Tombs?”

“Because I am an officer of the law, they have broken the law—and it is my duty to try to get to the truth. Perhaps Daisy will break. She strikes me as softer than Rose. Clearly, in this case, as they are so attached to one another, divide and conquer is the best course of action. If they are lying, perhaps a night that is cold and foodless and unpleasant—and spent separately—will make one of them speak out.”

“But it is cruel.”

“Perhaps. But what is worse is allowing Randall’s killer to get off scot-free,” Bragg said.

Francesca did not agree. “I have decided that I like Daisy and Rose. I detest seeing them sent to the Tombs.”

His brows arched. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She met his golden stare. “Unlike other people in this city, I keep an open mind. Sometimes rules are made to be broken.”

“And when should the law be ignored, or even flouted?”

“That is an ancient question, one of philosophy, and we could sit here all day and all night debating it,” Francesca pointed out.

“Yes, we could.” Bragg shook his head, but he smiled. “I do not think this is about likes or dislikes. You are interested in Daisy and Rose because they are so different from anyone you have ever known, because they are so different from yourself. And until you understand what they are about, you will grapple with the subject of how two women from genteel backgrounds could become what they have become. Am I right?”

She blinked at him. “Perhaps. Perhaps you know me very well, Bragg, considering our acquaintance is so short.” Her heart began to beat hard.

“I have already told you, I am an extremely astute judge of character.” He was smiling.

So was she. And somehow, their gazes locked. Francesca felt herself becoming breathless, all over again, her smile fading. There was no one she wished to be with more. Even arguing about the two prostitutes was somehow exciting with Bragg. Surely there was no mistaking the tension between them now, and she felt certain it was not one-sided. She hesitated, but only for a fraction of a moment, then blurted, “Was police business the real reason you canceled our drive in the country?”

“No,” he said.

She inhaled. She had wanted an answer—but not that one. “Why?” she whispered.

His jaw flexed; his entire face tightened. He leaned forward and slid open the window partition between their cab and the coachman. “Driver, turn right on Houston,” he said.

She wondered if he intended to answer her.

He finally looked at her. Something flickered in his eyes, but she could not define what it was or what it signified. He said, “I realized after impulsively suggesting a drive in the country that my behavior was entirely inappropriate—and misleading. I apologize, Francesca.”

She was trying, desperately, to keep her head above water, but she was sinking fast. “Inappropriate? But how?”

He glanced away. “My only intention has been to offer you friendship, Francesca, from the moment we met. Again, if I have misled you, I apologize.”

Francesca was speechless.

After dropping Bragg at police headquarters, she had assured Joel that their day was done, taking him not home, but several blocks from his flat. “Let’s plan to continue our work tomorrow,” Francesca told him with a smile.

“What time?” Joel asked eagerly.

“How about ten? Could you come uptown and meet me at my house?” Joel already knew where she lived, as she had briefly found him employment in the stables there. However, he did not like horses, and it had not worked out.

“You bet.” He grinned. Then his expression changed and he hesitated instead of leaping out of the coach.

Francesca looked into his dark eyes with their long, sooty lashes. “Is there something you want to say?” she asked.

He hesitated, then blurted, “Lady, I got to tell you, it’s a trick!”

She blinked. “Whatever are you talking about?” He sighed. “The copper. The copper you are all cow-eyes for.”

Francesca digested his words and felt her cheeks warm. “Joel, first of all, I am not ‘cow-eyes’ for Rick Bragg.” What a lie! “And secondly, I have not a clue as to what you mean.”

“He couldn’t look straight at you when he said it. He don’t mean it at all!”

Instantly she became apprehensive. “He didn’t mean what?”

“That you be his partner and all. That he wants you an’ him to be a team an’ you need to report to him like you was a leatherhead yerself.”

She stared.

“It’s a trick,” Joel said fiercely. “He’s got somethin’ up his sleeve, an ace in the hole, an’ you should know it.”

“But why would he suggest we work together at all? Why would he ask me to locate an important part of this case—Miss de Labouche? How could that be a trick? We need to speak with her, Joel. Surely you know that.”

“It’s a trick, and I don’t get it, meself.” He nodded at her; then his expression changed. “Sorry, lady.” He leaped from the coach.

Francesca stared after him for a moment, her mind spinning. And suddenly she sat up straight, simply breathless.
Did Bragg want her off the case?

Did he think to ask her to chase Miss de Labouche so she would stay out of his way? So she would stay out of the principal part of his investigation?

Her heart was drumming now.
My God,
Francesca saw the light! He thought to send her on a mostly wild-goose chase, so he could solve the murder by himself!

Well, it would not do! Oh, no!

“Joel!” She opened her door and poked her head out; he stopped in his tracks. “You are a very clever boy indeed!” she called.

He beamed at her.

Less than half an hour later, Francesca stared up at the Montrose residence. She remained anxious and worried about her sister, and she simply had to speak with her. Calling on Connie now would help her rein in her very wayward thoughts as well. For the more she thought about it, the more she thought that Joel was right and Bragg was trying to divert her from the real investigation. Worse, beneath her anger there was real dread and fear—she could not forget Bragg’s firm avowal of his platonic intentions toward her.