Swan Song (14 page)

“Yeah.”

“Then don’t worry about me.”

He nods, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’ll say I’m sorry to Rosaline too.”

“She’ll tell you the same thing I did.”

“I gotta say it just the same.”

“Then you go say it.”

He looks around the dark room. “You comin’ with me or you lookin’ for more blankets?”

“No, I’m right behind you.”

I follow Hal out, closing the door behind me. There’s no way Drew can suddenly appear in the living room again without raising suspicion, so I really hope he’s good at climbing down the fire escape. Something tells me he’s managed it a time or two before.

The doctor is able to get the slug out and it isn’t long before Mickey is resting. He can’t be moved for at least a day, meaning Rosaline and I have just inherited a roommate. We’re lucky Lucy is in New York visiting her boyfriend or we’d be sunk. She’d never stand for any of this and the blood soaking the couch/her bed is going to mean an ugly conversation for all of us anyway. We can’t exactly afford new furniture and she’ll never sleep on that couch again, so it looks like I’m getting stuck with it.

First Alice, now Mickey. If we don’t get away from this club, we’ll be sleeping on the floor by Easter. Or in a pine box.

Chapter Seventeen

I’m antsy all afternoon. Mickey is asleep on the couch with a bottle of amber liquid on the coffee table beside him. There are instructions written in scrawling, mad script to keep him doped and laid out like a rug. Rosaline has been given a paid night off from work to stay home and play nurse to Mickey, while I’m instructed to show at work and ‘keep my shit in check’ – Tommy’s exact words. I’ll do as he says because I’m too distracted and too edgy to manage another rebellion tonight.

Drew did as I expected him to last night and disappeared from the bedroom, probably out the fire escape. Or maybe he can fly. I really wouldn’t be surprised. I’m waiting for some kind of sign from him about how I’m supposed to find him tonight, but it’s almost time for me to head to the club and still I have no word. He could come find me at work, but with Tommy and all the boys there, it’s dangerous. It’s better for both of us if no one ever sees us together. The dance we shared on Halloween already made a mark with Hal and he’s not the brightest of men. It won’t take someone like Tommy long to connect the dots if he sees me share the same air as Drew.

“What’s with you?” Rosaline asks as I pace the length of the entire apartment for the third time in two minutes.

“Nothing.”

“It’s something.”

“I’m nervous.”

“About what? Mickey? They said he’s going to be fine.”

“That’s a relief,” I mutter, trying to sound convincing.

“She isn’t worried about me,” Mickey says, his voice quiet and strained.

I pause, surprised to see his eyes open. “You’re awake.”

“In a manner.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s doped,” Rosaline says, her tone a little disgusted. It’s nothing against Mick; it’s the drugs. She’s scared of them. Has been ever since the doctor put me on laudanum and I got messy. I don’t blame her, I’m a little wary of his small brown bottles myself. Rosaline sits back on the couch at his feet, looking down at him curiously. “Out with it. If she’s not worried about you, then what is she worried about?”

I hold my breath waiting for his answer, scared he could actually know. But how?

He grins crookedly, his face liquid and drunk. “Toast.”

“Toast?”

“Yep.”

“Adrian is pacing the apartment worried about toast?”

“It vexes her,” Mickey explains seriously.

I smile at Rosaline, trying not to laugh. “Mick, are you hungry?”

“Starving, doll.”

“Do you want me to make you some toast?”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

Rose chuckles. “That ship sailed when you bled through our couch.”

“Then some toast would be swell, thanks,” he replies sleepily.

I look to Rosaline helplessly. “He got shot in the stomach. Are we allowed to feed him toast?”

She frowns. “He’s stitched up. It’s not going to leak out of him, Aid.”

“You know what I mean! Is it going to make him sick?”

“That quack didn’t say anything in his note about it, so your guess is as good as mine. He has to eat something, right?”

I chew on the inside of my lip, debating. “He should be in a hospital where they know what they’re doing.”

“No hospitals,” Mickey calls out, his eyes having fallen closed at some point.

“I know, I know,” I reply. “Alright, you can have one piece of toast and if it doesn’t kill you, then you can have another.”

“You’re the bees, toots.”

“Don’t call me toots or you’re not getting any butter,” I grumble, heading for the kitchen.

I’m in the middle of buttering the bread when Rosaline calls out for me from the bedroom. I bolt into the living, see that Mickey is asleep and breathing, then head for the sound of Rosaline’s voice. She’s standing in the center of the room with a strange look on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Close the door,” she tells me quietly.

I keep my eyes on her as I kick the door closed behind me, worried what’s happened. “Mickey is asleep. He can’t hear us talking.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Then what’s wrong?’

“Turn around.”

Slowly I do as she said until I’m facing the closed door, then I gasp. Written in white chalk against the white door, reflecting the late afternoon sun coming in through the window is one word.

“Any idea what it means?” Rosaline asks from behind me, her voice full to bursting with suspicion.

I shake my head, raising my hand to cover my smile. “I have no clue.”

I arrive at the Beaumont Hotel on the eastern end of Chicago late in the night. I didn’t leave the club until after midnight and the commute to this part of town took me an eternity. I could have cut that time in half by taking a cab, but I’m not exactly flush at the moment and I might be in the market for some new furniture soon, so every penny counts.

Tommy was nowhere to be seen all night, which was a relief. He, Hal, Ralph, and all the other boys stayed in the basement, holding court in the casino that was kept strictly VIP. It’s obvious something is up, though most of the people at the club have no idea what. I don’t even know for sure what went wrong last night. Rose and I haven’t asked Mickey a thing beyond making sure he’s comfortable and demanding why the hell he isn’t eating the toast we made for him.

As I step inside the small hotel, a bellboy steps forward with a brilliant smile. “Missus Tyannikov?”

I glance behind me, unsure if he’s speaking to me. “No, I’m sorry.”

His smile falters slightly. “Are you sure?”

“About my name?”

“You’re exactly as he described.”

“I’m sure a lot of women look like me.”

His smile changes and strengthens, becoming bold. “Not likely, ma’am. Is a gentleman expecting you?”

I pull my coat tighter around my body, suddenly feeling oddly scandalous. What kind of hotel is this? If he’s asked me to meet him at a brothel, I’ll kill him, lift cab fare from his wallet, and head straight home. I’m not stupid. I know what I came here for, but a girl doesn’t like to be made to feel like a whore about it.

“Your husband said you’d be arriving late this evening,” the boy explains. “Mr. Tyannikov left me strict instructions to see you up to your room as soon as you arrived.” He offers me his arm, smiling happily. “I’ll lead the way?”

I take his arm reluctantly and follow him to the elevator where we board, only to stand with another young man in a heavily starched uniform of gold and rose. They look like twins with their small, round hats strapped securely under their chins and beaming smiles. It makes me uneasy. This much smiling after ten pm without the aid of alcohol is unnatural and unnerving.

When we reach the eighth floor, the young man drags me forward down a long hall full of golds and greens from carpet to ceiling. He leads me to the very end where he raps sharply on one of the heavily lacquered black doors. It swings open almost immediately and there stands Drew looking more casual and natural than I’ve ever seen him. His jacket is off, his shirt unbuttoned down below his ribs to show a white shirt underneath, and his sleeves are rolled a quarter of the way up his thick arms. Even his hair is a little disheveled, like he’s been laying down and only just got up to open the door for us.

“Darling, you finally made it,” he says to me, his voice oddly formal. “Was the train ride awful?”

I smile at him warmly, stepping forward to greet him with a chaste kiss on the cheek. “It was dreadful and lonely without you.”

“I’ll visit your sister with you next time, I promise.” He turns to my escort, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket. “Thanks for delivering her safely, Benny.”

Benny takes the offered cash, not bothering to check how much it is. Kid’s a pro. “No problem. She was no trouble. Didn’t recognize her own name when I called her Missus Tyannikov, but we sorted it out.”

“That’s because the name is Travnikov.”

His smile disappears for the second time tonight. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Drew assures him, peeling another bill off his roll and handing it to him. “You did great. You have a good night, alright?”

“Yes, sir. You too! Goodnight, missus Tryva—… goodnight, ma’am!”

“Goodnight, Benny,” I reply, but he’s already hurrying down the hall toward the elevator.

Drew ushers me inside, closing the door behind us. The room is small and simple. A narrow bed, a dark nightstand on one side with a dim lamp on top. A radiator rattles and spits on the far wall under a miniscule window where the city glows bright and forceful outside. I don’t spend a lot of time in Chicago, especially at night. My nights are marked for Cicero and the CC, and even though I’m on the tail end of one of those nights, I somehow feel fresh and alive as I stand in this stale hotel room. It’s new. It’s different. It’s a break from my norm and when I look back at Drew standing at the foot of the bed with his eyes on me and an easy grin on his face, I feel something else. Something warm. Something so real it hurts in my heart.

“Which was it?” I ask him.

“Which was what?”

“The names. Which was the one you told him to call me by?”

His grin blossoms into a sly smile. “Tyannikov. He got it right the first time.”

“You lied to a child,” I scold lightly.

“I covered my tracks,” he corrects. “Now that kid has no idea what name I told him. I checked in under a different one entirely.”

“Why Russian?”

“Because it confuses people.”

“Lot of effort to go through to make sure no one knows where you are.”

“It’s how I’ve stayed alive this long.”

I shift on my feet, my fingers running over the smooth plastic buttons of my overcoat. “Are there a lot of people that look for you?”

“Yes.”

“Because of what you do?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to keep being honest with me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

I hesitate only a second. “Are you a torpedo?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “I’m a contract killer, yes.”

I swallow hard. “Are you going to have to kill me now that I know?”

“You already knew.”

“There’s a difference between knowing a thing and
knowing
a thing.”

“Are you afraid of me now that you
know
?”

I shrug tightly. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Let me put your mind at ease,” he tells me sternly. “I don’t kill for pleasure. It’s business. I was a sniper in the war with the army. I turned eighteen the same month the States took to the fight and I was in Europe until we pulled out a year later. I came home to a dead mother, no family, and no job. A buddy of mine from the war called me up to New York. He said his uncle had jobs for guys like us, if we were willing. I went up, had a meeting with him, and discovered that yeah, I was willing. What I do doesn’t feel any different than it did in the war, other than better pay and there are women around. I missed women very much.”

I grin. “Eighteen year old kid? I can only imagine.” I turn serious, not sure if I’m stepping on his toes with my next question. “How did your mom die?”

“Pneumonia.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you coming or going, Adrian?” he asks me bluntly.

My brow shoots up in surprise at his tone, but I casually toss my purse onto the end of the bed. I slowly unbutton my coat and shrug out of it, throwing it on the bed beside my purse. “I’m staying, if that’s alright with you,” I tell him calmly. “And the name is Addison. Not Adrian.”

Drew smiles as he watches me step out of my shoes. “I suppose you want a name in return to for that one.”

“I think I already got one tonight. Tyannikov. Am I saying that right?”

He nods slowly, his eyes burning into mine. “It’s never sounded sweeter.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

“Neither do you, Marcone.”

“That’s because Marcone was my mother’s last name. I’ve never been to the Old Country.”

“And I’ve never been to Russia. It was my father’s last name.”

“Drew?”

“Yeah, Addy?”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?”

That’s all it takes. He closes the distance between us in two long strides, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me to him. The strength of him hits me like a freight train. The steely grip of his arms around me, the wall of energy and power that is his chest resting flush against mine, jumpstarting my heart and sending it off to the races. And the way he kisses – God save me from the way this man kisses. It’s so unpracticed. So rough and real and addicting that I’m humming inside the second his mouth meets mine.