Escapade (9781301744510) (36 page)

"Are you still expecting me to become the
kind of champion Addison was? I'm no dream chaser, Rory. I told you
that at the outset."

"But I am," she said, "which is likely the
biggest obstacle between us. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to
get dressed. I did tell you that I have to go to the warehouse this
morning."

"There is no point in your doing that."

Rory had been marching toward her bedchamber,
but she paused, taken aback by the terse note in his voice.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you won't be able to get into the
building. I've already been down there myself this morning. The
locks have all been changed."

"The locks?" Rory repeated numbly. Locked out
of the warehouse? A sick feeling churned inside her, but she was
not surprised. Hadn't she been dreading this day for months,
knowing she was so far behind on the rent? The warehouse owners had
at last reached the end of their patience.

She raised desperate eyes to Zeke. "Oh, Zeke,
I have to do something. The government contractor is scheduled to
come back tomorrow." It cost her a great deal to make such a
request, knowing how Zeke felt about her balloon company, but she
swallowed her pride. “Isn't there anything you can do to help
me?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear." He lowered his
gaze, as though he were unable to meet her eyes. "You see I am the
one who had the locks changed. I bought the warehouse."

Rory stared at him with incomprehension.
"You? You bought it?" A shaky laugh escaped her. "Great heavens and
are you now planning to evict me?"

She wished he would smile, tell her this was
all some sort of horrible joke, but the set of his mouth remained
firm.

"It won't make any difference, you know," she
said with far more conviction than she felt. "I'll simply move my
business elsewhere."

"You can't do that either. Hell, Rory, your
crazy company is so far in debt to the banks, it won't be difficult
to buy up your notes and have your equipment impounded."

Rory stared at him, disbelief warring with a
feeling of stark betrayal. She could hardly comprehend it. Her
worst nightmare was coming true, but it was not some stranger
responsible, some cold-hearted banker, but Zeke, the man she
loved.

"No," she choked out at last. "I suppose
nothing is too difficult for the great Mr. J. E. Morrison."

"Rory." He tried to take her hands, but she
pulled away from him. "Damn it, Rory, be reasonable. I told you
that when we were married, you wouldn't have to worry about that
ridiculous company anymore."

"I knew you didn't approve, but at least I
thought at least would try to understood how much that ridiculous
company means to me. If you truly cared for me-." One tear escaped
to trickle down her cheek. She dashed it angrily aside. "How could
you do this to me?"

Although he looked uncomfortable, Zeke folded
his arms across his chest. "It's for your own good."

"My own good?" Rory cried bitterly. "No, Mr.
Morrison, I don't believe you were thinking about me at all, only
what you wanted. Just because you are afraid to have any dreams,
you can't bear for anyone else to have them either."

He flinched at that, but Rory was too caught
up in her own misery to care. She paced off a few agitated steps.
She wanted to fling herself at Zeke, rail at him, plead with him.
But Kavanaughs didn't beg, and she could tell from the implacable
set of Zeke's jaw that it would do her no good.

"You won't get away with this. I'll fight
you." But even as she made the threat, she knew it was hopeless. He
had wealth, power on his side, and a ruthless obstinacy she
couldn't hope to match. The tears flowed freely down her face now,
too swiftly for her to stop them.

In sheer frustration, she gave a stack of the
boxes a savage kick, sending them flying across the room. "You can
just take your damned trousseau and get out of here. I never want
to see you again."

Zeke swore, but he attempted to gather her
into his arms. "Blast it all, Rory, I'm only trying to prevent you
from breaking your neck. Stop acting as though I was some kind of a
monster."

"You are a monster!" She struggled wildly to
break free of his embrace, her grief tumbling out in a rush of
bitter words she didn't mean, trying to hurt him as he was hurting
her. "Everything Tessa warned me about you was true. You do ruin
people's lives. No wonder your mother died grieving for you."

Zeke couldn't have looked more stunned if she
had dealt him a blow to the face, but Rory was beyond the point of
caring. When his arms dropped to his side, abruptly releasing her,
she sagged onto the chair. Burying her face in her hands, she gave
vent to a flood of hot tears.

A deathlike silence settled over the flat.
She felt a tentative touch upon her hair, but shrank from it. Then
she heard Zeke fling something on the parlor table. His footsteps
echoed across the room, and then she heard the slam of the door as
it closed behind him.

Rory glanced up, tears yet streaming down her
cheeks. Good, she thought savagely. He was gone. But instead of
fiercely rejoicing, she only wanted to weep anew, as though her
heart would break.

Sniffing, she groped for her handkerchief,
her vision clearing enough to see what Zeke had left behind. If he
had had the effrontery to leave that diamond ring, she would—

But she paused, sitting frozen as she focused
on the object glinting upon the parlor table. It was not the
diamond, but a heavy metal ring of keys.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

With a curt command, Zeke Morrison bade his
astonished coachman to whip up the team and go back to Fifth Avenue
or hell, Zeke didn't care which. Trembling, the man was quick to
obey, leaving Zeke to stalk off down McCreedy Street alone.

Hours later, Zeke was still wandering
aimlessly, not knowing where he was going, caring even less. At
first, his footsteps had been propelled by anger. Damn Aurora Rose
Kavanaugh! And damn himself as well for being such a fool over
her.

If she was so eager to break her neck, then
let her. He should have flung the keys to the blasted warehouse at
her instead of just dropping them on the table.

But such a mood could not last for long. His
rage soon spent itself, leaving a tight ache in his chest, a
sensation of vast emptiness that slowed his steps. So Rory had
rejected him and he was alone again. It always came to that in the
end. He had known that ever since the day he first ran away from
the orphanage, maybe even from the day he was born, left to die by
the woman who bore him.

But he had always managed to convince himself
that it didn't matter. He was strong enough to stand alone. He had
a talent for survival, a knack for raking in the greenbacks. What
more did he need?

He also had a knack for lousing up every
relationship that had ever mattered to him. First his mother, then
his sisters and now Rory. Zeke jammed his hands deep into his
pockets. As afternoon shadows lengthened along the pavement, his
thoughts returned to that scene in Rory's flat.

Go more gently, Sadie had always tried to
warn him, and he had tried with Rory. He honestly had. But for too
much of his life, he had been used to coming out of his corner,
ready to lead with his right. You never asked, you just took,
because if you asked, the answer would probably be no.

So he had heaped Rory with presents, tried to
shove the ring onto her finger and closed down her warehouse
without telling her first. All he had wanted to do was love,
cherish and protect her. His blustering manner had only been to
hide his uncertainty, his desperate fear she might somehow slip
away from him. Perhaps the disguise had worked all too well.

But God forbid Zeke Morrison should reveal
too much of his feelings, let it be known that underneath he wasn't
so tough after all, but just as vulnerable as anyone else.

He could only imagine what Rory must be
thinking of him now, and none of it was pleasant. Fragments of her
bitter words echoed through his head. How could you do this to me?
You ruin people's lives. No wonder your mother died grieving.

No wonder indeed. Rory had been wise to tell
him to get out and spare herself further misery.

With such thoughts roiling in his mind, Zeke
took little heed of where he was walking. He nearly collided with a
freckle-faced kid hawking papers on a street corner. But the boy
was quick to recover himself. Glancing up hopefully from beneath
the brim of his cap, he asked, "Paper, mister?"

Zeke shook his head, but the boy persisted.
Waving a copy of the World before Zeke's eyes, the paperboy sang
out, "Read all about it. Reporter raises doubts about Decker
suicide."

Zeke took a quick glance at the headline. So
Duffy had made good his threat to continue the investigation. In
his present humor, Zeke wasn't even mildly interested. He gave the
kid a dollar, telling him to keep the change and the paper.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Geez, thanks,
mister." Gathering up his largess and his remaining papers, the lad
scuttled off down the street with an energy that left Zeke feeling
very old.

Snapped out of his musings about Rory, Zeke
at last took a look around to gain his bearings. His gaze fell on
the weathered street sign.

Pearl Street.

He should've been surprised, but he wasn't.
Some part of him had known all along exactly where he was headed.
Where, but not why. What could possibly have drawn him back to this
place? Nothing lurked on the block ahead of him but old memories,
some of them bad, all of them painful.

Yet still he kept going. The row of brick
tenements seemed to close around him, packed so close together they
blocked out the rays of the setting sun. The street was even more
rundown than he remembered, some of the windows boarded over. An
old man rooted through a trash can, hunting for something to eat,
while a scrawny stray dog barked and nipped at his heels. From an
upper story came the shrill sound of laughter, then the shattering
of glass as someone tossed a gin bottle out the window. Across the
street, a young girl, looking too worn for her years, listlessly
hung much-mended stockings out on the fire escape to dry.

All about him were the sights, the sounds of
a world he had tried so relentlessly to put behind him. Almost
instinctively he turned to the one place that had been a bright
spot in the midst of all this poverty and despair—the second-floor
flat, third house from the corner.

Sadie's flowerpots were long gone from that
windowsill, the curtains that hung there now much dirtier than his
mother ever would have tolerated. The place was noisier too. Even
at street level, Zeke could hear a man bellowing something in a
slurred accent, followed by a smacking sound, then a child's
wail.

As Zeke lingered there, a small urchin
emerged onto the flat's fire escape. The boy snuffled against his
sleeve, nursing a black eye, but was still full of fire and
defiance.

"Don't care whatcha do to me," he shouted
back through the window. "I'm gonna run away. Someday I'm gonna
have lots of money and live far away from this stinking place."

The boy sank down onto the fire escape,
drawing his knees up to his chest, staring sullenly up at the sky.
Zeke felt chilled watching him, as though he had peeled away too
many layers of the past. It might have been himself back up there
on that fire escape, so well could he guess what was going on in
the child's mind. Brooding over his wrongs, and if he only knew it,
dreaming all the wrong dreams.

Zeke felt as if he had seen enough. Turning,
he strode rapidly away, covering the blocks that led toward the
East River. The dockside area was no place to be at dusk, but the
size of Zeke and the blackness of his scowl seemed enough to keep
any lurking toughs at a distance.

Besides, Zeke thought wryly, he really had
nothing on him of any real value. As he stood by the water's edge,
watching the murky waters lap against the embankment, he thrust his
hand into his pocket and drew forth the ring.

How different the diamond looked to him now.
It didn't sparkle near so much as it had in the jeweler's case. It
might as well have been paste, not able to hold a candle to the
brightness of the stars or Rory's eyes.

Zeke's fingers folded around the ring, and
with a slow deliberation, he drew back his arm and hurled it out
across the East River. It landed with a plop, scarce raising a
ripple on the darkening waters.

He lowered his arm, feeling worn down and
defeated. For the first time in his life, he had no plans for
tomorrow, or the day after that. The future stretched before him,
an empty succession of years with no meaning, no Rory.

He had never asked anyone's help or advice
before. There had only been one person he had even partly needed,
but she was gone. Never had he missed Sadie as keenly as he did
tonight.

"What am I going to do, lady?" he murmured,
tipping back his head, searching the night sky. Even the stars
looked cold and remote. It seemed too late to be seeking answers
now, too late for so many things.

And then again maybe it wasn't. For too many
years, he had been on a headlong rush down the road to wealth and
power, not stopping to count the cost. Perhaps the time had come to
pause, to cease charging recklessly forward. Perhaps the time had
come at last to turn and go back, begin to recover some of what he
had lost upon the way.

The area of the city known as Greenwich
Village was a veritable labyrinth of crisscrossing streets. Zeke
lost his way several times amidst a maze of artist's garrets,
antiques shops, cellar cafés and tearooms. He at last located the
place he sought along a side road winding down from Sheridan
Square. There was little but a number to distinguish the
unpretentious three-story townhouse from a row of others just like
it.