Please, don’t let it be the man who shot Houdini. Please, not him.
Fear weakened her legs, and she crumpled to her knees. Fear was also a weapon. Lying flat on her stomach, she patted the floor beneath the cot. The broken broom handle was where she had left it. She pushed herself to her feet, holding the weapon in hand.
“Honoree!”
Her spine went rigid.
“I know you’re there. Open the damn door.”
“Ezekiel?”
“Let me in.”
She hurried forward, unbolted the lock, and, still holding the broom handle, opened the door. “What do you want?”
He glanced at her hand and the front of her cotton chemise.
“I asked you whaddaya want?” She crossed an arm over her breasts.
“Are you alone?”
Her lips parted, and she hissed an indignant gasp. “Of course I’m alone.”
He started to walk by her, but she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Just because I live in a hovel doesn’t mean you can stroll into my home uninvited.”
He peered down at her, dark eyes raging like a dangerous storm. “Invite me in or move out of my way, Honoree.”
Her chuckle was humorless and sparse. “After the night I’ve had, if you mean to frighten me, you’ll have to do better than a rough tongue and angry eyes.” She lifted the broom handle to make sure her weapon was seen. “I don’t have to do anything you tell me.”
He closed his eyes, seemingly seeking control over his temper. A moment later, the storm had faded. “Please. Let me in.”
A dog barked. Ezekiel jerked a glance over his shoulder. Honoree looked, too, but there was nothing but rain and the daylight rising toward the middle of the sky.
“Honoree, if the wrong person sees me here, it’ll bring hell down on both our heads.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and I don’t want to end up on the bottom of the Chicago River.”
The lines around his mouth deepened, but the quiver in his chin mattered to her the most. She lowered the broom handle and moved aside. “Fine. Come in.”
Ezekiel bolted the door behind him and stalked by her. “What did you see?”
“What do you mean?” Honoree followed him to the other side of the kitchen table.
“You were there.” He shucked out of his overcoat and dropped it over the back of a chair. “Someone I trust told me.”
She propped the broom handle in the corner, put on her sweater, and tried to come up with a story. He hadn’t talked to one of the other chorus girls; they’d been long gone. Everyone had left except—the piano player in the balcony. Was that Ezekiel’s trusted one? If she asked him that question, though, it would be a confession. She hugged the sweater around her. “Your trusted friend is a liar.”
“He’s not lying.” Ezekiel was pacing like a madman in a box.
“Stand still! There’s not enough space here for you to prowl about like a tiger in a cage.”
He stopped, and his face twisted with emotions—hate, love, rage, and something wild and frightening. She checked the bolted door. How long would it take to unlock, open, and flee before he caught her?
“You were at the Dreamland Cafe this morning.”
Her legs went stretchy like bands of rubber, but she had to stay on her feet. She had to look him in the eye and tell him more lies, although the room kept spinning. She reached for the table. Why was it so far away? She took a step and stumbled, losing her balance, but Ezekiel caught her around the waist.
“What’s the matter?” He brought her to him, holding her close. He smelled of cigarettes and whiskey—which meant he likely could smell Laura Lee’s bathtub gin on her.
Ezekiel’s lips tightened. “Have you been drinking?”
