For a moment, she was relieved. Part of her had still wondered if Leo had been lying about working for his uncle, if maybe he was involved with Wilson’s business and whoever had taken over after his death. But if he didn’t know about George and Eddie, or the way someone’s—Roy’s?—suspicions had fallen on her, then maybe he really wasn’t involved at all.
That didn’t mean she wanted to tell him what had happened, though. Instead, she shrugged off his hand and pulled her sweater back up, buttoning it as carelessly as possible. “No idea where that came from. What makes you think it was a person?”
“We both know it was,” Leo said. He didn’t try to touch her again, but his voice was icy enough to make her take a step back. “And if I didn’t know it, your face just now would have told me. Tell me who it was. I’ll make sure he never bothers you again.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting? ‘Some guy beat the stuffing out of you, but I can be just as nasty, so you don’t need to worry about anything’?” Vivian laughed, though nothing about what she had just said was even a little funny. “You don’t think I see enough of that around here? I thought you were supposed to be a nice fella.”
“I never said I was nice. But I would never hurt you, you know that.”
“Idon’tknow that,” Vivian snapped, wrapping her arms around herself, shoulders hunching toward her ears. She was shaking in spite of the tight grip she was trying to keep on herself. “I don’t know a damn thing about you.”
“Vivian.” The earnestness was back in his expression as he reached slowly forward. When she didn’t move, he took her hand—the uninjured one—and rubbed her cold fingers gently between his palms. “I would never hurt you. And no, I wouldn’t say I’m a nice fella. I left a hell of a past behind me in Chicago. But I’ll never be the sort of man who lays a hand on a woman. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, but tell me what happened.”
The comforting friction from his palms was slowly easing the tension out of her muscles, especially because he didn’t once try to touch anything other than her hand. Relaxing just a little, Vivian sighed. “Remember how I said Honor hadn’t called in her favor yet? That wasn’t really true.” Quietly, glancing around to make sure none of her neighbors were in the hall to overhear, she told him about Honor’s favor, about wiggling her way into making a delivery to Hattie Wilson to find out what she could about her husband’s death, about the two bruisers cornering her in the rainy alley. She tried to make it sound like none of it mattered, that she was tough and unbothered, but she couldn’t keep the shivers from her voice or her body.
“Why, Vivian?” Leo murmured, his hands never stopping their comforting motion, though his eyes were snapping with anger. “Why the hell would you get involved with something like that? For twenty-five dollars? Hell, I’ll give you the money to pay her back, and I won’t ask for anything in return.”
“It’s not just the money,” Vivian sighed. There was an ache in her forehead, right between her eyebrows, and she rubbed it wearily. “The raid was because of him. Everyone who goes to the Nightingale—everyone who works there—they all might be in danger.”
She pulled her hand away from his. “After I tell Honor what I’ve found out about Roy, it’s not going to be any of my business anymore. That’s twenty-five dollars of information, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Especially seeing what it got you,” Leo said. His hands moved, as if he wanted to take her by the shoulders and look her over once more, but he restrained himself. “You need to see a doctor about it?”
Vivian shook her head. “For a few bruises? I’m fine, thanks. And I’m supposed to be getting dinner for my sister, so it’s time for you to clear off.”
Leo looked like he wanted to protest, but he settled for sighing and nodding. “If you say so, Viv. But you can call me anytime if you need help. My number—”
“We don’t have a telephone,” she interrupted.
“Is Circle 2441. Just remember it, okay?”
“Sure.” He was right, she did feel a little better. Not good—she wouldn’t feel right again until she’d talked to Honor and made it clear she was done poking around into Willard Wilson’s murder. But the fear and panic faded more each time she told someone what had happened. And Leo’s concern—once he offered it on her terms and not his—had thawed some of the chill that she was holding on to.
So when he started to turn away, Vivian stopped him with a hand on one arm, just as he had stopped her a few moments before. Before she could second-guess herself, she stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss against his mouth. And when he didn’t move, didn’t try to hold or grab her, she did it again. The feel of his lips sent a wave of comforting warmth down her spine, and she lingered just long enough that he could start to kiss her back before she pulled away.
He looked both pleased and wary when she met his eyes again. “Is that a yes to seeing a film sometime?” he asked. “Maybe tomorrow night?”
“Not tomorrow. Night after that. Maybe,” she said, taking his hat out of his hands and settling it back on his head for him. She was unable to resist running her hand down his jaw. The prickle of stubble made her fingertips tingle. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime,” he said quietly. He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something more. But he settled for “I’m looking forward to our date.”
“Who was that?” Florence asked as Vivian came back inside, not looking up from the dresses she was rolling dry between two threadbare towels.
Vivian shrugged, even though her sister wasn’t watching. “Fella I know.”
She could see Florence’s shoulders tense, and waited for the inevitable questions, the suspicions and warnings. But to her surprise they didn’t come. “I think the mud came out,” Florence said instead, straightening as she gestured to the gowns.
Vivian sighed. “Thank God. I’m sorry to make more work for you, Flo.”
“I’m just glad Miss Ethel let you keep your job. Lord knows we can’t afford to lose one,” Florence said as they draped the dresses over the backs of kitchen chairs to finish drying. “And it looks like the pins all stayed in place, in spite of your fall, so I should be able to get them finished up pretty quick.”
“Well, for now, why don’t you take a bit of a breather?” Vivian suggested, grabbing one of the damp towels and the small soap bag they kept hanging by the sink. “I’m going to go wash up and fix my hair, and then I’ll run out to get us some groceries.”
The washroom at the end of the hall was shared between all the tenants on the floor, and Vivian had to wait for Mrs. Gonzales and her three-year-old twins to finish before she could get in. She washed her face, neck, and hands once it was her turn, checking over her injuries again and making sure they were as inconsequential as she wanted them to be. Her neck was still scraped up, and the bruises below her collarbone meant she’d have to be careful about what she wore for a few days. But overall, she could push her various aches to the back of her mind.
When she returned to the apartment, she was already planning what groceries they could afford and how she could turn them into a meal that might last a few days. She was brought up short, however, whenshe saw a large paper bag sitting on the table, Florence looking between it and her with raised eyebrows.
“What’s that?” Vivian asked, frowning in confusion.
