“None,” Leo snapped. He took a deep breath, and Vivian wasdismayed to see him drag his emotions under control. “I may be a shady bastard but I haven’t—”
“Sure, I believe you,” she interrupted, uninterested in whatever reasonable-sounding excuse he might offer. “You’ve never killed anyone, you just happen to carry around a gun. Just like you didn’t have anything to do with Wilson, you just happened to visit his widow earlier today.”
Leo’s head snapped back as if she had struck him. “I don’t know who said that—”
“I saw you.” Vivian’s eyes were as hard as her voice, and she crossed her arms against the urge to soften either of them. Leo’s expression had gone utterly blank, giving nothing away, and she refused to meet him halfway. “I saw you leaving the house today, after abusiness associate”—her voice dripped with sarcasm—“of Mr. Wilson’s came to call on his widow.”
“You just think I offed the man? Even after I told you I never met him?” When Vivian didn’t say anything, Leo’s expression darkened into a scowl. “Yeah, sure, I was there. You want to know why? I wanted to help you—anything to get you out of this mess before you get hurt.”
“And you want me to believe you?” Vivian gripped the back of the chair, glad it was between them, a barrier against the trust that she wished she could give him and couldn’t. “Fine, then. Tell me why you came back to New York.”
“I told you—”
“Not who you work for. What you do,” she snapped.
For a long moment, Leo didn’t say anything. Then he shook his head. “No.”
Vivian stared at him. She hadn’t thought he’d answer, but she’d expected a glib runaround, not an outright refusal. “No?”
“No.” He crossed his arms. “Why do you need to know so bad? Everyone in this club is involved in something illegal—so are you, just by being here. That doesn’t seem to bother you. So why are you so hung up on how I make my dough?”
“There’s a hell of a difference between serving liquor and killing someone,” Vivian pointed out, her hands clenched so tightly she knew if she looked down the knuckles would be white.
“Sure is, but I told you I haven’t done that.” Leo took a deep breath, and his voice was soothing as he reached for her again. “So why won’t you trust me?”
“Of course I don’t trust you, Leo, I don’t know you!” Vivian snapped, pulling away from his hands. They were gentle now, and she wanted to be held until she stopped shaking. But all she could see when she looked at them was the jagged edge of that bottle swinging toward another man’s face. “You just appeared in my life a few days ago.”
“That didn’t seem to bother you last night.”
Her hand flashed out before she realized what she was doing; he caught her wrist right before she slapped his face. The two of them stared at each other. Vivian could see a muscle twitching in his jaw.
“It was a statement of fact,” he said at last, letting go of her wrist, though neither of them moved apart. “Not a judgment and certainly not a complaint. But hell if I’m going to stand here and keep defending myself to you.”
His movements were jerky as he yanked a small bundle of papers from the inside pocket of his coat and threw it on the floor between them. “Those were in the top drawer of Wilson’s desk. Do whatever you want with them.” His jaw twitched again, as if he wanted to say something else, but instead he turned on his heel and stormed out.
The sudden burst of cheerful music as he opened the door was so jarring that Vivian couldn’t quite understand what had just happened. By the time she thought to wonder if she should stop him, the door was already swinging shut, and she was left alone.
She shivered and rubbed her arms, trying to soothe away the goose bumps that had appeared. Leaving the papers where they had fallen, she started hunting around for something to clean up the glass and champagne.
Honor found her awkwardly sweeping up with a handful of newspaper. “What the hell happened here? Danny said Mr. Green was keeping you company—”
“He left,” Vivian said stiffly, bending back to the mess.
“Never mind that, Vivian, someone else will clean it up.” Honor gripped her shoulders, raising Vivian up gently and taking the newspaper from her hands. “Why are you shaking?”
Honor was right—the beaded fringe along the edge of Vivian’s dress was trembling, and she noticed with surprise that her hands were too. She let herself be tucked into one of the comfortable leather chairs while Honor poured them each a finger of amber liquor. Vivian took a sip, grateful for the fiery warmth, before she told Honor what had happened.
Honor listened silently, then drained her own glass in a single gulp. “I’m so sorry,” she said, meeting Vivian’s eyes. “Are you—”
She reached out, but Vivian pulled away sharply. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, tossing back her own drink. She couldn’t bear to let anyone else see her fall apart that night.
“I never meant to put you in danger,” Honor said softly.
“Well, I ended up there anyway. Twice,” Vivian said, her voice cold. The look of pain on Honor’s face made her feel grimly satisfied. If she had to be hurt, at least she wasn’t the only one. “Even after I told you I wanted out.”
She had wanted out, but she had let herself be persuaded back in, knowing it wasn’t safe. Honor’s doing, or her own? Vivian put down her glass and stood abruptly. Wrapping her arms around herself, she sighed. “My own damn fault, I guess.”
“It was my fault too,” the club owner said. “I promise, you’re done now. That’s the end of it.”
