Setting her glass down, she reached out again. This time, Vivian didn’t pull away. Taking her hand, Honor drew her in close, one arm going around her back and the other hand resting against her cheek. For a moment, Vivian held herself stiffly, unsure she wanted to be comforted. Then she sighed, relaxing as Honor’s lips brushed hers, gently, far more gently than she would have expected. Honor’s handsmoved soothingly over her back, and when she pulled away she didn’t let go, just let Vivian’s head rest against her shoulder for several still moments.
When she straightened at last, Honor smiled, pressing one more kiss against her lips before stepping away.
“You okay?” she asked.
Vivian tried to wrap her head around what had just happened. She couldn’t tell from Honor’s face what the kiss had meant to her, whether it changed anything between them or was just one more in the series of careful moves that the Nightingale’s owner was always taking. But those moments had been what Vivian needed to pull herself together. Pushing aside the fear and uncertainty—she would deal with it later—she nodded. She even managed to smile.
“Really, it was nothing. Some drunk throws a temper tantrum in our building once a week, at least. What I want to know is what he was getting into.” She gestured at the papers still scattered over Honor’s desk, hoping to distract them both. “Any chance he found something in your files?”
“I’ll make sure someone asks him in the next twenty-four hours,” Honor said, her voice grim. She was back to business as usual, and Vivian was glad she hadn’t made a big deal about the kiss—glad and hurt and confused. “My boys’ll know where to find him, and I’m sure a few people out there will be glad to learn everything you just told me. If that baby’s his…”
“And he had something to prove to Mrs. Wilson, and to whoever the new boss is now that Wilson’s out of the picture,” Vivian added.
Honor nodded. “Hell of a chip to carry on your shoulder. But people get stupid in this business.” She gathered the papers together, giving the edges a sharp tap against the desk to sift them into a tidy stack.
“Do you really have something in there on everyone who comes to the club?”
Honor looked up, surprised. “Not everyone, no. Just anyone who comes back enough times.”
“What sort of something?”
Honor looked bemused. “Where they live, what I can find out about their work or family. Anything that can be used as leverage against them.” She leaned her palms against the top of the desk. “It’s hard to be a woman alone in this business, especially a woman like me”—she smiled a little as her eyes dropped briefly to Vivian’s lips—“so I like to have insurance. I rarely have to use the information, but it’s nice to have.”
Vivian hesitated, but she asked the question anyway. She needed to know. “Do you have anything about Leo Green?”
She got a wary look in response, and it seemed like Honor wouldn’t answer. But at last she shrugged. “Not much, sorry. Where he lives, he’s got a father, he’s friends with Danny… though I don’t know if either of them could be used against each other.” She leaned forward, brows rising and her voice growing a little mocking. “Is there anythingyoucould tell me about him?”
“No,” Vivian said quickly, looking away and wishing she hadn’t asked. Talking about Leo with Honor was a bad idea. To change the subject, she said abruptly, “I want to see what you have about me.”
Honor didn’t move, and her eyes didn’t leave Vivian’s. “Why?”
Vivian didn’t look away. “I’m curious.”
At last the other woman shrugged and began sifting through the stack of papers. She didn’t look long; the sheet she wanted was right on top. Coming around the desk, she perched on the edge and held the paper out. “Suit yourself.”
Vivian only hesitated a moment before she took it. The notes were handwritten, and the mention of where she worked reminded her that Honor owed her a piece of information about her employer—something she was more than ready to collect. But the part that caught her eye was further down the page.Leverage: sister (Florence), Beatrice Henry, HH.
Vivian glanced up, her mouth dry. She already knew the answer, but she had to ask. “Who’s HH?”
Honor reached out to take the paper back, but instead of letting go, Vivian allowed herself to be pulled gently forward. Honor met her eyes. “Me.”
“You can’t be used against me,” Vivian protested.
“Are you sure about that?” Honor’s hand slid from the paper and traveled slowly up Vivian’s bare arm. “I’m not above using myself as a weapon. Are you?”
There were only a few inches separating them. Vivian took a deliberate step back. “I’m sure you’re not,” she said, feeling cold again as she looked away.
Her gaze fell on the papers that Leo had left, still scattered across the floor, and she bent to pick them up. “Leo took these from Wilson’s study for me,” she said. “He said they were on top, so they were probably the last things Wilson was going through before he went out that night. Though I guess they’re not important anymore, if your boys are going to find Roy soon.”
“What do they say?”
Vivian flipped through them, frowning. “It looks like… notes about properties he owned? A few of them, actually. The Fifth Avenue house, a place on the North Shore, and… That’s odd.”
“What?”
“It’s for a building on Baxter Street.” Vivian looked up, confused. “Why would someone like Wilson have property in the Chinese neighborhood?”
“Let me see it.” Honor took the paper, staring at it for long enough that Vivian grew concerned. She was on the verge of asking what was wrong when Honor shrugged, handing it back. “Maybe he was a sleazy landlord as well as a sleazy bootlegger. You’re right—it’s probably not important anymore.” The club owner’s voice was all business as she walked back around her desk.
