“I don’t need to sweet-talk you,” he said softly, stepping forward again. Her back was against the alley wall now, and he was only a few inches away from her. Vivian’s heart was beating like her chest was a jail cell and it was trying to break free. But she had to hope that if he’d wanted to hurt her, he would have done it by now. “I’ve got questions, and you’re going to answer them.”
“And if I don’t feel like talking to you?” she asked, her hands sliding over the wall behind her back, looking for a loose brick, the edge of a crate, anything she could use if she needed to defend herself.
One of his hands shot out, gripping her chin. “Don’t play games with me, little girl. My stepfather was murdered today, and I’m all out of patience. So you’ll tell me what I want to know or—”
“Or what?”
The cool voice, the coiled menace of it, caught them both by surprise. Light scattered across the alley, and Vivian’s eyes, which had been locked on Rokesby’s, darted over his shoulder.
Rokesby dropped her chin and spun around, stepping quickly away from her when he saw Honor in the doorway. And she hadn’t come alone. Benny, one of the hulking bruisers who kept the clientele in line—and whatever other tasks Honor needed him to take care of—stood at her shoulder. Behind them, still half in the doorway, hovered Bea. Her eyes were wide with worry when they landed on Vivian, but her gaze shifted to Corny Rokesby, her mouth set in a fierce, protective line, and the worry turned into a snapping glare.
Rokesby held up his hands. “We were just having a friendly chat.”
“Not that friendly,” Vivian said sharply, giving him a shove that sent him stumbling away from her. “I told you, you’re wasting your time here.”
But he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. Instead, he was staring at Honor. “You’re Miss Huxley?”
“Ms. Huxley,” Benny growled.
The correction made Honor smile; Vivian might have joined her if her heart hadn’t still been jumping with nerves. “I am.”
“I’m—” Corny Rokesby began.
But Honor cut him off, her smile fading. “I know who you are. Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Rokesby? Or will you be heading on your way now that you’ve made…” She looked him up and down. “Some kind of point, I suppose?”
“I didn’t come here to cause trouble,” he said, raising his hands. “I wanted to talk to you.”
Vivian stared at him, then at Honor, not bothering to hide her confusion. She glanced at Bea, who looked equally surprised, her sharp brows drawn into a frown as she silently watched the drama unfold.
Why in God’s name would Rokesby be looking for Honor?
“Oh?” One of Honor’s brows arched upward, but she didn’t sound surprised. “Well, you sure as hell went about it the wrong way. I might have been available to talk…” Her lip curled. “If you hadn’t started out your night by threatening my staff.”
Rokesby blinked at her, then scowled, a petulant mix of confusion and irritation. “But—”
“Unfortunately, you did. So I’ve got nothing to say. Benny, escort our guest out,” Honor said softly. “Gently, please—I hear Mr. Rokesby’s already had a rough day.”
“But—” Rokesby swallowed down the rest of his protest when Benny stepped forward, lightly cracking the knuckles on one hand. “Fine,” he bit off. “But you know we’re not done here, right? I know all sorts of interesting things now.”
“You know nothing.” Looking unconcerned by his threat—and what exactly had it meant?—Honor stepped aside, gesturing him toward the door. “Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Rokesby. And my condolences for your loss.”
As soon as the men were gone, she nodded at Bea. “Thank you forcoming to get me, Beatrice,” she said. Vivian let out a shaky sigh. She had wondered if Honor was watching her. But Bea must have been just coming off her set and seen Rokesby follow her outside. She’d have run to get Honor in case he was the sort of man who liked to cause trouble for girls on their own.
Vivian didn’t know if she was relieved or angry that Honor hadn’t been keeping an eye on her after their earlier conversation. But she was damned lucky Bea had found her in time.
“Who was he?” Bea demanded.
But Honor shook her head. “Give me a moment to talk with Vivian, please. I’m sure she’ll fill you in later.”
Bea glanced between them nervously. Honor might have built the Nightingale into a refuge for plenty of people who wouldn’t be so welcome in other places, but she was still Bea’s boss. And no matter how curious or worried she was, Bea was still a poor Black girl working an illegal job in a city full of trouble. She had learned plenty of times that it was safest to keep her head down.
“Sure thing,” she said at last, though there was still a question in her voice. “See you in there, Viv?”
“Bea—” Vivian swallowed as her friend turned back. “Thanks,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m lucky I got you looking out for me.”
“You sure are,” Bea said with a little lift of her chin. There would be questions later, Vivian knew. But for now, she settled for giving them both one more wary look before disappearing inside, letting the door swing closed behind her.
Honor watched her go, then turned back to Vivian. “You’re all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
