“Vivian, pet.” Honor shook her head. “You know someone like Hattie Wilson always has a game she’s playing. You think she’s, what? Helping you out of the goodness of her heart?”
It was as much as Vivian had said to Hattie herself, but coming from Honor, it made her angry. “Of course she had her own reasons.That doesn’t make her wrong. Or are you gonna tell me you didn’t know he was leaving all that to you?”
Honor was silent so long Vivian didn’t think she was going to answer. “I’d see him, from time to time, since Stella’s death. He fronted me the money to open this place,” she said, gesturing broadly and earning a surprised look from Vivian. A little proudly, Honor added, “It only took me a year to pay him back. He did tell me last year that he was leaving everything to me. But that was right after he married the new Mrs. Buchanan, and I knew he was planning on bringing her son into his business. So.” Honor looked away to take a sip of her drink, then set it sharply down, as if she was eager to be done with the conversation. “I didn’t think he was serious.”
“You honestly expect me to believe that?” Vivian asked. Honor had sounded too composed, too sure of herself, in that meeting. She had known more than she was letting on.
“You honestly think I killed him?” Honor replied.
There was so much pain in the question that for a moment, Vivian felt like she couldn’t breathe. She had to haul in a shuddering breath, and they could both hear the effort it took. “I don’t want to,” she said, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat. She didn’t want to—but she hadn’t missed the fact that Honor hadn’t given her a clearno. “But God knows you’ve spent a long time giving me reasons not to trust you.”
Honor took a step forward. Her lips trembled before she pulled them back into a tight line. “Haven’t I given you reasons that you should, too?”
If she was acting, it was a damn good performance. But Vivian still took a step back toward the door. “You have,” she whispered. “But I’m gambling with my life, this time. If you want me to trust you, thenhelp me. Tell me what you know.”
“I can’t, pet.” Honor’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know anything.”
Vivian nodded slowly. “Then that’s all there is to it.” She tried to smile, giving her head a little toss to flip her hair back, wanting tolook like she didn’t care. “Guess it’s time for me to get back to work, then.”
“Vivian—”
But she was already out the door. No matter how much she wanted to believe Honor was telling her the truth, Vivian couldn’t ignore Hattie Wilson’s voice in the back of her mind.
You know who gained the most from his death. And you know she’s ruthless enough to set up someone else to take the fall for her.
She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t see the person waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs until a hand shot out and grabbed her arm. Vivian stumbled, too surprised even to yell, as she was yanked backward.
“Get ready to run,” Bea whispered, pulling Vivian into a corner and away from the door to the dance hall. “We’re about to be raided.”
EIGHTEEN
“What?” Vivian demanded, her whisper as low as her friend’s. “How do you know?”
The band was still playing, and Vivian could hear the laughter and stomping feet, the shouts from the bar. No one in there sounded like they expected a raid.
“There,” Bea whispered, scooting closer to the doorway so she could peer in. Her dark eyes were wide and worried.
The risks of getting arrested were real, and if you didn’t have money to pay off your bail and disappear from the system, they could be harsh. But the Nightingale had been raided before. The staff knew to bolt for the club’s hidden exits and to take whoever they could with them. Honor, her bruisers, and whatever stacks of cash she had on hand would take care of the reasons behind the raid.
With her father’s death, she’d have even more of that cash to draw on. Vivian shuddered, tucking that thought away to be examined later. She couldn’t deal with it, not now.
She hesitated, then crept up behind Bea, who nodded her head toward the bar. “Plainclothes on the stool there,” she murmured. “Three from the end.”
The man was unremarkable, wearing a decent but unfussy suit, his hair slicked back and his hat on his lap. He had a glass of something in front of him, which he nursed without taking a drink, and from time to time he lifted his head to glance around, as though he was waiting for something or someone. “Danny spotted him. I’d just started my break, and he yanked me aside and sent me to get Honor.” Bea took a deep breath. “He doesn’t look like he’s in a rush, but don’t go back in there until—”
“Wait,” Vivian said, putting a hand on her friend’s elbow when Bea would have turned away. “I know him.”
“You what?” Bea stared at her. “You palling around with cops now, Viv?”
“No, he…” Vivian swallowed. “He’s the one who came with the commissioner.” She racked her brain, trying to remember his name. “He knew Leo, too. I think there’s a good chance he’s not here for a raid.”
“Viv, don’t be an idiot, you don’t—”
Vivian wasn’t listening. She plunged back into the heat and noise of the dance hall, making a beeline for the police officer sitting uncomfortably on his stool. Behind her, she heard Bea growl something that didn’t sound complimentary, then the quick tap of heeled shoes as her friend followed her.
Danny saw them coming toward him, and he shook his head sharply, his glare unmistakable. But Vivian ignored him as she slid onto the stool next to the man. His name came to her just as she sat down. “Levinsky.”
He jumped, spinning around toward her, then relaxed when he saw who was there. “I’ll be honest, I don’t remember your name,” he said. “Though maybe that’s just as well. How are you enjoying your last week of freedom?”
