“I know,” she sobs. “I know. I saw your names in the paper. I knew you’d run. That’s why I came.”
“You don’t want to run with fugitives,” Damien says flatly. “That’d be stupid.”
“You don’t understand. Ihaveto come with you. Please,pleasetake me. You can have all my money. Here. Take it.”
We stare at my old friend, watching her expression change over and over, returning to one of pure misery. At last, she sucks in all her tears and braces herself.
“It was me,” she declares weakly.
We say nothing, because we’ve no clue what she’s on about. At last, she heaves a shuddering breath and pulls Mr. Carboni’s gun from her bag. We step back, stunned.
“Bianca!” Damien exclaims.
“It was an accident!” she cries. “Mr. Carboni, he ain’t letting up on meand that loan, Rosie. He wants me to go to Montreal and work it off, but, Rosie, you know I’ll never, ever do that. But if I run, he said he’ll find meandmy father. Carboni threatened to kill him! So I snuck into his room and found his gun, since you told me you saw it there. Then I went looking for him. He was standing in a back hallway, arguing with Mrs. Evans. Nobody saw me there, and I… I thought I could shoot him easy, but my hands were shaking, and I…” She gasps. “Oh God, Rosie, it was awful. I missed, and then she… dropped. He looked down at her, then back at me, then he ran off. I killed her, Rosie. It was me. I killed Mrs. Evans.”
chapterTHIRTY-THREE
Not two minutes later, there’s a hammering at the door downstairs. All three of us stand frozen, hoping against hope that whoever it is will walk away and leave us alone, but the banging only gets louder.
“Rosie Ryan! It’s the police. We’re here to speak with you. Open up.”
I still haven’t gotten over the shock that Bianca killed Mrs. Evans. Damien’s quicker than me, for he seizes my hand. “Rosie. Pay attention. We’ve no time.”
I shake off my daze. I will get back to that when I have time.
“I know a way out,” Damien says quietly. “We have to go back to the hotel.”
“What?!” Bianca and I exclaim in unison. “Why?”
He ignores our question. “Can we get out that way?” he asks me, pointing to the back wall, and I nod.
We climb out the window one at a time, and the moment our boots touch pavement, we race through the back alleys again. Somehow, we end up in the one beside the Dominion’s grand entrance, that entrance I had watched take shape over two years. How full of dreams I had been, seeing my future grow with every brick placed. I don’t see any kind of future there anymore. Not for me.
Damien motions for us to stay put, then he tugs his fedora lower over his brow, covering his hair and shading his handsome face. My body feels cold, watching him step out and stand near the grand front entrance, his hands in his pockets. I need him safely tucked beside me. That’s the only way I’ll ever be warm again.
“Stan!” he whispers sharply. “Stan!”
Stan peeks around the corner, then halts, aghast. “Damien? What are you—”
“Shh! It’s a lie. You know that. We need help.”
Stan understands. Bless the boy. Adjusting his bellboy cap as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening, he comes down the stairs and strolls casually toward Damien. His eyes flick to the alley, and I duck back into the shadows.
“You two are in—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Damien says, cutting him off. “We’ve done nothing wrong. So are you gonna lend a hand or just stand there gawking?”
Folks from The Ward stick together. Always. Unless, of course, we don’t. There’s a beat before Stan nods.
“What do you need?” he mutters.
From the coat check area, he snags three coats and brings them out to us. He’s doing a grand job of staying calm, looking like our very lives aren’t in jeopardy, but I know his heart is hammering as fast as mine. Wrapped in those coats and carrying everything we own, we follow him through the hotel’s entrance, our heads tucked within the folds of wool and fur. It occurs to me that this is the first time I have ever walked through these glorious doors. And it will most likely be the last.
Once we’re inside, we take a sharp left. Stan and Damien shake hands and say something I don’t hear, then Stan goes back to work. Damien has other plans. He heads down a steep set of stairs, then another and another. Bianca and I do our best to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I whisper as we flee.
“Trust me.”
