Matthew clenched his teeth.
“No need to get upset.” Beaumont tapped the table with his finger, signaling for more coffee. “About six weeks after the incident,” he chuckled, those devilish eyes sparkling, “I had her laboring for me around the office. One night there was a drive by, two trucks full of Capone’s thugs. They shot up my storefront, killed half a dozen of my men. The bastards were swarming in, guns blazing, and I was outnumbered. Out of nowhere, scrawny Blackbird stands over my cowering men with a Tommy Gun. She emptied it like a champ into the enemy. Killed them all, going so far as to walk outside to mow down the scum trying to flee. When it was done, she set the smoking gun aside and went right to cleaning up. She saved my life, my business… that night I took her home to meet Martha.”
“How very touching.” Matthew, only growing more disgusted through Radcliffe’s sick fairytale, sneered, “Saved by a little girl.”
“She wasn’t an ordinary little girl. She was an automaton on a fucking mission from God.” Radcliffe became totally serious. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, would deter her. I offered to take her in, Martha wanted to keep her. Lottie refused, claiming she had to take care of her mother—a woman who couldn’t even lift a spoon to feed herself most days.”
Coffee churning in his gut, Matthew growled, “So you’re some fucking saint for exposing her to your business?”
“She would have gone to another man-of-business if I didn’t keep her; probably even Capone himself if she felt the need to.” The warning look Beaumont gave him made it clear Matthew was on thin ice. “Keeping her close, she was as safe as she’d let herself be. I taught her how to take care of herself. I raised her.”
Clearing his throat, the brawny country boy leaned back in his chair, and sneered. “Then why did she leave you?”
“She killed one of my men.” A puff of smoke came out with the answer. “A real piece of work who had a tendency to be a little rough with the ladies. I suspect he figured out what she was and tried to have at her. Found his severed pecker clear across the room from his body. Dressing like a boy kept her alive and employed. The older she got, the harder it was to hide. The guys started to notice Blackbird never needed a shave… never pissed in front of them. Gangsters tend to be a stupid lot, but after nine years…”
Sitting in angry silence, Matthew waited for the mobster to get to the point.
“Don’t think I don’t know what she’s been doing—hunting down her daddy and God knows who else.” Beaumont chuckled, striking a match to light up a second cigarette. “Now that Ronnie Pearson has been dealt with, now that she’s free of her nutso mother, I want to see her settled.”
Matthew’s scowl deepened. “She ain’t gonna marry no Tommy Kennedy just to please you.”
“No,” blue eyes danced, Beaumont certain, “can’t say she will. I already told her if she married Tommy it didn’t need to be a regularly consummated union, if you get my drift. Lottie refused.” After a long inhale and a good hum of smoke, he confessed, “I want her to be happy, but I know my Blackbird, she was made for greater things than…” Beaumont eyed him up and down, less than pleased with what sat before him.
“You think you know what’s best for her?” Appalled, his voice grew grainy, Matthew stood from his chair to lean over his host. “You don’t know a fucking thing about her.”
“I’m the nearest thing she has to a father.” Though his tone was conversational there was a quality to it that was downright chilling. “Lottie is independent and will do as she pleases. But I got my eye on you, Matthew Emerson. You make one misstep with my girl, and I’ll cut your goddamn head off personally.”
A look of utter disbelief crossed Matthew’s glower. This was not a negotiation for Charlotte. This was a father having the talk with a suitor. Dumbfounded, Matthew retook his seat and gulped down his coffee, brows low as he absorbed the grave warning on Radcliffe’s face.
“You’ll always have to share her with her family in Chicago. My Martha’s real keen on having her around, and a wise man doesn’t deny his wife anything.” After those parting words, Beaumont stood and left without so much as a goodbye.
Chapter 3
-Went for coffee. Tubs full.-
Matthew’s note left Charlie smirking—a man of few words even on paper. The tub was still steaming, looking awful inviting, and gosh it was sweet of him to think of her. Lowering her sore body into the heat inspired a sigh, the ache in her hips and the tenderness between her legs disappearing.
Over the years, Charlie had listened to the crude stories of gangsters, overheard detailed descriptions of sex, and knew some of the more risqué things lovers did. Never in a million years did she think Matthew Emerson would do them to her.
What a ride!
Even worn out, the thought of his tongue dancing between her legs made her flush, her nipples harden, and the twinge became a very different sort of feeling.
She was turning out to be a disreputable harlot.
The reflection made her snort a laugh and slip deeper into the water.
Hearing the door open and close, Charlie automatically reached for the rifle leaning against the lip of the tub. “Matthew? That you?”
“Yeah.”
Her heart slowed. She saw him peek in at her as she leaned the weapon back in its resting spot, unsure if the man’s glare was one of approval or reprimand. “Come on in and keep me company.”
The door swung in, his eyes skimming the glistening swell of bosom exposed by foamy water.
Hoarse, he asked, “You feelin’ all right?”
The downright wicked grin she gave him inspired the gentleman to fractionally raise his brow.