Charlie lost her smile. “Why?”
“You won’t be staying here alone.”
After hearing Mrs. Fontanne’s account of Matthew’s panic when she’d been hurt, Charlie felt a bit sympathetic. That said, she still found it unreasonable for him to expect a woman like her to go into hiding when the menfolk were gone. Frowning, she sighed, “What time should I check in?”
His brow raised, Matthew looked at her long and hard, having anticipated resistance, backtalk, a quarrel. Her easy acceptance was… unexpected. “We’ll be leavin’ in an hour.”
Chapter 10
The Emerson boys made decent time, arriving at Radcliffe’s warehouses with an hour to spare. Jacky Brindle waited to greet them, the slimy yes-man, directing his men to unload the truck under the eye of Nathaniel and Eli. Inside, Matthew took the customary seat across from the big man in charge.
“Listen, Matthew,” Beaumont counted out stacked bills as he spoke, “we’re gonna need another two hundred gallons in four days’ time, if you can handle it.”
Matthew nodded, his eyes narrowed at the simpering Tommy standing cocky at Beaumont’s back.
“How’s Lottie?” Tommy asked, grinning like he’d just stolen another New Year’s kiss.
Matthew reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigar. Striking a match, he lit the tip of his tobacco and took a quick puff. “Seems you haven’t heard.” Pale eyes went back to Radcliffe. “Men broke into my home when Charlotte was alone, ‘bout two weeks back.”
“What the hell was she doing out there?” Tommy snarled, stepping closer. “You’re her guard dog… so fucking guard her.”
Matthew’s eyes moved slowly as they traveled past Radcliffe to lock on the hated face of the handsome gangster. “Last time you called me that I laid you flat on your ass, son.” The intensity of his gaze went back to Beaumont, though his words were for the pretty boy at his back. “I suggest you shut the fuck up and let the men speak.”
Beaumont’s smirk was gone, his lips a line. “Tommy, get out.”
Face one of disgust, Tommy crossed to the door. Once the insufferable jackass was gone, Matthew pulled the cigar from his lips and growled. “She killed them all but one. I’m looking for the son of a bitch that ran away.”
The gangster was working his jaw something fierce. “Did they have at her?”
Matthew shook his head. “She shot most of them as they came through the door. Two broke in the back, got up behind her. One wrapped his hands round her neck, banged her skull hard enough it cracked the plaster. She shot the motherfucker point blank. I’m still scraping his guts off the paint. The last one came at her with a knife, sliced her arm deep before she grazed his leg with buckshot. He ran off, but she was barely breathing by the time I made it back. Charlotte was laid up in the hospital for five days.”
Dead fury sat on Radcliffe’s face. “Lottie know who he was?”
Matthew gave the smallest of head shakes and put the cigar back between his lips. “No.”
Steepling his hands before him, Beaumont narrowed his eyes. “What does the bastard look like?”
“‘Bout my height, wiry… blond hair cut close on the sides, long on top. Thin mustache and a scar down his left cheek.”
Beaumont went through a mental list of goons who might match the description, nodding to himself as he considered. “I’ll ask around.”
“You do that.” Matthew stood and lifted his payment from the desk between them.
Leaning back in his chair, Beaumont leveled a warning at the brawny man. “You know she’ll hunt him down. Lottie can be a vindictive little cunt. She’s sweet on you and I know from personal experience that she looks after those she counts as her own. She won’t let an attack on your business slide. Best keep a close eye on her.”
It was bare naked in his gaze—pure unadulterated rage. “I will be the one who personally takes a fuckin’ ax to the man who hurt my girl. I would consider it a… personal favor… for any information you may come across.”
The cocky grin returned to Radcliffe’s mouth. “You don’t want to be owing favors to men like me.”
Matthew drew an irritated breath, knowing he had to tell the man or it would stir up trouble come Easter. “She’s gonna be my wife.”
“That so?” Beaumont drew out the words, amused as he condescended and held out his hand. “Well, son, looks like you will be spending a lot more time in Chicago.”
Matthew took the mobster’s hand and shook it, rigid as he looked Beaumont dead in the eye.
Radcliffe cocked his head at the door, signaling their meeting was at an end. “I’ll let Martha know to set an extra place at Easter dinner.”
Once the Emerson boys drove off and it was only Radcliffe in the office, Charlie snuck up right behind him, sitting a hip on his desk. “This vindictive little cunt knows a band of hired thugs when she sees one.”