~ Macey Bluffs ~
Macey found herself in a plain, well-lit passageway no more than fifty feet long that ended in a T. One direction probably led Chelle and DottieI to investigateto the outside. Thankfully, no one was in sight. . . although she could hear the sound of voices in the near distance. Two, perhaps three or even four-it was hard to tell, for they were low and intense.
Her heart was so high in her throat, she thought she might choke. But she started along the corridor silently, trying to figure out exactly what she was going to do when and if she encountered Capone.
Suddenly, up ahead, she saw the shadows of several figures reflected on the wall at the end of the hall. They were moving violently and there was the accompanying sound of an altercation. Bodies thudded and slammed against the wall, and one of the figures tumbled into sight ahead of her. She tensed, easing back-but there was nowhere for her to go. Aware of the ever-present chill at the back of her neck, she remained still, prepared to duck and run if she heard gunshots.
Before she could react, suddenly there were three men stalking down the corridor toward her. One was Capone. Another had blood all over his shirt and he was staggering a bit, held up by the third one-who was carrying a pistol.
She couldn't move and froze like a rabbit caught in the garden.
"Hey! Who da hell are you?"
Macey was paralyzed. Then inspiration struck. She sagged and loosened her limbs, doing her best to appear drunk. Still holding the stake, hiding it behind her skirt, she tipped her head awkwardly and then stood unsteadily as if she needed to push herself away from the supporting wall.
"Heyyyy. . . youse. . . ain't sh-posed to be in the ladiesh room," she told them. And pointed with a very unsteady finger that made large, wavery circles in the air.
"This ain't da ladies room, ya dumb broad," said the man holding the gun. He looked terrifying. "Git outta here. We got biz-ness in here. "
Macey stumbled away from the wall and tried again. "Sho where ish the pow. . . der room? I thought. . . " She looked around, swinging one arm broadly, making herself stagger as if she'd thrown herself off balance, all the while keeping the stake behind her back. She did her best to keep her eyes wide and glassy, and her mouth hanging slightly open. But when she noticed the bloodstains on the injured man's shirt were from a wound on his neck, she nearly lost her act.
"The goddamned powder room's not here," said Capone, his dark eyes piercing her. Violence and power exuded from him. "So I suggest you take your sweet ass out of here sooner rather than later. "
"Okey. . . doke. . . y," Macey said. But she couldn't leave. The man was bleeding to death. Something-or someone-had interrupted Capone's feeding, and she was the only chance to save the victim. She could pretend to leave, then spin around and launch herself in their direction. She'd have a good shot if she took them by surprise.
She'd taken two staggering steps toward the painting-door when a strong hand clamped around her arm and plucked her backward so hard she tiny silver cross, and 7V nearly flew through the air.
"What the hell is this?" It was Capone, and he yanked her arm up by the wrist-the hand holding the stake. His gaze speared her, black and frightening, and for a minute, Macey lost her inebriated facade. Their eyes clashed, and then she sagged back into her act, stumbling against him.
"Wha. . . ?" she said, tilting her head in confusion while looking up at the stake as if she'd never seen it. "'S broken. Sheeeeshhh. . . how'd it get bro-ken?" It took every bit of strength she had to keep herself loose-limbed and wide-eyed, as she looked from the stake to her captor and back again. His grip was painfully strong. A little harder and he'd break her wrist.
"Who the hell are you?" Capone demanded, thrusting his face close to hers.
Her heart was in her throat now, and her insides a jumble of nausea and nerves. But she kept a tight grip on the stake, knowing if she had one chance, this would be it. This would be the chance to kill Al Capone. She was close enough.
She gritted her teeth, struggling to keep focused while finding a way to aim the stake for his vulnerable spot, even as he gripped her wrist in a death-hold. All of a sudden, he flung her away from him. "Get the fuck outta here. "
She slammed against the wall, her head cracking hard as it whipped back into it. By the time she pulled groggily to her feet, Capone and his goon with the gun had pushed past her and were gone-back out the painting-door and into the cabaret. The injured man lay at her feet, eyes glassy and wide as blood oozed from his wounds.
Macey knelt next to him and checked the bite. He'd live, but the man needed help. And if she went for help, people would panic, wouldn't they? Seeing bite wounds on a man's neck? Heck, seeing any blood would probably turn things upside-down. Maybe she could. . . yes, she could wrap them up so it wasn't obvious.
Then. . . Grady.
Damn it. It would just make him ask more questions, demand more answers. But she knew he'd help.
Grady was shooting the bull with motion picture theater mogul Sam Katz and the Tribune's managing editor, Rob McCormick, when he caught sight of Macey. Immediately he knew something was wrong-her face was pale, her expression tight, and her pocketbook and wrap were missing.
He set down a glass of the excellent, grain-distilled whiskey Katz had smuggled in via his chauffeur and wove his way through the ever-growing, increasingly inebriated crowd.
"What happened?"
She spun at his demand, displaying obvious relief at his appearance. "Thank God. Grady. I need your help. There's a man tiny silver cross, and 7V. . . he's injured. He needs help. "
He didn't give a damn about an injured man. Not at the moment. "What happened to you?"
Her hair was out of control and her head-thing with the roses was askew. The silky, transparent dress she wore was torn at the shoulder seam, and one of her long necklaces was missing. And her wrist was red and chafed. "Are you all right? Who did this?" He controlled the need to grab her and demand answers.
"I'm not hurt. But there's a man who is. Will you help me? Grady, please. Before someone else finds him. "