A Taste of Shine (A Trick of the Light 1)

“I just didn’t like you is all.” She sipped her champagne and added for good measure, “You were a little prick.”

“Charlotte!” Martha slapped her arm. “That’s not how a lady talks.”

The sting brought back the memory of the dozens of times Martha had smacked her over the years for mouthing off. Snickering, Charlie looked to the woman and apologized, trying not to snort when Beaumont winked.

“Come on then, Lottie.” Light gleamed off Tommy’s sculpted blond hair, the man standing to offer a hand. “Let’s start over. Have a dance with me?”

“I should warn you.” Charlie made a face, but took his hand anyway. “I don’t dance very well.”

“Not a problem, little girl. I am a strong leader.”

And he was. Surrounded by other couples, Tommy kept his hands firm on her body, leading Charlie with subtle cues that made it almost easy. But when she stepped on his foot for the third or fourth time he rolled his eyes and teased. “Since they’re already scuffed, you may as well climb up on my shoes and let me do all the work.”

Not one to back down, Charlie let him pull her closer, plopped her toes on his laces, and burst out laughing when Tommy waltzed her around the floor in big showy circles. When the band hit its zenith, Tommy leaned her back, dipping her low to the floor, Charlie laughing and laughing when the world went upside-down.

Feeling the flex of arms pull her up and hold her close, Tommy exercised the same practiced smirk she’d seen him give countless women over the years, and Charlie lost her grin.

“You do look very pretty. Little Blackbird all grown up.” Tommy reached up, eyes warm as he smoothed a stray curl. “I’m glad you wore the dress I sent you.”

She’d thought the Radcliffes had sent the dress. But, of course Tommy had—the man was a cad who would have pegged her size with one glance. Snarky, Charlie shrugged him off. “Why didn’t you sign the card?”

Grinning and honest, he admitted, “I wasn’t sure if you’d wear it, and I did want a glimpse of what you had hidden all those years.”

“Had I known it was from you, it would have gone straight into the fire.” Her hand went to straighten his bowtie, the small strip of cloth twisted to strangle him just enough to make a point. “Like I said before, I don’t much like you.”

“You’re warming up to me.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “You must be nuts.”

Tommy’s palm came to rest on her bare lower back, a smug smirk on his face as the man led her through the crowd. Back at the table, they found Martha conveniently scurrying off to powder her nose, leaving Beaumont alone with Charlie once the mobster waved Tommy away.

The setup was about as subtle as a train whistle.

“So just what the hell have you been doing all these years?” Beaumont asked, striking a match to light the customary cigarette he enjoyed during interrogations.

“This and that…” Charlie put her weight on her forearms, leaning closer. “I also kept my eye on you whenever I passed through town.”

“Yeah?” He shook the match and puffed the rolled tobacco.

“Yeah.” She cocked her head. “October, 1927 at Cicero. Did you think those bullets magically fell from the sky to take out Capone’s men when they had you cornered?”

“I should have known it was my little Blackbird.” A dangerous smirk appeared. “Why didn’t you say hello?”

“I think you know why. And you can ask me about it all you want, Beau, but I ain’t gonna say shit. Just be grateful I took the time when I caught wind of what was going down.”

“Keep your secrets.” Beaumont Radcliffe didn’t get where he was by being a stupid man. The look in his eyes communicated he knew, at least in part, what she’d been doing with her time. A puff of smoke escaped his mouth, the man slyly adding, “Damn good to have you back though.”

Charlie, unintimidated by the fixed determination in her old mentor’s gaze, warned him, “I’m retired, Beau. Prohibition won’t last forever and there is no way in hell I’ll be involved in any of the other works the mobsters of Chicago fuck around with. I’m tired of all that shit.”

Beau’s eyes held a trace of pity and a far larger manifestation of resolve. “I know you are, kid.”

“Then let me live in peace.”

“I know you, Blackbird. You’ll get bored of it, the quiet life.” Dangling from his lips, the cigarette bounced with each word. “Settle down here where you can keep one toe in the action.” His finger tapped the table. “Get married, have some kids.”

“Nice try, Beau. But men aren’t going to line up to tie the knot with the bastard daughter of Ronnie Pearson and a mad whore.”

“No.” He nodded in agreement, blue eyes glittering. “But they’ll want to marry the kin of Beaumont Radcliffe. Doesn’t hurt that you grew up beautiful neither.”