Sarah raised her brows. “Well, we all know what an appointment at this time of night means,” she practically purred. “And as I can’t imagine the righteous Miss Stewart would allow any such shenanigans, I’ll have to resign myself to speculation on who the lucky lady could be. But mind you, don’t ruin matters with the virginal Genevieve, Daniel; she’s also in possession of quite a fortune. Could come in handy.” She dropped him a wink before taking Rupert’s arm and leading him toward the dining room.
Daniel wasted not a moment but casually began making his own way toward the hall, as if heading perhaps to the retiring room or downstairs to the gaming tables. He shared one quick look with Genevieve’s friend Eliza, who gave him a single nod and paused by the door, where she would wait for his return.
Daniel paced the sumptuous hotel suite he had reserved, waiting. He stopped walking for a moment to pour a small glass of whiskey from a completely stocked side table and watched the door anxiously, hoping Genevieve could make it to the room unseen.
Hoping nothing had happened to her in the past fifteen minutes.
Twisting his mouth, Daniel took a sip of whiskey and swirled it around his tongue before swallowing. He restlessly unknotted the kerchief around his neck—he’d abandoned the ridiculous hat, sword, and eye-patch as soon as he’d entered the room—and resisted the urge to poke his head into the hallway.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and he leapt to open it.
Genevieve rushed in and quickly closed the door, the green-lined cloak thrown over her shoulders billowing behind her like a standard.
“Were you seen?”
“I don’t think so.”
Relief washed through him. “Good. I took the liberty of having some food sent up, as we’re missing the supper.” Daniel gestured toward some bread, cheese, and savory meat pastries set out on the sideboard, then poured a measure of whiskey into a separate glass and handed it to her.
“Thank gracious. I’m famished,” Genevieve replied, accepting the glass after removing her cloak. He watched as she filled a plate, then took in the suite’s rich surroundings as she nibbled: its heavy draperies, its gilded furniture, the ornate, overly large bed made up with crisp white sheets visible in the adjacent room beyond.
She settled on a love seat and set her plate on a low table, pulling the pins out of her hair, its honey-colored mass tumbling to her shoulders.
The moment was so startling in its intimacy that an involuntary swallow briefly clogged his throat.
“You don’t mind, do you? My scalp aches from this hairstyle.”
Daniel said nothing, ruthlessly quashing any improper thoughts brought on by the incomparable sight of all that hair piling around her bare shoulders, and chose the armchair opposite her.
“What did you find out?” he asked instead, pulling off his boots. Hell, if she was getting comfortable, he might as well be too. He noted Genevieve’s eyes following his motions and felt a grim satisfaction. Good, let her be thrown off guard by a partial disrobing. He nodded as she relayed what Ted had told her, clunking his second boot to the floor.
“Sarah Huffington also invited me to join,” he said, leaning forward.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Ted did say there were other female investors.” She took a cautious sip of whiskey. “This is good.”
Daniel smiled. “It is.”
“Show me the list of investors again.”
He complied, pulling the notes she had made at the municipal archives out of his shirt pocket and handing it across. She frowned as she studied the list of corporation names.
“This only lists other businesses as investors. How are Ted and Sarah involved? I couldn’t find anything on these corporations.” Genevieve handed the list back. “And what does Lexington Industries even do? What are they protecting that they must resort to violence, to murder?”
Daniel studied the list in his hand for what felt like the thousandth time, taking a fortifying sip of his own whiskey. Lexington Industries, her notes read. Andrew Huffington and Ernest Clark, chief operators. Investing entities …
And suddenly he saw it. The answer was right there, right before his eyes. Daniel quickly switched seats so he was next to Genevieve on the love seat. He leaned into her, inhaling the fresh, almost grassy scent of her unbound hair. “Look,” he said in excitement. “Look closely at the company names.”
She puzzled at him for a moment, but did as he bade. He waited.
“Oh my god. How did we miss it?” She pointed to one of the companies listed: Tiberius Point Beneficiaries, Inc. “TPB,” she said. “Theodore Paul Beekman.” Genevieve’s mouth slanted wryly as she took another sip from her glass. “He would name himself after a Roman emperor.”
“And …” He pointed to another: Syndicated American Hospitality Co.
“Sarah Alston Huffington,” she breathed.
Working quickly, they matched most of the remaining investor names to almost all the other members of the mayoral committee on housing reform: Performance Standards Incorporated & Son must be the senior and junior Peter Stuyvesants, and Deputy Mayor Giles Manfort was likely Goode Manufacturing, Inc.
“Not terribly creative, that one,” Genevieve commented. “There’s one member of the committee missing.”
“No fictitious company with the initials R.C.,” Daniel noted. “Reginald Cotswold.” They shared a brief, grim look.
“And there is this one we haven’t matched to a person,” she said, tapping her finger on the page. “Tenfold Mercantile.”
“Of course,” he said. “Thomas Meade.” A chill began to overtake him, and Daniel sighed, exhaustion suddenly swooping in and draining the brief burst of energy brought by puzzling out Lexington Industries’ investors. He leaned back on the love seat and rubbed at his eyes.
Tommy. He could never, it seemed, be rid of the bastard. This was more dangerous than he’d feared.
“Why are the members of a governmental committee on housing reform using false names to support a seemingly nonexistent corporation?” Genevieve asked, more to the piece of paper laid on the table than to him.
“This is a
