Taking the stairs two at a time, Genevieve found herself in a long hallway lined with closed doors. She heard Clive’s roar of rage as he stumbled up behind her, followed by another cheer from the crowd gathered on the street. She had a fleeting moment to wish for Daniel’s safety as she tried several locked doors in vain, before one opened underneath her sweaty grasp to reveal a second flight of stairs. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Clive emerging, red-faced, bloody and furious, at the end of the hall behind her. Seeing no other option, she went for the stairs and slammed the door shut behind her, knowing that without a lock it wouldn’t keep him out long.
The winds had picked up, the icy rain shifting to wet, heavy snow, the first few flakes swirling in an ever-darkening sky. Genevieve staggered onto the rooftop of the three-story building and immediately sought a way down other than the staircase she’d just ascended. She knew how to throw a punch, but casual boxing with her brothers in the park was a far cry from fighting for her life on an icy rooftop with a deranged man, particularly when she was weak and injured. It was better to run, run to safety if she could find it. Usually these rooftops connected and she could simply transverse the buildings until she found a way down, but this appeared to be a stand-alone … there! Genevieve spied where the building did not connect to its neighbor, but there was a foot or so between them—that would be an easy enough distance to navigate. She sped in that direction but was stopped before arriving by Clive, who was suddenly looming in front of her.
Genevieve’s heart pounded as she slowly backed toward the edge of the roof. There was a drop to the courtyard at the back of the building behind her.
“I’ll finish the job, all right,” Clive snarled. He lunged for her, and reacting on pure instinct built from a childhood spent sparring with boys, Genevieve ducked and dodged to her right, simultaneously swinging with her right fist. She clipped Clive in the side, inadvertently adding to the momentum he’d already gained from his dive in her direction.
“No!” Genevieve yelled, horrified, as for one heart-stopping moment Clive teetered on the roof’s edge. She reached forward, but it was too late; his balance tipped and there was a sickening thud as his body hit the pavement three stories below. Shaking, Genevieve risked a glance over the edge of the roof, shuddering deeper as she saw Clive’s mangled and broken form twisted in an impossible position.
A shout from the opposite side of the building wrenched her thoughts back to Daniel and what must be an altercation with Ernest. Leaving Clive’s corpse to whatever fate might befall it, she raced down the stairs again and toward the sounds of fighting.
CHAPTER 23
“Meade!” Daniel bellowed again, growing hoarse. He stood in front of the Eagle Head Tavern as a few flakes of snow began to fall. Except for the crowd that had clustered at the door of the bar, most of whom had emerged from its depths at his first cry, the small triangle-shaped square was nearly empty. Any passerby had either joined the crowd or hurried inside to safety.
He waited. Genevieve was inside. He would see her safe, and he would end this. Now.
Billy had been cutting across the park in the early morning hours, ready to take up his post outside the Stewart house as previously arranged, when he had become distracted by a cat’s mournful cry. After extricating the cold creature from underneath a shrub, he spied two figures far down the path, and watched the man strike the woman and carry her away. Instantly understanding that he had failed at his task, Billy rushed to find Daniel at the Gramercy mansion and mournfully relayed the tale, still holding the shivering cat.
Daniel realized that he should have known Genevieve wouldn’t stay put, despite her promise. Rupert was already with him, as they had retreated to his house to plan their next steps, but Daniel knew he would need more muscle than that to take on Tommy. He gathered Asher, Billy, and Paddy and set off for the Eagle Head Tavern.
Daniel was prepared to wait all day. He knew Meade was in there, knew the tavern was an Oyster Knife stronghold of old. Sure enough, he recognized more than half the men—and a few women—who had gathered and watched him in silence.
They weren’t watching just Daniel. He would have come alone and torn the wretched place apart plank by plank to find Genevieve, but as he, Rupert, and Asher had made their way across town, Paddy and Billy had silently peeled away, and by the time he had reached the intersection where the tavern stood, a gathering of Bayard Toughs were waiting. Word had gotten out: Daniel McCaffrey needed help, and Daniel was one of their own. The Toughs had answered the call and now stood assembled behind him, some with weapons, some armed only with their fists, all ready to fight.
They waited. A wooden sign of a neighboring druggist squeaked as it swung in the growing wind. The noise from the sign was joined by another creak, this time from the tavern door slowly opening.
The crowd parted, and Daniel started in surprise, as it wasn’t Tommy who emerged but Ernest Clark. Clark impassively surveyed the situation, making note of the four dozen or so Bayard Toughs standing motionless behind Daniel, and doubtless equally aware of Tommy’s numbers gathered around the entrance of the bar.
It
