“Kiss me,” she said. “Kiss me like you did at Cliff House.”
He caught her wrists. “No.” It was the only word that would come. “No—”
“You want her.” Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “You want her, not me.”
He held her shaking shoulders gently and set her back. He stroked her hair once, only the ghost of a touch, and left her.
He could hear her sobs as he descended the stairs.
Mrs. Hunter was waiting, perched on the settee in the music room. “Go to her, Amelia,” he said tonelessly.
“She needs you.” She started for the stairs and he stayed her with a gesture. “Keep Caroline inside and admit no one. Do I make myself clear?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He walked the length of the hall, paused at the door, and slowly opened it.
The sun was beginning to set. Soon it would be dark—a time of oblivion, if he chose it to be. He could go back to the Coast and drink himself insensible, or take his riding horse and Norton and go racing along the beach until they could run no more.
But tomorrow everything would still be as it was.
He started toward the carriage house and had gone only a few steps when a man emerged from the garden shrubbery.
“Mr. O’Shea,” he said.
Liam stopped, instantly wary. “Bauer. What are you doing here?”
The investigator was coolly professional as always. “Your man Chen told me you might be here,” he said. “I have news that might interest you.”
“Out with it, then.”
“I’ve located Mr. Sinclair.”
Liam took a sharp step forward. “Where is he?”
“I tracked him to Chinatown. He was incognito, but once I recognized him I was able to follow him to one of the primary tong houses.”
A cold chill numbed Liam’s body. “And?”
“He apparently met with Yung Po. I don’t know the nature of the conversation, but Sinclair seemed satisfied with the meeting.”
Yung Po. One of the most powerful tong lords, a man who controlled a quarter of Chinatown, who dealt in bribery and opium and, most especially, girls to fill the houses of prostitution. Girls Liam’s group had often been able to rescue—until the last raid, which had ended in near disaster.
A raid that had been foiled by an informant. Until now Liam had suspected one of the group, or someone closely connected.
Perry had never been one of the group, but he’d been close to Liam. Close enough to learn of the raids if he’d been interested enough.
San Francisco was filled with city officials and police more than willing to be bribed to overlook laws broken by men like Yung Po. Some of them profited even more directly by the trade in opium and slaves. Perry was no official, but he had friends all throughout the city. If he had special knowledge he could sell to the tongs for a cut of their income—if he were working for the tongs and had promised to get a certain troublesome Irishman out of the way once and for all, it would doubly serve his purpose.
“When did you see him?” Liam demanded.
“Only last night. I couldn’t find you until now. But I talked to a few men in Chinatown, and Sinclair’s met with Po before. He was first seen at the tong house less than a week ago.”
Liam closed his eyes. Only a few days before the raid.
“I’ve had men trailing Sinclair,” Bauer said, “but he went underground somewhere in Chinatown. It’s very easy to get lost there if you want to disappear. The minute he surfaces again I’ll send word.”
As if that could undo anything that had happened. Perry was more than a would-be murderer, more than a man who’d callously court an innocent girl for her fortune. He’d used Mac and then set her out as bait, indifferent to the harm that might come to her as a result. And he’d set himself to profit by the sale of children into lives of sexual slavery.
“Listen to me, Bauer,” he said coldly. “I want you to have men watching this house twenty-four hours a day. I don’t care how much money you spend or what steps you take, but I want Miss Gresham safe from him. I’ve given orders that Caroline is not to leave the house. If Mrs. Hunter goes out she’s to be followed.”