Page 140 of The Widow and the Wanted

Boone sits up, another card pinched between two fingers. “Hell if I know. Why does Goldie do anything? Woman keeps us penned in this blasted room like dogs.”

The clock on the mantel ticks. Each second lands hard in the silence beneath the music downstairs.

Flick.

The card misses by a foot.

Boone stares at it. “How long’s it been?”

“Thirteen hours.”

He drags both hands through his hair, leaving it wild around his face. “I hate this.”

“So do I.”

“No, I mean I hate it.” He stands now, sudden, restless, all that nervous energy rising in him with nowhere to go. “Sittin’ pretty while our girl’s God knows where. Waitin’ on Goldie to decide when we’re allowed to know our own damn business.”

Downstairs, laughter rises bright and false. Like the whole Gemini is mocking us.

“Fuck this,” Boone says, abandoning the sprawled-out deck of cards on the blanket. He stands quick, wiping his palms on his trousers. “Goldie wants us to behave, then she ought to do a mite better than this.”

I follow him because I have already made up my mind.

Boone reaches the door first and throws it open hard enough to rattle the latch. Pearl jumps from her chair in the hall, nearly dropping the little blue book in her hands.

“Oh—”

“Move.”

Her eyes go wide. “Goldie said you are not to leave this room.”

“And had you standin’ guard, did she? I’ve had about enough of that woman’s orders.” Boone’s voice is low, which is worse than shouting. “Where is she?”

Pearl looks to me. I hate that she thinks I might be the reasonable one.

“Where is Goldie?” I ask.

“In her office.” Pearl swallows. “But she’s with⁠—”

Boone is already past her.

I follow close behind. The hall feels narrower than it did before. Warmer. Dark paper walls, gilt lamps, the murmur of men’s voices behind closed doors. The Gemini is alive around us, all perfume and laughter and bed ropes creaking.

This was Goldie’s plan. Goldie’s house. Goldie’s daughter.

And Lula walked out dressed up as a snare because Goldie Eld swore she knew best.

We reach the hall outside her office and a man in a derby steps halfway into Boone’s path, frowning like a customer wronged by the sight of trouble.

Boone does not slow. The man thinks better and gets out of the way.

Goldie’s office door is closed.

Boone does not knock. He shoves it open.

Goldie stands behind her desk with a glass in one hand and her ledger open in front of her. Her eyes lift, sharp as razors.

“Well,” she says, resting one fist on one hip. “Manners have entirely fled the Territory.”