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CHAPTER1
New York City, 1890
Tenth Avenue Athletic Club
Isabelle
Icame dressed like death.
Wearing my aunt’s old widow’s weeds, I slipped inside the club and began threading through the raucous crowd. My stomach was cramped with nerves, but I pressed on. The devil was here somewhere. Billy Baxter, leader of the Hell’s Kitchen Gang.
The entire city lived in terror of this man. But I hadn’t the luxury of terror, not any longer. My father was missing and I had to find him.
My father had recently finished an eight-year term as New York City’s comptroller, where he cracked down on corruption and graft. He was a hero in this city. The newspapers had even dubbed him “Honest” Dan Kelly.
Not everyone appreciated his crusade, however. Some viewed my father as an enemy and threatened his life. Now he was missing . . . and all evidence pointed to Mr. Baxter as the responsible party.
So I needed to find the notorious gang leader tonight and force him to talk to me.
Unfortunately, Mr. Baxter was never alone in public. He went everywhere with a bevy of women at his side, along with several members of his gang. No stranger drew within ten feet of the man, not if they wished to live. So I searched while keeping the black veil over my face, a harmless widow in the crowd.
The place was packed with loud men and scantily clad women. They were laughing and cheering, drinking and kissing. It was a world unlike anything I’d imagined. Free and exciting, and without the rules and expectations that weighted down my life. Here, no one paid me any attention.
My eyes drifted to the front row. A man sat there with four well-dressed women draped over him like fine silk. Men nodded in deference as they passed, as if paying homage to a king.
Was this Mr. Baxter?
I tugged on the sleeve of the older fellow next to me. “Pardon me, sir. That man over there with the women. Who is he?”
His brow creased in concern. “Oh, you don’t want nothing to do with Billy Baxter, ma’am. Stay far, far away from the likes of him.”
So, it was Mr. Baxter. Based on the rumors about him, I’d expected scars and menace. A rough and hulking figure in bloodstained clothes.
He was nothing of the sort.
He was handsome, with a chiseled jaw and lean patrician features. Rather a large nose, but it suited him. His dark hair was swept back to reveal the hint of a widow’s peak. His appearance reminded me of the statues of Roman emperors in the history museum. Strong, fearsome. A warrior of old.
He wore a fine navy suit, his keen gaze on the ring. Occasionally he whispered to the woman directly on his right as she stroked his thigh affectionately. Though he was relaxed, danger crackled in the air around him.
Well, dangerous or not, he needed to answer my questions. I had to find my father.
Papa was the only relative I had left. Without him I had no one. And there was no time to lose. Each minute he was gone meant more danger, more risk.
Suddenly, the contest in the ring took a turn and the crowd swelled, growing excited as people yelled and jeered at the fighters. The melee gave me the opportunity to weave unnoticed through the sweaty bodies and move closer to Mr. Baxter.
I edged around the spectators and reached the corner of the ring. The path to him was clear, as if no one dared get too close. Taking a deep breath for courage, I threw my shoulders back and marched forward.
As if he sensed my arrival, his head snapped toward me. His face revealed nothing, however, as he tracked my progress with a cool, dispassionate expression. My heart raced, every instinct screaming for me to turn and run away, yet I soldiered on. Had I any other choice?
When I was a short distance away, I withdrew a pistol from my skirts. I pointed it directly at Mr. Baxter’s face.
My hand trembled slightly, but I didn’t move. A hush rippled over the crowd until the entire space became quieter than a tomb. Mr. Baxter held my stare, his dark gaze flat and curious, but remained silent.
The men behind him withdrew their pistols and cocked the hammers, but Mr. Baxter held up a hand to wave them off. “Everyone out. Now.”
The command was quiet, laced with the rough edges of downtown. The crowd reacted as if he’d shouted. People scattered and chairs overturned. Shouts of “Hurry! Go! Move it!” echoed in the large space.
Mr. Baxter’s women hung back until he added, “I said everyone.”
