Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(72)

Aida was mildly embarrassed that he was speaking to her about this. “Well, that’s too bad, because I like you. Thank you for helping me. I’ll just need to find a cheap hotel somewhere close by.” She thought of her financial situation and reconsidered. “If you’d let me sleep here on the couch, I’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

He didn’t answer.

She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. “I lost everything I own. My clothes. My savings . . . I can’t believe it’s gone. Every penny I scraped together for the last three years. All I have is a few dollars in my handbag.” Tears slid down her cheeks, but that seemed strange, because she wasn’t crying. “Every time I try to plan for the future, the world conspires against me and rips it away.” She tried to gesture, but it took too much effort to raise her arm. “Look at me. I don’t even have shoes. I’m right back where I was when I was a child.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “What can I do but start again in New Orleans? I’m not happy about leaving, in case you think I am.”

“Then don’t.”

“I have to earn a living.”

“Get a job running a switchboard. A secretary, maybe.”

“I have no experience. Can’t even type. And could you do a job like that after working for Winter? After the freedom he gives you?”

He stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.

• • •

When Bo left the room for a third time, she lost track of time and fell asleep. The next thing she knew, she was being jostled down a flight of stairs, carried in someone’s steely arms, crammed against a warm, hard chest.

“Mind your feet.” The familiar cadence rumbled through her shoulder.

“Winter?”

“I’ve got you.”

Her voice was weak and far away. “Guess what? I’ve been drugged.”

“And injured. We’ll get your foot patched up when we get back to the house, okay?”

“I rescued the coat.”

“I see that.”

“I just don’t understand why this happened.”

“Someone wanted you dead, and they went to great lengths to ensure that they didn’t kill you directly. And I’ll wager it’s no coincidence this happened after our visit to the temple. We were seen together.”

“Do you think it’s that tong Mr. Wu told us about? The Hive?” she asked, closing her eyes. His arms were strong and safe, and she was so . . . very . . . drowsy.

He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head, then his deep voice whispered near her face. “Whoever it was, they won’t be alive when I get my hands on them, I promise you that.”

TWENTY-FOUR

THE LAUDANUM BECKONED HER TO SLEEP AGAIN, AND SHE GAVE in, waking up briefly during the car ride, the side of her head sweating against Winter’s shoulder as he held her in his lap.

When she woke again, it was inside the Magnusson elevator, and she was being carried again. “A girl could get used to this,” she said, her voice rough, “but I need to find a cheap hotel. And I might need to borrow a couple of dollars.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Winter replied. “If I have to lock you up in the turret attic, I will. Consider yourself my prisoner.”

She was too weak to argue. “Do prisoners get baths? Because I can’t stand the stink of smoke all over me. It’s burning my eyes.”

“Yes, prisoners get baths.”

“Will you bathe me?”

A throat cleared. Aida tilted her head to see cold-as-ice Greta operating the elevator in a housecoat, a scarf tied around her head. Wonderful. God only knew what she thought of all this.

The elevator groaned to a stop.

“Thank you, Greta. I’ll ring if I need you,” Winter said. “Get some sleep.”

Aida smelled orange oil. Wood paneled walls blurred by. Then she found herself being carried into a sumptuous, warm bedroom with rosewood flooring, window seats, and a lavish Nile green rug. “Where is this?”

“My room.”

“O-oh, it’s even nicer than the Fairmont. We should’ve been coming here.”

He set her on the biggest bed she’d ever seen, covers pulled back, sheets wrinkled. A dragonfly-patterned Tiffany lamp cast muted light from a bedside table. He struggled to get her out of her coat. “We’ll have this sent to the cleaners. Get the smoke out.”

“I need to find out if anything survived the fire,” she said.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Winter said. He knelt down and inspected her foot. “A little swollen. Could be sprained. Can you move it?”

She could. It was tight, but any pain she felt was far, far away in the distance.

A new voice startled her. “You want me to call a doctor?” It was Bo. He set some first aid supplies on a mahogany chest of drawers with modern, sleek lines. Her handbag hung from one of the drawer pulls.

Winter shook his head. “He’d just elevate it and give her more drugs, which she doesn’t need. We’ll call someone in the morning. Go ahead and alert the warehouses about the fire, in case someone tries that trick again.”

“Already called Frank. And there’s something you should know.”