P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“Mrs. Longren, it’s inappropriate to burst in without warning—”

She halted next to his desk, her hand at her throat, gasping for air. “The situation is dire, Chief Greeley. Charlotte has been kidnapped.”

He was around the desk in an instant, his large hands gripping her arms. “What are you saying?”

“She was taken by two men outside our house, not moments ago. You must help me.”

His hands were punishing—she would no doubt have bruises by morning. “Were you with her? Did you recognize her assailants?”

“Please—you’re hurting me.”

He seemed to realize where he was; he loosened his hold on her. “Tell me what you saw.”

“I didn’t see the attack—I was inside the house. Her lady’s maid, Tabitha Dumont—”

“Charlotte was without a chaperone?” Wrath blazed in Greeley’s eyes. “You fool woman, what have you done?”

Hattie tried to edge away. “Condemning my actions serves no useful purpose at the moment, Chief Greeley. If you’ll allow me to relate what I know—”

Greeley let go of her with a shove, and she had to grab the edge of the desk to remain on her feet. He paced the small confines of the office. “Tell me.”

She summarized the trip to Celeste’s and the abduction, leaving out the real purpose of their outing, which was to deliver the note to Willoughby’s clinic. “Tabitha immediately ran home to inform us, and I left within moments to come down here. The attack couldn’t have happened any more than a half hour ago, at the most. If you act with haste—”

“And do what?” Greeley rounded on her. “In a carriage of any reasonable speed, they could be halfway to a neighboring town by now, or have Charlotte well concealed in the depths of the tunnels. It’s too late.”

Hattie gaped at him. “You’re the law—surely you have resources at your disposal to ascertain who has abducted her.”

“To what end?” Greeley roared. “Whether or not we find Charlotte, she is lost to us now. Her captors no doubt have compromised her—her reputation is ruined.”

“You can’t possibly know that for certain!” Hattie said hotly. “If we act at once, they may not have had time to do more than simply conceal her.”

“Charlotte is beyond all possible redemption,” Greeley muttered, staring through her as if he were talking only to himself.

“Surely you don’t equate the potential loss of Charlotte’s good reputation with her very life!” Hattie cried, desperate to make him see reason.

Without warning, he backhanded her, sending her careening off the desk and to the floor. She lay there, her hand raised to her face, staring at him.

The desk sergeant rushed into the office, helping her to her feet. Two other patrolmen came to stand in the doorway, their wary gazes on Greeley.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” the sergeant asked, keeping an eye on Greeley, who stood like stone in the middle of the office.

“Yes … I think so,” she answered shakily. “Thank you.”

“Get out,” Greeley said to her in a low voice.

“What?” Hattie asked, confused.

“I said, get out of my office.”

“Chief—” the sergeant began.

“Shut up.”

Hattie drew in a breath and straightened her shoulders. “So you will do nothing to help save Charlotte’s life.”

Greeley’s face was devoid of all emotion. “The moment you allowed Charlotte to leave the house unattended, Mrs. Longren, you may as well have put a bullet in her brain. She is dead to us all.”

He turned to the sergeant. “Get this woman out of my sight.”

* * *

HATTIE stood on the boardwalk outside the police station, her breath hitching. She had no one to turn to, no one who could help. And she had no notion of how to proceed. Should she wait for a ransom note? But what if none were delivered? She would only be giving Charlotte’s kidnappers the time they needed to transfer her aboard a ship bound for the Orient.

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there before she became aware of Michael Seavey’s approach.

“Mrs. Longren,” he said smoothly, removing his top hat to execute a bow. “And what brings you out on such a fine—”

She slapped him, putting her weight behind her swing. “You son of a bitch! I want her back right now !”

Seavey held her so her fists could no longer reach him. “Contain yourself, Mrs. Longren!”

“What is it that you hope to gain?” She spit the words at him. “Money?”

“I have no notion of what you’re saying,” he replied evenly, still holding her. “Please explain yourself.”

She ceased her struggles, going limp under his hands. “Just give me back my sister.”

His eyes shifted, and she knew . He was the worst kind of animal, preying on innocents. “Name your price, and I will meet it,” she said, trying to mask her terror and failing. A sob escaped. “Please don’t hurt her. I’ve heard what your men are capable of.”

He shook his head, frowning, then his gaze suddenly sharpened. “You’ve been hit.” He ran fingers with surprising gentleness across the reddened skin, then along the swelling at her jawline. “Who did this?” he asked quietly, a note of steel having entered his voice.

She stepped back, shuddering, and he dropped his hands. “Please, if you have an ounce of decency left in you, I beg of you …” She stopped, shaking her head.

He studied her broodingly. “And what will you give me, Hattie, for the safe return of Charlotte? Money? Or more? Will you give me everything I want?”

Hattie closed her eyes. As she suspected, he meant to bargain Charlotte—for control of Longren Shipping, for the demise of the sailors’ union, and for her own freedom. He wanted everything. She cared nothing for herself, but what of Frank? What would happen to him if she gave in to Seavey’s demands? Would Seavey insist that she turn Frank over to him? She couldn’t bring herself to trade one life for another. And yet, she couldn’t think about what was happening to Charlotte at this very moment.

Perhaps she had one more option, one more strategy at her disposal. And if that didn’t work, then she would force herself to make the more wrenching decision.

“What happens to me, or to Longren Shipping, is no longer of any consequence,” she said. “But I won’t bargain with the lives of others.”

Seavey studied her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Then it’s truly a pity,” he said finally, “that you won’t allow me to help you.” He replaced his top hat, nodding. “Good day, Mrs. Longren.”

He stepped around her and walked away. With shaking fingers she pulled her cape close to ward off the chill that seemed to permeate even her bones, never noticing the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

Pray to God my idea works .

Turning, she stepped into the alley. Walking to the door at the back of the building across from the courthouse, she raised a hand and knocked on its weather-beaten whitewashed exterior. Within moments, the door opened, revealing the young prostitute Hattie recognized from the night of the fire.

“Isobel. Please tell Mrs. Starr that I must speak with her immediately.”

* * *

FROM one block away, Michael Seavey watched Hattie enter the Green Light. So Hattie thought to secure assistance from Mona Starr. He found Hattie’s resolve, her courage in the face of truly frightening circumstances, curiously admirable. His late wife would’ve acted only to save her own skin, not out of principle or concern for others. Not that asking Mona would do Hattie any good—the wealthy madam was not without resources, but she didn’t have the power to affect the outcome of this little drama. Whereas he did. However, the question was, what outcome did he desire?