“She needs a place to stay,” Rick said. “She’s under my protection.”
“Ricardo?” Helen whispered to him, and he hushed her.
“I’d just like to use the spare room for a couple of nights, if that’s all right.”
The young man—he looked to be in his midtwenties, a little younger than Rick appeared—considered, tapping a finger against a chin. “Certainly. Why not?”
“Thanks.”
His arm still around her shoulders, he turned Helen back to the hallway, where he opened the first door on the right and guided her inside.
“Rick? What is this place, some kind of boardinghouse?”
“Sort of.”
“Who are all those people?”
The room was absolutely dark. Helen gasped when he closed the door behind her. “Rick?”
He didn’t need to see to find the floor lamp in the corner and turn it on.
The room had a double bed with a mass of pillows and a quilted satin comforter, an oak dresser, the lamp, and not much else. The place was for sleeping out the day and storing clothing. A rug on the hardwood floor muffled footsteps.
Helen stared. “It’s a brothel. You’ve brought me to a brothel.”
If he argued with her, he’d have to explain, which he wanted to avoid.
“Do you mind?” he said. “I could find somewhere else.”
She hesitated before shaking her head and saying, “No. It’s okay. As long as it isn’t one of Blake’s.”
“It’s not.”
She squared her shoulders a little more firmly, as if steeling herself. “I think maybe I’m ready for that drink you offered earlier.”
“I’ll have to go back to the parlor for it. You mind waiting here?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, wearing a brave smile.
He left the room, and Arturo was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.
“Ricardo.”
“Arturo,” he answered.
“You brought her here because you want to hide her. Why?”
“She’s in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The straightforward kind. In over her head with the wrong people.”
“Small-town girl trying to make it in the city?”
“Something like that.”
“Hmm. Quaint. Well, I’m always happy to do a good deed for a pretty girl. But you owe me a favor now, yes?”