Page 144 of The Trouble with Tigers
“No, wait, please. You know Mr Peters? Have you seen him? Perhaps you could point me in his direction.”
One of the men gestured loosely behind him, toward the closed door.
Kitty approached the heavy looking wooden door, noting the chipped green paint and unpolished brass door handle. She considered for the briefest moment heading back to the inn. Then she thought of Collin, and the hard looking Mr Peters.
Before she could second-guess herself, she lifted her hand and rapped.
No one answered.
She pressed her ear to the door and thought she could hear the din of male voices coming from within. One way to find out. She squared her shoulders and grasped the knob. It stuck slightly, then turned in her hand.
The same awful smell of cigars and whiskey she detected on Hawthorne and Stone greeted her the moment the door opened. Was this a gentlemen’s club?
She stepped into a narrow, dark passageway, allowing the creaking door to nearly close behind her. Tiptoeing on her boots, she headed toward the light spilling in from a room branching off a few feet down.
She could make out distinct male voices now, and paused while still safely in the shadows to listen for Collin’s.
“I’ll stay.”
“Bloody bugger. He’s bluffing again.”
“Better hope you’re right if you’re going to call. He cleaned you out but good last time.”
Poker, then. She’d wandered into a den. A gaming hell, she’d heard them called. She spun around and hastened toward the exit. Silly little fool. Collin didn’t gamble.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the door. She swung the door open and stepped one foot into the alley.
“Argh!” she choked, as a heavily muscled arm hooked around her neck and yanked her inside. She wanted to protest but couldn’t speak. The brute had cut off her air supply.
She struggled with all her might, both of her hands tearing at the man’s immovable arm.
He dragged her down the hall and into the light.
“Found this little package wandering in from the alley,” her abductor announced in a gravelly voice.
A general rumble of male voices rippled through the room.
A tall man whose features she could not make out due to the brightly lit oil lamp hanging behind him approached. “I think she’s trying to speak, Brawn. Loosen your hold a bit.”
Brawn relaxed his grip enough she could stand on her own two feet and draw a full breath.
“I made a wrong turn, sir,” she said when she could speak. “Now kindly release me so I may go on my way.”
The tall man before her grabbed her chin, and jerked her face up to the light.
Up close, she recognized the man.“Mr Peters, you might recall we met two nights ago.”
The room erupted with raucous laughter.
“Not exactly your type, sir,” a man called.
Mr Peters rocked back out of her view. “Release the lady, Brawn.”
Mr Peters obviously held sway here, as she was abruptly freed.
“Thank you. I seem to have taken a wrong turn and—m”
“When did we meet?” Peters demanded
