The Gangster's Woman: Love is a Dangerous Thing, #2

By Ginger Ring

Now that prohibition was over, FBI agent Michael Flynn hoped to enjoy the quiet life and a chance to finally concentrate on finding his best friend’s sister. He’d been in love with her since he first laid eyes on her picture. Unfortunately, the more he searched the more he realized she wasn’t just missing. Eryn was hiding from one of the most notorious gangsters around. One who wouldn’t rest until he knew she was dead. 
Eryn O’Malley had been moving around for years, doing whatever legal, or illegal job she could find to survive. No time for romance or a normal life. A one night stand with a handsome man at the county fair seemed like just the ticket to escape for a moment from her troubled life. However, finding out he was a G-man wasn’t part of the plan. Now he was on her trail. Whether to arrest or rescue her, she wasn’t sure, and she couldn’t wait around to find out. If he caught her, would he forgive her checkered past or would he always think of her as the gangster’s woman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ginger Ring
• Release date: May 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533146519

Ginger Ring

Ginger Ring is an eclectic, hat-loving Midwestern girl with a weakness for cheese, dark chocolate, and the Green Bay Packers. She loves reading, playing with her cats, watching great movies, and has a quirky sense of humor. Publishing a book has been a lifelong dream of hers and she is excited to share her romantic stories with you. Her heroines are classy, sassy and in search of love and adventure. When Ginger isn't tracking down old gangster haunts or stopping at historical landmarks, you can find her on the backwaters of the Mississippi River fishing with her husband.

Book preview

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Love Is a Dangerous

Thing Book 2

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By

Ginger Ring

Now that prohibition was over, FBI agent Michael Flynn hoped to enjoy the quiet life and a chance to finally concentrate on finding his best friend’s sister. He’d been in love with her since he first laid eyes on her picture. Unfortunately, the more he searched the more he realized she wasn’t just missing. Eryn was hiding from one of the most notorious gangsters around. One who wouldn’t rest until he knew she was dead.

Eryn O’Malley had been moving around for years, doing whatever legal, or illegal job she could find to survive. No time for romance or a normal life. A one night stand with a handsome man at the county fair seemed like just the ticket to escape for a moment from her troubled life. However, finding out he was a G-man wasn’t part of the plan. Now he was on her trail. Whether to arrest or rescue her, she wasn’t sure, and she couldn’t wait around to find out. If he caught her, would he forgive her checkered past or would he always think of her as the gangster’s woman?

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Gangster’s Woman

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2015 © Ginger Ring

Cover by JRA Stevens

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

You don’t want to marry me honey,

Though just to hear you ask me is sweet;

If you did you’d regret it tomorrow

For I’m only a girl of the street.

Time was when I’d gladly have listened,

Before I was tainted with shame,

But it wouldn’t be fair to you honey;

Men laugh when they mention my name.

The Street Girl by Bonnie Elizabeth Parker (1910-1934)

Permission to use granted by Steve Haas

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

A Note from the Author

Preview of The Gangster’s Hand

About the Author

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The intense humidity rolled off Lake Monona with a fury. It was barely noon in mid-May and the ninety degree heat had settled over Madison, Wisconsin like a parachute. It looked like 1934 was going to be a very warm year, maybe even one for the record books. Michael Flynn sank his cigar between his teeth, loosened his tie and opened the door to Eddie’s Wonder Bar. As he stepped inside, the cool darkness engulfed him, and it only took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Greeting the shapely hostess, he followed her to a quiet table in the corner.

Relaxing into the seat, he tossed his fedora on an empty chair, surveyed the room, and cursed. It was filled with crooks and mobsters of one kind or another. Setting his cigar in the square black ashtray, he scanned the menu before taking another look. A few recognizable faces from the post office’s Most Wanted posters wall were sitting about the room. Couldn’t a guy enjoy a meal away from the job? I’m getting too old for this shit, he mumbled to himself.

Excuse me, sir? The young waitress smiled and batted her eyes. Her platinum dyed hair had been set in pin curls that were all the rage with the dames.

I said I’ll have the fish, he quickly responded, hoping she hadn’t heard what he really said.

The fish is good, but we’re famous for our steaks. She leaned her hip against the table and gave him a wink.

All right then, I’ll have the steak. Handing back the menu, he added, And a beer, please.

Coming right up. She snatched it from his hand and strolled back to the kitchen, her hips wiggling back and forth with every step.

Michael shook his head and scanned the restaurant again. It was still odd seeing people drinking in public but with prohibition over, everyone was enjoying their booze again, including him. The waitress returned and placed his beer on the table. Unfortunately, it meant he was out of a job. He was still with the FBI, but no longer chasing down bootleggers. These days he was after a different sort of criminal. Now it was bank robbers, murderers and other dangerous thugs. Even though he was only thirty-three, it seemed like he’d been doing this job forever.

A feminine laugh caught his attention and he turned to its source. A woman’s face glowed as she admired the ring that her fiancé, still on his knee had just placed on her finger. There was a round of applause from the other diners and the owner of the joint, Eddie Touhy, walked over with a bottle of champagne in hand. A knot formed in his gut, or was it jealousy? When was the last time a woman looked at him with that sparkle of love in her eyes? He couldn’t recall.

Grace O’Malley was probably the last and her loving gaze was reserved for her husband, John. Just a few months ago, he’d stopped in to see them. Bonnie and Clyde had been rumored to be in their area and it seemed like a good excuse to stop in their little town for a visit. The outlaw couple had escaped again. Maybe he was losing his touch for catching crooks and attracting women.

The newly engaged woman’s laughter drew his notice again and he took the well-worn photograph from his wallet. The photo of John’s sister, Eryn, was always with him. What a beauty. He’d willingly sell his soul to see her pretty face staring back at his. But, there was no trace. It was the one unsolved case that kept him awake at night.

That your gal? The delicious smell of the steak instantly had his taste buds salivating as the waitress placed his meal on the table.

Thank you. Michael picked up his fork and the girl picked up the picture. He cut off a piece of the tender meat and took a bite. It melted in his mouth. The juices flowed on his tongue. He closed his eyes and muffled a moan of culinary pleasure.

Hey, I know her, she piped in.

His eyes flew open. The meat lodged in his throat and sent him into a coughing fit. The waitress slapped his back before handing him a glass of water.

You okay there, fella? She waited. A concerned look was on her face. Several customers turned to look before returning to their meal.

Uh, he coughed again, yes. What did you say? He managed to speak before dabbing a napkin to his watering eyes.

I asked if you were okay.

No, about the picture. She still held it, forgotten, in her hand.

Studying it again, she tilted her head and pointed to the painting above the fireplace. It looks like her.

He stood, retrieved the photo from her hand and made his way to where she motioned. Adrenaline spiked with every step. The feature of the restaurant’s stone fireplace was a painting of a striking redhead, nude from the waist up. The resemblance was uncanny. It was her. It had to be.

The waitress had followed and stood beside him, a hand resting on one hip. Sure looks like her in the face, can’t say for sure about the rest of her. She giggled. Michael grabbed her wrist when she turned to leave. Who’s the woman in the painting?

She winced, and he released the tight grip. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. He ran his fingers through his hair. I’ve been searching for her everywhere.

Maybe she doesn’t want to be found? She narrowed her eyes and regarded him cautiously.

He flashed his badge and a few customers rose and left in a hurry. Please, she isn’t in trouble. Her family is looking for her and they’re very worried.

The waitress eyed the photo next to his badge and smiled. Sure thing, copper. I’m always happy to cooperate with the law. Be right back.

Considering who her boss’s brother was, he had doubts about her idea of cooperation. She was probably on her way to the kitchen for a couple of hit men with sawed offs and a side order of fries. Eddie’s brother was Tommy ‘the terrible’ Touhy, but there were rumors that Eddie was the only one of the six Touhy brothers that was legit.

Turning to face the painting again, his heart pounded like a locomotive. The painting gave life to her dark green eyes. The same eyes as John’s, only his were browner and hers looked to be green.

Can I help you? A voice from behind disturbed his thoughts.

Straightening, Michael turned around and faced a young man with slicked black hair and a thin mustache. Not at all what he expected, but then nothing had been in regards to Eryn. Damn, he was definitely too old for this shit. The man was attired in an apron and white cap. Michael guessed the guy worked in the kitchen. Whether he was a cook or bottle washer, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care.

Yes, I’m Officer Flynn, and you are? Michael asked.

Name’s Harold, he answered.

The woman in the picture, who is she? He nodded in its direction.

If I had a quarter for every time I heard that one. The man chuckled. She’s a beauty that one.

She’s a missing person, he added.

Ah, sorry, sir. It’s just that fellas always want to know about her, being that she’s half naked and all. His cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat.

And why is she naked? Jealousy spiked from out of nowhere. Had his worst fears come true? Was Eryn living the hard life of a prostitute? Making a living on her back? The thought made him physically ill. 

Ah, I was an art student. He nodded, paused and then continued at a faster pace. At the university. She was here one night. A while ago, that is.

When? Was she still in the area? He struggled to keep his breathing normal.

It was six years ago.

His hopes dashed. Michael arched an eyebrow and the man continued.

Back in ‘28, I was here with some friends from school.

And? It was best to listen and let witnesses tell their story at their own pace but his patience was wearing thin. After searching for years, this was the only clue he’d had.

I think she was desperate for money.

Why?

When one of the fellas asked her if she wanted to model nude, her only question was how much. The man shrugged his shoulders. No hesitation, just how much.

So, what happened next?

I gave her the address for the studio and she showed up there the next day.

Do you know her name or where she is now?

Sorry, that was the last I saw her. Any time I asked for her name, she would only say, ‘What do you want it to be?’ Harold snorted.

Michael didn’t need to hear that. She’d been desperate for money, left no name or address and hadn’t been heard from since.

How did the painting end up here? He eyed the portrait again.

After the crash, there wasn’t much call for art. I traded the picture for a job. Eddie, the boss, liked it and said if I gave him the painting, he’d give me the gig. Been here ever since. Harold motioned to the picture above the fireplace. Both of us.

Thanks. Michael reached in his pocket for a card and passed it to the man. If you see her or think of anything else, give me a call.

Harold nodded and snuck a quick look up at the painting before returning to the doorway to the kitchen.

Michael frowned at the empty hearth. Just a month ago, he would’ve welcomed the heat on his legs. Now he was sweating.

Want me to warm up your steak? the waitress asked. Her curiosity had kept her nearby during the questioning.

Sure, doll. He followed her to his table. Settling his tall frame in the wooden chair, his mind wandered. He downed his beer in one gulp. Would he ever find her? A few of the old timers had stories of cases that had gone cold but yet they couldn’t let go, and Eryn had him in a choke hold.

Here you go, sport. Nice and warm. He used to call John the nickname sport. Should he tell his friend about the newest lead? Then again, he didn’t want to give him false hope.

The waitress had wandered off but quickly returned. I forgot to tell you. Harold said he remembered something else.

Yeah? What’s that? He bit into the succulent meat. Would he ever get to finish his meal?

The lady who posed for the painting mentioned some man’s name. She wrote some notes on her pad with a pencil before tucking it behind her ear.

Did he remember the name? Michael wiped his mouth on the napkin.

Ask him yourself. The waitress pointed her pad filled hand toward the man who wandered up to his table.

I recalled something she said. Harold volunteered.

Michael sat back in his chair and regarded the man. What did you recall?

She was in a tizzy about some man. I just heard her say it under her breath.

Do you remember the name? After six years, it was doubtful.

Yes. It was Killian.

Michael leaned in. No, it couldn’t be. The man was a pain in his side the size of Minnesota. Killian? He chose his words carefully. Any relation to the gangster Eddie Killian?

I can’t say. I was thinking it was her sweetheart. Michael frowned, and despite the wonderful meal, a hint of indigestion was working its way to his gut. Eddie was old enough to be her father, why would she be involved with the likes of him?

Are you sure? The man must be twenty or so years older than her.

No, not that one. I think she was with his son. Harold glanced at the kitchen door. Is there anything else? I have to get back to work.

No, thank you for your help. Harold walked away, and Michael studied his cigar still smoldering in the ashtray. What did he know of Killian’s son? Not much. Scott had been a small time thug, robbed a few stores and a bank or two before being gunned down in the middle of the street. From what he could remember Ed was furious and blamed Scott’s accomplice for abandoning his son.

Michael drew the cigar to his lips and studied the painting again. His investigation skills worked overtime with possible hunches as he replayed all that Harold had revealed. Puffing on the rich tobacco, his instincts told him it was one of two things. Had Eryn been the gangster’s moll? Had she been the driver of the getaway car? Either way, she was in deep trouble.

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Fine brandy has a color all of its own. She swirled the liquor around in the lowball glass. A swankier place would have served it in a snifter. The smoky Northwoods bar she was drinking in was neither swanky nor highball. Nonetheless, it was peaceful to stare at the liquid and think of something beside her present situation. The taste was the same either way. Taking a sip, the strong alcohol burned its way down her throat and the earthy scent of the drink brought back memories of a happier time. With a long sigh, she placed it back on the bar.

Years ago, it was the first drink she’d shared with her new