Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1)

by Jessica Keller

The least he could do was leave her in peace when she asked.

  ***

  Ellen took four deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. James walked away with his hands tucked in his pockets. He kept looking back at her like she might break and need him so she bit her lip against the tremor of tears. When he disappeared she palmed her face.

  “Stupid, stupid.” She dabbed with his handkerchief, pressed it to her nose, and closed her eyes. The smell of Clubman aftershave lotion with its sweet hints of citrus, jasmine, and heady musk mixed with a strong cedar scent from the chest he stored his traveling clothes in. James. Dependable. Always there for her, James.

  I believe you deserve to be treasured.

  Tears clouded her vision again.

  When she married, she’d have to leave him. Their friendship wouldn’t continue. She wouldn’t tease him and trounce him at chess every morning. He wouldn’t be able yank her away alone, escort her, or set her straight ever again.

  But no other choice remained. She and James could never live together. The impropriety made heat rise up her neck, battling the chill in the air. She once hoped Lewis might set up house and invite her to live with him. But Lewis didn’t want her. He’d left her.

  And James would, too. He’d fall for a girl one day and she’d love all his weird quirks, brooding moods, and the long mulling he took making any sort of decision. She wouldn’t vex him or cause him worry as Ellen often did. She wouldn’t ever shame him.

  I’m just as lost as you are.

  Quick footfalls behind her made her skin prickle. She spun around. “I told you I’d come back in a min—”

  But the hooded figure charging toward her wasn’t James. The person’s hands clamped around her upper arms. A smell of fish and cigar smoke rolled off their cloak, turning Ellen’s stomach and stifling the scream upon her lips. In the moon shadows and with the hood yanked to the person’s nose, she couldn’t discern who it was.

  A hand fastened hard over her mouth. “Who thought you’d be so easy to get rid of? You won’t ever thwart our plans again.”

  With a firm shove and brute-like strength, the figure tipped her over the edge of the boat. Like Alice in Wonderland going down the rabbit-hole, Ellen fell, arms flailing. An ear-curdling shriek left her lips moments before she plunged into the icy water, but any sound she made ran away on the tails of the wind. Deep waves from the boat’s wake pounded over her as she fought to keep her head above the water. Her breath came fast. The chill prickled every inch of her skin like a thousand tiny knives.

  She kicked, but her dress knotted around her legs.

  So cold. So cold.

  The lake yanked her under.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chicago, Present Day

  Whitney glanced at Nate over the menu. Even as he looked down reading, the easy smile she’d grown used to tugged at his lips. In the midst of the last week his relaxed personality had worked as a balm on her strained nerves. After spending five nights in a row elbow deep, digging through boxes at the Chicago Historical Foundation, a comfortable silence drifted between them. The ten o’clock dash to the all-night diner had become an evening ritual. She’d almost forgotten about Owen and her trouble at work over the news article.

  Almost.

  The ginger-haired waitress shuffled over and filled their coffee mugs. Nate fished two creamers and a pack of raw sugar out of the ceramic container on the table and handed them to Whitney. She winked his way, knowing he’d down his cup without adding anything.

  “I’m always amazed how late you young people can eat. What’ll your flavor be tonight?” The waitress tugged a memo pad out of her stained apron.

  Whitney handed her the menu. “I’m going with the waffles. No whipped cream, the butter and syrup on the side.”

  Nate chuckled, his dimples coming out to play. “Waffles, huh?”

  “Breakfast is my favorite meal.” She smiled at the waitress. “And I missed mine this morning so I need to make up for it.”

  “I’ll have the turkey club. But can I have fries instead of the coleslaw?” He unrolled his napkin and silverware as he spoke.

  “Sure thing.” She tucked the memo away and lifted the coffee pot off the table. “Just wave when you need refills.”

  When the waitress opened the door to the kitchen, the sound of frying grease ricocheted through the small eating area leaving the air thick with the smell of burgers and bacon. Two booths down a pair of grizzled old men ate pie over a crossword puzzle and a group of eight college students crammed around a small table near the front windows. Whitney caught shreds of their conversation as they bemoaned the grading system of a professor from their university. A bus boy slopped a faded rag over the table across from theirs, leaving a trail of light brown water.

  Not the kind of place Owen would come to. Well, Owen would show his face and force down a burger if it would garner him votes. He’d even pose with the old men if the photo would land in the paper. But Nate fit.

  “All right.” Nate cupped his mug and leaned his elbows on the table. “We’ve been working for hours on this Ingram story, but you haven’t told me yet what’s so life and death about it.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears and thought back over all the letters, newspaper clippings, and society lists they’d uncovered. “I’m just worried about Ellen. I’ve grown a little attached to her after everything we’ve found. What if she drowns in the lake? James didn’t get to tell her he loves her yet. And with the temperature of Lake Michigan in April, she wouldn’t have lasted long.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. In all my time at the Foundation, I’ve never heard of the Cygnus Brotherhood. The whole story’s been fascinating so far, but I find myself wondering why you’re so stuck on the past.” Nate raised his pierced eyebrow.

  “I guess.” She sipped her coffee. “In the beginning I wanted to make the horrible story about Lewis go away. I had grand dreams of discovering his reasons and wanted to be able to explain him better. But now I want to know these people I came from and what it means about me. You know?”

  His lips pulled again, but this time sadness framed the edges. “You do know—don’t you, that even if every single one of your ancestors turns out to be traitors or worse, that doesn’t define who you are?”

  Nate didn’t know what he was talking about. Who knew what lessons her ancestors could teach her? Whitney’s mother’s life served as a cautionary tale: seek out a good man or end up like her. Which was why she needed to stay with Owen. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—end up like her mom.

  “Who knows?” She shrugged. “It’ll depend on what we find.”

  Their food arrived. Whitney slapped a generous amount of butter on the waffle, making sure a little melted into each square indent. She followed that with a river of syrup, then took the first bite, closing her eyes to savor the perfection that could pass for a dessert.

  When she opened her eyes, Nate shook his head, teasing her. “Don’t you know the saying goes that if you don’t pray over your food before you eat it’ll make you sick?”

  “I think God’ll forgive that one small bite. Besides, I’m sure they’re eating waffles in heaven right now.” She laid down her fork and dabbed her mouth with a thin napkin.

  Nate reached a hand across the table, she placed hers in his, and he bowed his head. Suddenly, the pulse in her wrist took on a life of its own, hopefully Nate couldn’t feel the rapid beating.

  “God, we know you’re a miracle worker, so we ask your blessing over this horribly unhealthy food we’re about to eat. Please forgive Whitney for her lack of patience … no really, in all seriousness, bless our time together and our conversation—”

  Bright Eyes blared, and Whitney’s phone rattled on the tabletop. “Sorry,” she whispered as she snatched the cell up and muffled the sound.

  “And while we’re at it. Forgive Whitney for having her phone turned up so loud, but at least has a cool ringtone. In your son’s name we ask all these things. Amen.”

  “
I’m sorry.” She glanced at the screen. One missed call. Owen. She tucked the phone into her giant purple purse.

  “I’m kidding.” Nate bit into his turkey sandwich, croissant flakes showered onto his plate. “But, Bright Eyes, huh?”

  Whitney swallowed the rest of her waffle. “I’m surprised you’ve heard the song. It’s from this cartoon movie I use to watch—”

  “Watership Down?”

  She set her mug down with a clang. “How did you know? Most people haven’t even heard of it.”

  That easy smile came back to light his face. “It’s my favorite book.”

  “Mine, too. I owned one of the original hardback copies.” She leaned back into the red plastic cushion.

  Nate held up a hand while he finished swallowing a fry. “The one with the two rabbits outlined on the front. The title looks like it’s on a sign in their field and the grass is real long, right?”

  “That’s the one.” Done with her waffle, she laid down her fork. “I’ve never met someone else who’s read it.”

  “Seriously? A bunch of misfits striking out into the dangerous world and leaving all they’ve ever known. Learning who they are through their circumstances and realizing their value to the group. Self-sacrifice, striving for a dream, working for the better of someone else, the book’s all about a successful human journey really.” He tossed and arm over the back of his booth, with his other he gestured as he spoke.

  She toyed with the salt shaker. “You’re preaching to the choir. I just wish I still had my copy. When I went to college, my oh-so-helpful mother packed up all the books I left and sold them, two dollars a boxful.” During one of Mom’s many moves she’d done away with most of Whitney’s belongs. “When I found out it felt like I’d lost a best friend.”

  Nate winced. “That’s tragic, but we can fix it. There’s a book store close to the Foundation. We should stop by there before it closes tomorrow.”

  “Maybe.” Whitney reached for the check, but Nate beat her to it. She slapped at his hand. “You should let me pay, you paid all week. It’s my turn.”

  He leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. His floppy hair fell forward. “No worries. I’ve got it.”

  Outside, Nate insisted on driving her home instead of letting her catch the CTA.

  “That’s really not necessary.” Whitney started to walk away, but he called her back.

  “I know that, but you’ll waste forty-five minutes taking the bus when I can have you home in fifteen.” He eased the backpack off her shoulder and slung it over his own.

  Whitney trailed him to an old model Camry sporting three inches of rust around each wheel well. “Chicago’s huge. You don’t even know if I live nearby.”

  He unlocked the passenger side and held it open. “You wouldn’t be here each day after work if you lived that far away.” With a bang, Nate closed the door. He rounded the car with his unrushed stride, popped open the door then tossed her book bag into the backseat. “Besides, I looked at your address when I photocopied your driver’s license the other day.” He held up his hands. “Foundation policy on that, I really did have to copy your card if you were going to go into the back archive room.”

  “Drive, creeper.” She clicked her seatbelt.

  His quiet laugh filled the cabin.

  With minimal traffic at this time of night he pulled out onto the street with ease. Veering the Camry toward Halsted, the street she lived on.

  When he stopped at a red light Whitney tried to turn the radio on.

  “It broke years ago,” he offered. The fast tick of his blinker became their only music.

  Whitney glanced down at the mound of candy bar wrappers on the floor. “I’ll fill the silence then. I have a creeper confession of my own.”

  Nate glanced her way, the right side of his mouth tipping up. “That sounds intriguing.”

  After retying the yellow scarf around her neck, Whitney sighed. “You’re always at the Historical Foundation, so I asked Rita how long you’ve worked there, but she said you’re a volunteer and that you have a fulltime job on top of the work you do there.”

  “Okay. What’s the question?” He straightened in his seat, grabbing the steering wheel at ten and two.

  “What would possess a young, attractive man to spend every night of the week and Saturday afternoons volunteering his time at a place like that?”

  Eyes forward, he shifted. “Rita’s a good friend of my family’s. I know her from the church I used to attend. Besides, I like helping out.”

  “I’d believe that if you gave time once or twice a week, but not all the time. Well, unless you’re a history teacher or something.”

  “Naw, I work as the office gopher for a gardening magazine.” He shrugged. “It pays the bills, but it’s not my dream job, in case you were wondering.” He pulled into her apartment building’s parking lot and chose the spot open nearest to the doors.

  Whitney unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him. “What is?”

  Looking out the front window, he scratched his head. “I used to work at this youth counseling center. I loved it.”

  Shifting, Whiney pulled her legs to sit crossed-legged in the seat. “Then why don’t you work there anymore?”

  He looped his arms over the wheel. “So, you think I’m attractive?”

  “Only in a so-not-my-type kinda way.” Reaching for her backpack she had to lean close to him. A mixture of fabric softener with a citrus undertone rushed over her senses.

  “Ouch.” Nate crossed his arms and hunkered into his green, army style coat. “What’s you’re type then?”

  “For starters, I’m not a fan of male piercings.” She yanked the straps on her shoulders and sat hunched forward like an overprotected turtle.

  A satisfied smirk crossed his expression. “Do you know the original use for piercings?”

  Whitney shook her head.

  “It worked the same way as cattle branding, really. It marked what slaves belonged to which master.” He touched the barbell on his eyebrow.

  “You mean they…?”

  “Yeah, they forced their slaves to be pierced in different places. Isn’t it odd that we consider it fashion now?”

  She reached for the door handle, then pulled her hand back. “If you’re against it then why do you have one? You’re not a slave.”

  “I got it in college when I became a Christian. It’s my reminder that I’ve chosen to be a slave to Christ. That I work for Him and promote His Kingdom with my life no matter what the cost, because He owns my life.”

  “Okay, I can’t fault you anymore. That’s the coolest—”

  Someone rapped on the window, and Whitney screamed. She latched onto Nate’s hand and squeezed. Shaken, she turned and let out a deep breath. “It’s Owen. I have to go. Thanks for the ride.”

  Ducking out of the car, she gave Nate a wave.

  “Who is that?” Owen bent to catch a glimpse of Nate as he backed out of the parking lot.

  Whitney faced Owen, and her breath caught. Beams from the streetlamp glimmered off his black dress shoes. The dark-wash jeans, untucked button-down, and dark sports coat he wore gave off a man-about-town vibe as he caught her elbows. The strength in his hands reminded her of his recent past spent in the baseball minor leagues.

  “A guy from the historical place who’s been helping me research. It got late so he drove me home.”

  “I’ve missed you.” His head dipped for a quick kiss. Mesmerizing blue eyes raked over her face.

  She leaned away. “I haven’t heard a word from you all week. Didn’t you supposedly break up with me?”

  Owen tugged her against his chest. She buried her nose into his neck, breathing in his Acqua Di Gio cologne, the spicy Mediterranean notes familiar after a year of dating. His arms entwined at the small of her back, under the book bag. Prickles from his well-trimmed bread itched her forehead.

  Her hands rose and fell under his deep breath.

  “I said on hold.” S
till embracing her he allowed some space between them. “The office hasn’t stopped being bombarded with calls about your great-great-grandfather. Mom doesn’t think it’s wise for you to show your face yet.”

  “Is that what you want?” Whitney’s hands dropped to her side.

  “What I want doesn’t matter. I’m not going against my mother on this. She’s a fierce campaign manager and I’m not about to cross the only family I’ve got left.”

  It wasn’t worth pushing when it came to his mother. She’d learned that on only their second date.

  “You’re right.” She grabbed the straps of her bag.

  “Hey.” He pulled her into a quick bear hug again. “I want you around. This is hard on me, too.”

  Whitney shrugged out of his hold. “Well, I’m going to head up to my place then.”

  Owen glanced back at her apartment. “I can’t stand that you live in this rundown building.”

  “Well, it’s what I can afford.” She scuffed her shoe against the pavement.

  He looped his hands in his jean pockets and headed toward his car. When she reached the front doors to the complex, he called out, “someday we’ll change that.”

  ***

  After pawing through the twelfth box of the day and coming up void, Whitney pulled herself off the cement floor of the archive area and stretched.

  Nate lifted the box back onto the shelving unit, making sure the label faced the correct way. “So? Owen Taylor.” He whistled.

  She dusted off her hands by clapping them together. “It was so dark out last night, how’d you recognize him?”

  “I followed his minor league career with the Kane County Cougars. The man’s throwing arm is killer. He’s hard to miss.”

  “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the watch-baseball type.”

  Nate shrugged. “Besides the guy’s been on the cover of every Chicago magazine in the past three months. He’ll most likely be the next mayor, going down in the history books as the youngest to take the position. I don’t even know how it’s legal for him to run.”

  Whitney snapped up. “Legal? What are you implying?”