Nate tossed his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Don’t send for the firing squad. I just meant that I don’t know the laws but he seems a bit young for the position. Aren’t most mayors in their fifties?”
“Owen’s legit.” She yanked down the next box with a thud.
Nate grimaced. “Just because he’s famous—”
Whitney stopped thumbing through the box. “Famous has nothing to do with it. In the City of Chicago the rules are you have to be eighteen years old, a registered voter, a resident of the City, without any unpaid debt in Chicago, and you can’t have a felony conviction. Besides that, once a candidate gets the 12,500 signatures, they just file with the Board of Election Commissioners and they’re on the ballot.”
“It’s that simple, huh?” He braced his hand on the metal shelf.
“Yes. Even you could run.”
“No, I couldn’t” Turning back to the archives he hunkered down beside her.
“What did you say?”
He pulled out a stack of papers. “I couldn’t run.”
She poked him in the arm. “Let me guess, you haven’t registered to vote?”
“No, but I’m afraid there’s an unpaid parking ticket or two lost in the recesses of my glove box.” Nate replaced the papers and stood.
“You could just pay them then run.”
“And give Owen a tight race? Naw.” Turning his back to her he scanned the boxes remaining in the row they were working in. He cleared his throat. “But he’s still older, isn’t he? I mean, older than you?”
“He’s thirty-four, only seven years older than me.”
“And he’s your boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
“I work as a reporter for Life in Chicago, I interviewed him for a column called Friendly Faces. We talked an hour longer than scheduled. The article ran and his numbers skyrocketed. He called the office and asked me out, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.” She pulled down the next box. “Actually, I wasn’t honest with you when you asked why I’m so interested in finding out about Lewis. Owen’s my real reason. He dumped me when the story ran and we can only get back together if I find information that exonerates my great-great-grandfather.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Whitney yanked the cover off the paper box and thumbed through the files. “It’s life. People don’t want to date people with baggage. I have to do this to win him back.”
“But everyone’s got baggage.”
“Not Owen.”
“Except for the fact that his father was murdered when he served the city as mayor and Owen’s most likely trying to fill his place. Let’s face it besides his status, money, the whole pro-athlete appeal, and good looks—I don’t judge that kind of thing mind you, but Chicago Bachelor named him their number one guy this year so there’s that—what makes him so special?”
“He’s stable. A life with him would be secure.”
“Funny. I expected you to say he’s your true love or something along those lines.”
“Please. True love? That doesn’t exist.”
“It exists. Believe me. I saw it with my parents.”
She fanned out black and white photos of a nameless family. There were five kids in the picture. What would it have been like to have siblings or a father who stayed around after she was born for that matter? Her only family had been her scatterbrained, childlike, date-a-holic mother. “Owen’s a decent guy on a good track and he, for some reason, wants to be with me.”
She’d never understand why Owen wanted her, but she wasn’t about to let go of a stable future. Not when the power was in her hands to keep it.
Nate ceased combing through a box to make eye contact. “Stable, decent, secure. Sounds boring.”
“I’d rather have bland and predictable than the opposite.”
“But that’s not love. Love’s daring and dangerous—you decide to take a chance on another imperfect person. Why would you settle for something else?”
Whitney crossed her arms. She didn’t have to answer him, but Nate’s gaze looked sincere. He was interested, not judging.
“I want someone I can count on to always be there. You know, I’ve never found out who my father is. My mom is one of those spontaneous people you think is so fun. Well, she spontaneously moved from man to man my entire life. I stopped keeping track of their names when I turned nine years old because I knew they wouldn’t be around long enough to get attached to. I once asked her who my dad was and she went and got this old photograph of this man in a sailor’s outfit, the little white cap and everything. She told me that was my dad. I used that picture as a bookmark for years. ”
Whitney leaned and jammed the lid back onto the box. “She found that picture one day and laughed at me. Said she gave me that photo of a random guy to shut me up when I was bothering her. She has no clue who my dad was.”
Nate crouched down to be on eye level. “You don’t have to tell me this stuff if you don’t want to.”
But she was so far into the story already, she might as well finish. “I told my mom I hated her and I took off running. I hauled it to this wooded area at the end of our block. I hid there all day and my mom never came looking for me. I wasn’t worth the effort for her to find me. I promised myself then and there that I’d live a different life then her. I’d have a stable job and marriage one day. I’d surround myself with people who would come looking for me if I went missing.”
Nate cupped the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry, Whitney, I shouldn’t have badgered you. For what it’s worth, if you went missing I’d stop everything to find you. I’ll help if you ever need me. Sorry about your mom.”
“She’s just a piece of work, you know? My whole life, she’s been forgetting to pay our bills or spending the money on something she wanted instead. We were evicted every six months or so. I got used to losing most of my belongings each time.”
“I’m so sorry you went through that. I guess the Owen-thing makes sense.”
Whitney dabbed at her eyes with her shirtsleeves. “Enough talking. Can we try to find more Lewis Ingram stuff?”
CHAPTER SIX
Chicago, April 28, 1886
James snaked his arm out of Hattie Prisimon’s reach. Poor girl. The dance last night at Cobb’s bash, forced on him by Mrs. Danby, had become an obvious invitation for Hattie’s attention.
“Miss Prisimon, really, I do not care about your mother’s pin collection. There is an urgent matter I must attend to.”
Her face sagged and the word monster bounced around his head as he walked away. Why hadn’t Ellen emerged from the shadows yet? He’d told her he’d leave her be. Even promised himself he’d honor her wish and wait for her to reappear. But in truth, like waves to a shore, James wasn’t capable of ignoring the pull he felt when he knew she was nearby.
A press of people huddled together near a waiter offering coffee service to ward off the crisp air. Couples strolled, arms linked, on the front deck and pointed at the church steeples, docks, and factories that lined the shore.
Many of the party goers had retreated inside to the seating area full of chairs and curtains dripping red velvet where they sampled the buffet. Not wanting Mrs. Danby to find him alone and ask another favor, James avoided the intricately carved doors.
Invent a reason. He needed to go to where Ellen waited alone because….
The stars looked better from that side of the ship? No, the little, master game player would call bluff on that excuse right away.
He wished to examine the anchor? James ran his hand over the knots in his neck. Even he couldn’t feign nautical delight over a large piece of metal.
He longed to be beside her and couldn’t stand the thought of her alone and sad when he could do something about it? Pacing the length of the front deck, he shook his head and muttered. He could never tell her that.
His handkerchief! Of course, he needed it back. The cold air wreaked havoc
on his nose and all. Asking would show poor manners. Ellen would most likely toss it out into the lake and laugh as he gasped. She’d mock his stern expression and tell him to have a bit of fun.
He liked that about her.
“James?” A feminine voice cooed his name.
Pivoting, he almost bumped into Prissy Conti. Great.
He inclined his head. “Oh, hello there.”
She twirled a lock of her hair. “I’m glad to find you alone. I need to speak with you.”
“What do you wish to talk about?” He tried to muster his attention, but glanced over his shoulder to the side of the ship blanketed in darkness.
“I don’t want social gatherings to be awkward. If we both stay in Chicago, we’ll end up in the same circles … see each other almost daily.”
“We are fine. Besides, I’ve no intention of staying in Chicago long. I’m back to Wheaton to the bank as soon as my parents return.” He pressed his hands together, then squinted. A dark figure moved among some barrels to the right. A waylaid couple?
Prissy placed her hand on his forearm and looked into his face, a pout on her lips, her dark gypsy eyes hooded in lashes. “I don’t know how to act around you. I thought.” She turned her head and took a breath. “I thought we’d be wed by now.”
“Wed?” James’s head reeled. “We went out for ice cream—twice—during my time at university. Nothing more than that. My stars, marriage! We never even became acquainted beyond ‘how do you do.’”
Women were simply beyond understanding.
She staggered back, and her eyes narrowed. “Nothing? Our time together meant nothing?”
James massaged his temples. “I didn’t mean it in that manner. You’re a nice girl, truly. If I had realized you thought I … I—” What? Would have ditched her sooner? That wouldn’t go over well.
“You wouldn’t have changed a thing.” She lifted her chin, nostrils flaring. “I see it now. I spent the last year crying over you, and you thought nothing of me.” She fled, her scarlet dress swishing into the grand room.
With a growl, James kicked at the ship’s metal side bars, then shook his head. Prissy would get over her disappointment. A flap of her eyes at one of the bluebloods in the room and she’d forget about him.
James squared his shoulders as he scanned the side for Ellen.
There. Outlined by moonlight, seven or eight yards away, she turned, and another person appeared beside her. James squinted, but he couldn’t distinguish anything other than a dark cape. Carter Hurst? James’s gut clenched along with his fists.
Ellen shrank back a little bit. Then in a flash, the cloaked person grabbed her and shoved her over the side of the boat. James sprang forward. A tremor raced down his spin. Words caught in his throat.
The perpetrator faded into the darkness. James raced to the railing. His muscles burned to pursue the offender. But Ellen wouldn’t last in the water and the boat was quickly leaving her behind. His heart pounded in his ears. The freeze of the lake, combined with the fact that she couldn’t swim, propelled him to action.
“Help! Someone help!” He wrenched off his shoes and tore off his coat.
Six people came running.
He grabbed the first one with more force than necessary. “A woman fell overboard. Stop this ship and send a rescue team out after me.”
“After ya, sir?” A bearded sailor stepped forward.
“Yes.” James grabbed a life preserver off the wall and tossed the cotton-coated vest into the water. He dove off the boat.
A million tiny blades of ice water stabbed him. Breaths came short as his lungs closed up. His head went under as he paddled. Limbs feeling like they were full of sand, he surged forward and captured the flotation device. James heaved himself enough out of the water to scan for her.
“Ellen!” His voice sounded frantic, frayed with emotion. He squinted. The light from the boat hardly penetrated the water.
Where could she be? Less than a minute had passed since she went over.
God, don’t take her. Help me find her. Both their father and her younger sister already. Hasn’t this family been through enough without losing Ellen, too?
His coach at Northwestern had forced them all to learn the breaststroke. Told them it could save a life if one of them fell off the yacht in a race. The undercurrent in the lake could be deadly.
A splash.
The surface broke. James paddled like a man possessed. Ahead, Ellen dipped under the surface. He dove after her, groping in the murky, night-draped water.
Nothing.
He rose to gulp in a breath. The slap of the oars of a rowboat from the S.S. Gondola threw off his senses. James dove again. His legs started to go numb, but he kicked with fury. He reached out with blind tenacity. His hand touched something feathery. Lungs screaming, he plunged a few feet deeper and wrapped an arm around Ellen’s slender waist.
With a strength born of fear, he hauled her toward the top of the water, his muscles burning. They shattered the surface.
In a jolt, Ellen’s arms flailed, her nails biting into his biceps and back as she fought to climb over him out of the water. Her frantic struggling shoved him under the waves before he could grab any air. Waterlogged pants and shirt dragged him downward. Her legs hacked the water as she tried to stay above, her heels finding purchase on his back.
James moved out of the way and broke the water again. Feet scissoring, he lunged for Ellen as she sank again. One arm snaked around her torso to immobilize her, the other sculled in the direction of the steamer. “Settle down, half-pint, I can’t save you if you won’t let me.”
She went limp in his embrace. Panting, he lugged her onto the life preserver and kicked. He tried to stay warm by paddling until the row boat came up beside them. Her skin looked almost translucent and her lips were tinged with blue. Her head sagged. His heart ached. Her hand dangled into the water. James picked it up and placed it on top of her, but that made her look like a corpse. His stomach rolled as he tried to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Please tell me you’re still breathing.” He smoothed the sodden bangs from her face.
The rowboat neared. A thick-armed man pulled Ellen onto the boat. Another sailor reached a hand out to James. The small vessel rocked like spooked horse when James collapsed on the bench in back.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming for us.” The spring air nipped at his drenched skin. A shiver rippled up his spine.
The thick-armed boatman grunted and tossed James a well-worn blanket. Caring less about society’s standards at that moment than ever before, James pulled Ellen onto his lap. He secured the blanket about her shoulders, and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin.
After all, he needed to keep her warm.
When they came beside the steamer, James willingly climbed on the seat lift, a device usually saved for women. He doubted Ellen retained the strength to hold on, so he wrapped an arm around her and they rode the seat up together. Once on deck, he lifted her into his arms again. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and his legs shook with each step.
Mrs. Danby shriek broke through the crowd. “What have you done to her? Mr. Kent, is she alive?”
People swarmed the deck, mouths open, enjoying the spectacle.
James looked at a crew member. “Point me toward a cabin.” He wheezed. Mrs. Danby flapped her hands between broken sobs as he stepped around her.
Carter Hurst jogged forward. “Brilliant swimming, Kent. I can take her from you.”
James’s arms tightened around his precious cargo. Ellen’s head rested on his shoulder, her even breaths coming out gentle against his jaw.
He shoved past Hurst. “You won’t lay a hand on her until I’m dead and buried. Hear me, Carter? Stay away from her.”
***
“Oh dear. What are we to do? What will I tell my sister if her child dies in my care? You must wake up, Ellen. Right now.” Aunt Louisa’s shrill demands pounded in Ellen’s head, waking her
from her stupor.
“There, see. Her eyes are fluttering.” Uncle Garrett’s voice boomed, causing Ellen to snap her eyes shut again. Recent memory overtook her—James hauling her out of the water, carrying her onboard and not allowing another man to unload his burden even though he wheezed from the rescue.
I can’t save you if you won’t let me.
Aunt Louisa harrumphed. “No more pretending. We saw you are awake so pay attention.”
Ellen obeyed. Blurry at first, the room sharpened into focus. She reclined on a sofa beneath a mound of sordid-smelling blankets. A physician held her wrist. Aunt and Uncle crowded over the man’s shoulder. James stood behind her, knuckles turning white as he grabbed the back of the couch. A frown pulled the small scar on his face. His dress shirt stuck to his body, outlining his form as water dripped down his sides. The moisture brought out the spicy scent of his aftershave.
He had jumped in to save her.
Something caught in her throat and she blinked a couple times.
The doctor wrenched her onto her side and she coughed up a great deal of water. Who knew water could burn in the throat like that? Then, from the tips of her soaked stocking feet to her pruned fingers, she started to shake.
“What’s happening? What’s the matter with her?” Wide eyed and face pale, James came around the sofa and knelt beside the doctor.
The physician motioned a member of the serving staff forward, and took a cup of tea from the man. “What you see is an effect of extreme chill to the system. She may experience shivers, lethargy, confusion, even clumsiness. The only cure is warmth and rest. We’ll start with this.” The doctor leaned forward to offer Ellen the mug.
James reached for the tea. “No, she’s not strong enough yet. I’ve got it.” He leaned beside her. “I’ll help you sit up a bit so you can sip this.” James wound his arm around her shoulders and lifted her against a pillow.
She grabbed his arm when he went to move away. “You’re dr-rr-renched too. Take so-some of th-these blank-kets.”
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”
Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) Page 7
