Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1)

by Jessica Keller

  A peek out her window promised a late October storm, so she pulled a cream-colored wrap over her bare shoulders. Thankfully, her curls were behaving themselves. She stepped into strappy silver heels.

  The digital sound of a phone pinged around the room. Whitney snatched Nate’s phone off the kitchen table. She glanced at the caller ID: Beth. He’d forgotten it when he left last night.

  Maybe she’d swing by the Historical Foundation on the way home and return it to him. She slipped his cell into her purse. Although, by the time Owen’s shindig at the Palmer House Hotel ended and she drove back to this side of town, the Foundation would be closed.

  On her way to the event Nate’s phone rang twice more. Who was Beth? And why did she want to get hold of him so badly? Whitney made her mind play through the possibilities. Perhaps Beth was his stepmother and something horrible had happened to his sisters. In that case, Whitney should answer the phone.

  But if Beth turned out to be the ex-girlfriend who had dumped him during his hard time, picking up the call wouldn’t go over so well.

  Or it could be a girl interested in him now.

  Whitney gripped the steering wheel harder.

  He told Gran he didn’t have a girlfriend. So that couldn’t be the case. And he wouldn’t come take care of Whitney when she was sick if he was seeing someone, would he?

  Right, because she wasn’t driving half-way across town to see her on hold boyfriend.

  She valeted Marta’s Honda Pilot, then entered through the front doors of the Palmer House Hotel. Her breath caught.

  Living in Chicago her whole life, she’d never once stepped inside this building. Yesterday when she discovered Ellen had come here, Whitney decided she wanted to see the establishment, too. Sure, the whole place had been through a remodel since Ellen’s time, but the wonder of walking in the same building her ancestor had more than a hundred years ago gave her goosebumps. Owen’s choice of venue couldn’t have been timelier.

  After fishing her phone from her small purse, she scrolled through the saved texts to find the one with Owen’s instructions. He said the party would be held in the Honore Ballroom.

  She followed the signs, which led her to the second floor and through the grand lobby. The paintings on the vaulted ceiling could have been done by Leonardo Di Vinci himself. If someone told her she had walked straight into a gold mine full of nuggets shining across every inch, it wouldn’t have come as a shock.

  Leaving the lobby, she made her way down the hallway toward the Honore Ballroom. Framed photographs of old time performers graced the walls and reminded her again of the days gone by this building had witnessed. She imagined luxurious parties with gloved ladies and bowing men.

  When she found the location, there appeared to be more than a hundred people gathered. Whitney strode to the area where drinks were being served and helped herself to a Jasmine pearl tea. She glanced at the giant chandeliers. The lobby had dripped luxury, but this room looked like any at a number of venues people would rent for a wedding reception. Nondescript.

  Owen’s mother marched toward her in a red power suit. “Well look at that. You actually showed up on time.”

  Whitney tried to smile at the woman. “I take it the fundraiser that the Shedd went well after I left?”

  “Oh yes. Owen raised quite a bit. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you, but then the two of you don’t really talk anymore. Now do you?” Mrs. Taylor shook her head.

  Whitney sipped her tea to avoid making eye contact.

  “Tell me, have you found a way for us to gloss over your terrible past in case he’s asked a question in an interview?”

  Whitney sighed. “I’m still looking.” She scanned the crowd, trying to will Owen to find her like James had found Ellen in her time of need.

  His mother mumbled something, but Whitney couldn’t understand her.

  A group of people parted and she saw Owen. Even dressed in a suit he oozed an easy approachability. One would think he still wore his minor league baseball uniform underneath the finery. When he turned to join another conversation, Whitney noticed a girl on his arm.

  She squinted. Make that a very beautiful girl on his arm.

  “Who’s that with Owen?”

  “You mean Vera? She’s his intern at the office, and such a sweet girl. She’s majoring in political science at Elmhurst College.”

  Whitney ditched her cup on a nearby table. “She’s still in college?”

  “She comes from a very prestigious family. Her parents own a hockey team in Canada, named after some woodland animal.” Mrs. Taylor straightened her suit coat. “I see one of the aldermen’s I needed to speak to is free, please excuse me.”

  When his mother left, Whitney contemplated going to Owen’s side. But she’d never mastered the art of breaking into established conversations. Whitney bit her lip. Vera may be pretty, but Owen wasn’t the cheating type.

  That wasn’t her worry. It bothered her more that Vera fit beside Owen so well. She was keeping up a conversation with the people around her while Owen talked to others. Vera pulled more people into the conversation and made introductions to Owen. Whitney was never able to function at these events as effortlessly as Vera was.

  Picking a table, Whitney took a seat to observe from. She watched Owen as he worked the room with Vera at his side. He seemed so natural, making people laugh, and offering handshakes to the men. Even at such a young age, Owen would make an excellent mayor.

  He joined a gaggle of women who all fawned over him. Again, without a smidge of jealousy, Whitney looked on. She scanned the room. Each woman’s hair looked professionally done. Their dresses must have cost hundreds. Whitney tugged on her dress. Hopefully it didn’t scream department store discount.

  They all seemed so confident. People piled shrimp and caviar onto their appetizer plates.

  She hated shrimp and caviar. Whatever happened to biscuits and butter? What she wouldn’t give for a waffle.

  Then a thought hit her straight in the heart: she didn’t belong here. Never had.

  Owen might care for her, and she wished the best for him, but this wasn’t the life she wanted. She couldn’t mingle with strangers night after night. And she didn’t want to.

  A life with the stability Owen offered wouldn’t be worth giving up love. And for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to settle for a man who didn’t love her. Owen didn’t. In her heart she’d known that all along.

  Whitney gathered her purse and tucked her wrap around her shoulders, and then she walked out of the room. She made it fifteen paces down the hallway before Owen caught up to her.

  He called her name and she stopped, but didn’t face him.

  Owen reached for her hand. “Where are you off to?”

  She crossed her arms, tucking both her hands away. “I’m going home.”

  “You’re still not feeling well?” His brows furrowed. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “I just—I think it’s over between us.”

  Some of his supporters walked past, he plastered his politician smile on for them. Then he pressed his hand to the small of her back and ushered her into the nearby stairwell.

  “Don’t be upset, babe. I swear I was making my way over to you. I saw you at the table, but there were a few more people I needed to talk to and—”

  “But that’s just it.” She lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “There will always be one more person to talk to, one more meeting to attend, one more event to plan, one more speaking engagement.”

  “I thought you understood what I wanted.” Owen grabbed the stair railing and his knuckle went white.

  “I do,” she whispered. “Don’t you see? What you want isn’t me—not really—and I don’t want to settle for that.”

  “So, are you saying you want me to quit? Because I can’t go in there and tell all those people I’m dropping out.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Haven’t you seen the numbers?” Owen came down a step closer to her. “There�
��s a good chance I’ll win.”

  She touched the top of his hand. “If you drop out I can’t vote for you.” She smiled. “I want you to win too. This has nothing to do with the election. I’m not the girl for you, Owen.”

  He grabbed her elbows, pulling her back to the landing. “But shouldn’t I be the one to decide that? Listen Whitney, I know our relationship has been through the wringer lately. With that story about your family and with how busy I’ve been, I know that’s been rough. I promise you, the second the election is over we can spend all the time together that you want.” In the year she’d known him, the only times she’d seen him this passionate was during a speech or when he talked baseball.

  But Whitney shrugged out of his touch. “It won’t be any different. Other responsibilities will take over.”

  His face hardened. “This has to do with that Nate kid, doesn’t it?”

  She shook her head. “This has to do with me figuring out who I am. We had no right dating, Owen. I mean, look at us. We’re like a fish and a bird trying to be friends. It just doesn’t work. This should have been over a long time ago.”

  He opened his mouth to say something.

  The access door swung open revealing his very red-faced mother. “What are you doing hiding in the stairwell? They’re ready to serve dinner and everyone’s waiting for you to take your seat.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” Owen held up his hands.

  Mrs. Taylor snapped her fingers. “You’ll come now. There are a hundred people in that room who need you. So whatever it is Whitney needs will have to save until tomorrow.”

  Whitney started down the stairs. “Don’t worry about it. He’s all yours.”

  On the drive home Whitney fought back tears, but when she closed the door to her apartment she went straight to her orange thrift-store chair and had a good cry. She was right to end things with Owen. There was no love between them. She’d used him for stability and for a chance to have a better life. Officially ending their relationship was for the best—it made her less like Lewis and more like Ellen. And now like Ellen, she needed to figure out what to do with her life—what her new game plan would be.

  Fifteen minutes later, someone knocked on her door.

  Whitney sprang to her feet and palmed the wetness from her face. It couldn’t be Owen—no, he wouldn’t leave an event to come fight for her. That wasn’t how he worked, right?

  She pulled open the door and Nate’s comfortable smile made all her anxieties disappear.

  “Wow.” He let loose a low whistle. “You’re stunning.”

  Waving him in, she rolled her eyes. She hadn’t changed from her gala outfit yet.

  “Seriously, you’re always pretty. Just right now, you’re off the charts.”

  She had to laugh at him. “Did you need something?”

  He hooked his hands in his pockets. “My phone? I think I forgot it here.” Nate glanced at her kitchen table.

  “You did.” She dug the cell out of her purse. “Any someone kept trying to reach you today. I didn’t answer it, but I saw the name Beth.”

  “Gotcha. Good to know.” Nate stepped closer to take the phone from her hand, but then he stopped. He frowned as he scrutinized her face. “You’ve been crying.”

  “I broke up with Owen.” Whitney rubbed her sniffling nose.

  Nate pursed his lips.

  So Whitney shrugged. “I know I shouldn’t be crying. I’m the one who dumped him. I don’t know why I’m being emotional.” She grabbed a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. “But hey, you have your phone, so you’re good to go.”

  “I have no clue what you ever saw in Owen.” He slipped his phone into his pocket.

  She blew out a long stream of air. “I just couldn’t believe someone like him could have wanted me. I know that sounds stupid.”

  “You know what the real shame has been all along?” Nate stepped close and framed her face with his hands. Whitney leaned into his touch.

  He brushed his thumbs back and forth along her jaw. “I can’t believe someone as amazing as you would put up with a guy like that for so long.”

  Searching his face, Whitney whispered his name.

  More tears clouded her eyes as Nate leaned and pressed his lips to hers. He brought his arm around her back slowly, and cradled her head with a tender reverence. Warmth spread through her body and a tingle raced from her head clear to her toes. The kiss started gently and she thought it would be a quick peck. Then his hold on her tightened and he leaned her back—old-black-and-white-movie-style—and kissed her good and hard.

  Afraid she might fall, she latched onto his biceps.

  When he rocked her back to her feet, they parted. With Nate’s arms still around her, they both panted like they’d just finished running a marathon.

  She wanted to throw back her head and laugh. No kiss in her life had ever felt like that—safe yet exciting. She wanted to kiss him again and again.

  But Nate crushed her to his chest and wrapped her in a bear hug. Whitney hugged him back just as tightly.

  Nate rested the side of his face against the top of her head. “I’ve loved you since the first day you walked into the archive area.”

  Love?

  She couldn’t offer a response, because something dark darted into her mind. Could she trust Nate? Or would he just let her down like everyone else?

  ***

  Whitney popped her sunglasses on and then backed out of the parking spot. She peeked in the rearview mirror and laughed. The goofy grin wouldn’t be leaving her face for some time.

  Last night, after a few more kisses that were sweeter than chocolate, Nate told her about an exhibit he’d heard about at the Chicago Cultural Center. Based on the dates of the letters they’d found, he believed Ellen and James would have been involved in the Haymarket Riot. Even if James and Ellen weren’t present, the riot would have affected them.

  Unable to sleep, she emailed her magazine article to her boss at one in the morning. Later, at a more reasonable hour, she stopped by the office and finished her edits before taking the rest of the day off.

  After leaving the SUV in the Millennium Park parking garage, she made her way to the main street. Chicago wind nipped at her face when Whitney jogged across Michigan Avenue toward the Chicago Cultural Center.

  Once inside, she veered to the exhibit hall, but not before sneaking upstairs to snap a photo of the world’s largest Tiffany glass dome. With all the quotes tiled into the walls about books and reading, Whitney loved this building.

  The exhibit was small but informative. Whitney took her time, absorbing paintings of people rioting on the streets of Chicago. Had Ellen died in the riot? Had James?

  Maybe she didn’t want to know.

  The information on the walls said that the strikers met at Haymarket Square to discuss the police actions at the McCormick strike—where Whitney knew Ellen had been.

  A little shaken, Whitney left the Cultural Center and found her friend’s Honda in the parking garage. She gunned the engine, and then decided to swing by the Historical Foundation on a whim. Nate wouldn’t be expecting her tonight, but he’d want to see her.

  He’d said he loved her, after all.

  Wearing a giant smile, Whitney climbed the flights of stairs to the fourth floor archive area. She breezed through the main doors and spotted Nate instantly.

  He stood speaking to a plump woman wearing an ill-fitting suit coat and jeans. She had a clipboard grasped in her hands.

  Whitney approached and caught Nate’s eyes. Instead of his usual smile, his face fell. Nate scrubbed his hand over his face before taking a long, deep breath.

  He didn’t seem happy to see her at all. “Hey, I didn’t expect you to come by today.”

  Whitney froze. She clutched the strap of her messenger bag.

  Nate reached for her hand. Sadness gathered in the set of his jaw. “Whitney, I’d like you to meet Beth.”

  Beth turned and offered a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you
. Nate talks about you all the time.” The woman looked to be in her forties, but it might have been her haircut.

  Why would this woman phone Nate constantly?

  Whitney glanced at him. “How do you two know each other?”

  Nate ran his free hand through his sheepdog hair. “Beth’s my probation officer. She’s here to check up on me.”

  Whitney shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right.”

  His shoulders sagged. “You did.”

  She dropped his hand. “Your probation officer? What does that mean?” Her voice quivered as she took a step back.

  Rita rustled papers at the main desk and cleared her throat. Whitney knew she was being too loud, but suddenly it felt like she wasn’t living in her own body. She felt as if she was watching a slow motion movie. People researching at nearby tables stopped what they were doing to gawk.

  “It means what you think it means. I’m a felon,” Nate whispered.

  All those missed phone calls. His time spent volunteering. And hadn’t he told her that he lost his dream job?

  She’d fallen for a felon. That made her no better than her mother.

  Whitney spun on her heels. She tore out of the archive area and took the stairs two at a time.

  Nate pounded—equally fast—behind her. “Whitney.”

  She broke into a run and dashed out of the building toward the parking lot.

  Nate caught up to her, panting as he grabbed her elbow. “Stop! Whitney. Stop and listen for a minute.”

  She slapped his hand away. Her arms shook. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You lied … this whole time. You sat there pretending to care, but it was all a lie.” Even if he cared, it didn’t matter. She had attracted a guy no better than the men who had filtered through her mom’s life.

  “What I feel about you—that’s not a lie. I’m in love with you.” He reached for her, but she slammed her palms into his chest and gave him a firm shove.

  Hot, angry tears blasted down her cheeks. “So that’s why you’re at the Foundation all the time. You’re making your community service hours. Here I thought you were this nice guy helping Rita because she’s an old lady from your church. You let me believe you were a good person.”