by Jenn Bennett
“Don’t laugh,” she said. “You’d be surprised what the Mori can do with two chairs and a glass window.”
“I’m more concerned about the frying pan and the knives in the drawer.”
“You’d be wise to confine any arguments with me to the bedroom.”
“More than happy to test that later,” he teased, directing her into a chair.
As they dined on their impromptu meal, she fed scraps to Number Four under the table while asking Lowe about his family. He told her how his parents emigrated from Sweden and founded a small fishing company that grew into something successful. How his father decided to risk everything when he traded half his fishing fleet for rumrunners after Volstead. But when she asked him about his childhood, and then about Adam Goldberg and his daughter, something in his posture changed.
“I don’t mean to pry,” she said, sopping up orange egg yolk with a corner of toast.
He didn’t reply for several seconds. “I think I need to tell you something. Well, I don’t need to, but I want to.”
When he didn’t continue, she prompted, “Something about Adam?”
“More about Stella, actually.” He tapped the tines of his fork against the plate. “There’s a small chance she might be mine.”
Shock halted her next breath as his words sunk in. “Your . . . child?”
He sighed heavily. “Adam and I were in the same class in elementary school. Miriam was a grade younger. We were all friends, but as we hit our teens, things changed. My father was making more money, so we moved into a nicer house, different neighborhood. I made new friends. And Miriam and Adam began dating. After graduation, I went to college. They stayed and got married.”
He pushed his plate away. “Within a year or so, everything was different. Bootlegging made my family wealthy almost overnight. Adam resented that, I think. He threw himself into his work and he and Miriam went through a bad patch. The two of us exchanged letters while I was studying at Berkeley, and during a holiday weekend at home . . .”
Hadley blinked at her plate, unable to look at him.
“It was only the one time—never happened again,” he said. “But it was absolutely the stupidest thing I’d ever done.”
“Did you love her?”
“Not in a romantic way. I don’t know if I was trying to hold on to a life I didn’t have anymore, or if I was jealous of them. They were adults. Working, married. Paying rent. I was still a boy, getting drunk at college and playing stupid pranks, not knowing who I was or what I wanted to do with my life. And then Miriam began reaching out to me.”
“And you didn’t push her away.”
“Adam was my best friend, and I . . .” He shook his head. “The guilt ate me up. I nearly quit school. And then Miriam announced she was pregnant. And, well, give or take a couple of weeks, either one of us could’ve been the father. She begged me not to say anything, and I tried to keep my mouth shut. Usually I’m pretty good at lying.” He forced a stilted laugh.
“But you told him.”
“I’d want to know if it were me. And he wasn’t happy, of course. Half my size, but the man’s got a wicked hook,” he said, pointing to his nose. “He told me plainly that no matter if the child was blue-eyed and blond, it was his, not mine. They worked out their problems, and eventually he forgave me, too. I didn’t deserve it, but there you go.”
“And Stella . . .”
“Looks like Miriam, through and through. Even the curls could be Miriam’s.” He gave her a brief, tight smile. “And Stella’s only four. They say you can better see resemblances when they’re a little older.”
“There’s the new test—it matches blood types.”
“And that test is what? Not even fifty percent accurate?” He shrugged. “Adam wouldn’t want to know, so I have to respect that. And I’m not sure knowing would change anything. I’ve tried to offer financial help over the years—for doctors and special schools, you know? But he won’t take handouts.”
She lifted her head to study his face. “That’s why he looks after things for you, isn’t it?”
“It’s the only way I can get him to accept any money. He’s stubborn. And that’s his prerogative.” He gave her a sad smile. “In the end, it doesn’t matter. They are still my family, whether she’s got my blood or Adam’s. I feel lucky to be in both their lives, and that’s enough.”
Hadley didn’t know what to say. Her feelings ran the gamut from jealousy and distress to pity and respect. And something more, she realized. Not only had he torn down the barrier she’d constructed around herself, he was dismantling bricks from his own wall—an invisible bulwark she hadn’t even known existed. He was right when he said he didn’t need to tell her any of this. If he hadn’t, she may never have been the wiser.
But now she did know. And what he’d revealed didn’t matter. She only cared that he’d wanted to share it with her. And her heart swelled with this new awareness.
“Do you think less of me now?” he asked softly. “Do you want me to go?”
She swirled tea leaves in the last bit of golden liquid at the bottom of her cup. “Awfully inconsiderate for you to leave now. Who would wash the dishes?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his shoulders relax as he blew out a long breath. A few moments later, his hand slid across the table to coax her fingers into his. “What would you say to a nice hot bath?” he asked in a hopeful voice. “I saw your tub earlier. Looks big enough for both of us.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“But it will be fun to try, ja?”
“Ja,” she repeated as a quiet joy warmed her chest. “I think it really might.”
TWENTY-FIVE
LOWE WOULD’VE BEEN HAPPY to never leave Hadley’s bed, but his need for a change of clothes finally spurred him out of her apartment the next day. They’d made plans to regroup in the afternoon to hunt the third crossbar. But at this point, Lowe almost didn’t care if they were hunting rabbits, as long as he got to see her.
He rode Lulu down Mason like a madman, buzzing with bright satisfaction; when he came to a stop sign, he had to force himself not to stupidly grin at the passengers in the nearby car. A single night with Hadley and he was euphoric. Drunk on sex and the deep contentment of holding her in his arms. Nothing was better than feeling all her hard angles and sharp edges soften beneath his fingertips. Or collapsing on her breast after they’d come together and listening to her crazed heartbeat slow to a fierce, strong pulse that matched his. As if they were both sinking underwater, slowly drowning in pleasure.
But it wasn’t just that. It was everything. Her company. Her sharp wit. The way those dark eyes squinted when she smiled, with their upturned corners creating a shadowed line that seemed to go on forever. The way one slim brow lifted critically as she upbraided his wild ideas in that acerbic, posh accent of hers.
He had prepared himself for rebuke when he told her about Stella. He certainly wouldn’t have blamed her if it were too much for her to deal with. He’d never forget how his mother had wept uncontrollably when he told her. Disappointed in him, devastated by the impossible nature of the situation—no joy of grandchildren running around her home or even watching Stella from afar. Adam refused; he didn’t want to confuse the girl. And rightly so.
But Hadley accepted it. He’d watched her carefully later, sure that once she’d had time to think about it, she’d start pulling away from his touch again. But no. A small miracle. He’d never been so thankful.
As he urged Lulu toward Pacific Heights, the city became a blur, a little like the lazy thoughts streaming through his head. His world felt as if it had been tipped over, then righted. Like he hadn’t known how unbalanced he’d been until he experienced how much better it felt to be standing straight.
Every worry he’d had since he’d returned home seemed a little less hopeless. Every problem, fixable. His min
d raced the motorcycle, churning out images of a shiny future with Hadley. A big house. A family. Her running the antiquities department. Him . . . well, he hadn’t figured that out yet. Traveling with his uncle wasn’t looking as exciting as it once did. Bad food, sweaty clothes, hard labor, illness, and no sleep. All of that was tolerable when you were running away from something. But not when you had something to run to. Or someone.
Maybe going back to dig in the wretched sun wouldn’t be so bad if she was at his side. He pictured her walking around the desert in a traditional Egyptian galabiya dress and smiled. Maybe she’d have an easier time than he did. Maybe it would be worth it to see the look on her face when she strolled around the temple ruins.
He was considering all this as he galloped up the side steps of his family home. And after swinging open the screen door, he nearly slammed into Winter, who stood unmoving and icier than a side of beef in a cooler.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“And a fine fucking day to you,” Lowe said, shouldering around him.
Winter held out a hand. “Out all night and you come in looking like this? What were you out doing? Whoring?”
Lowe angled his face inches away from his brother’s. “Say that again. I dare you.”
“Defensive about that curator, aren’t you?” Mismatched eyes narrowed over a dark, stilted smile. “Oh, yes. I know. Greta told me you brought the woman here.”
Damn the staff and their wagging tongues.
“Not the first time you’ve been keeping graveyard hours,” Winter said. “A week ago Jonte told me you rolled home inside the Packard in the dregs of the night. You with the curator then, too?”
“She’s none of your goddamn business.”
“She’s a gold heiress—a society girl. Dammit, Lowe. You want to see a woman like that, you do it properly. If everyone here is talking, don’t you think her people are talking, too?”
Lowe started to protest that she didn’t have a maid, but thought better of it. And Winter wasn’t wrong, exactly. Hadley seemed friendly with the elevator man, who gave Lowe a frigid look today during the trip downstairs. Not to mention all the other apartment tenants—they would definitely talk if they saw him skulking around at odd hours. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
“Antiquities business isn’t all that big in San Francisco. Word gets out you’re seeing her, everyone in that museum’s going to talk. Patrons, donors . . . You need to be careful you don’t hurt that lady’s reputation.”
“I’m careful.”
“And you’ve also got a habit of making promises you don’t keep and leaving by the bedroom window. Don’t salt the ground under her feet.”
“Always good to know the strength of your faith in me,” Lowe said sourly.
“Why were you bothering Velma?”
Was there anyone he could trust to keep their damn mouth shut? “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Hadley and I are working together on something for the museum. At the request of her father.”
Winter’s scarred brow lifted. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve Goldberg.”
“Of course not.” Well, not in Hadley’s eyes. Not in the way she believed, at least. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. Or ever. Jesus, it was hot in the house. Lowe loosened his necktie as sweat bloomed on his brow.
A tense pause stretched between them before Winter seemed to give up the fight, sighing heavily. “Lowe,” he pleaded, using the Old World pronunciation, Low-va. He continued in Swedish. “You can’t go on like this. I know you want to make your own way, but you can’t spend your life running around the globe with Uncle, or you’ll end up like him: alone.”
“I hate Egypt,” Lowe admitted angrily in Swedish. “I hate digging.”
“Then don’t! Come work for me. You can run the new warehouse. Wine and dine clients.”
“Nej.” Lowe shook his head. “I can’t do that. I’m so close to a big break, if I can just . . .” He trailed off. “I don’t want to do it forever, but I have to see this last thing through.”
Winter stared at him for a long moment, as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it. He switched back to English when he finally said, “The shipping company called. The crates you sent from Egypt will be delivered next week. Greta has the details.”
Lowe mumbled his thanks and sidled around his brother.
“You square things with Monk yet?”
For the love of God. Winter was worse than a mother. Lowe had to get out of this house before he went crazy. Maybe get an apartment downtown. It wasn’t part of his bigger plan, which was to buy a comfortable house and make sure Adam and Stella were taken care of. But that wasn’t going to happen tomorrow, and there were other things at the top of his to-do list. The most pressing of which was to secure enough cash to pay off Monk—sooner rather than later.
And the closest funding within his reach was tied up in the crossbars hunt, something that was turning out to be much more complicated than he’d originally hoped, what with Dr. Bacall’s health, Noel Irving, Oliver, magic . . . Hadley.
Hadley.
Lowe could get by without the flock of servants and all the luxuries. Better to live free and poor. But what he’d told Winter was true—the crossbars had to be his last forgery, and that’s all there was to it. Hadley would never tolerate it, not in a million years. And he wanted her more than the money. As long as Adam and Stella had what they needed, Lowe could take his share and retire, so to speak.
All he had to do was find the rest of the crossbars, sell the real amulet to Dr. Bacall, and hand off the forgery to Monk to pay for the crocodile statue forgery—he’d just talk Bacall into giving him the original bill of sale for the crossbars. Give Monk that along with his official documentation for the amulet base. Bacall didn’t care about reselling the damned thing. He wanted it to get rid of Noel Irving.
Simple, really. No one gets hurt; everyone’s happy. And Hadley would never have to know that he’d intended to cheat her father in the first place. But in order for everything to work, he needed to find the last two crossbars.
And in order to do that, he first needed a shave and another bath.
The hunt awaited him, along with his raven-haired hunting partner.
• • •
The joy of seeing Hadley again didn’t disappoint. In the space of one night, everything had changed between them. Her boundaries were felled. She now greeted him with open arms. He scooped her up with a racing heart and no intention of ever letting her go. He’d never been so happy.
And yet, so anxious at the same time . . .
Because the easy luck they’d experienced tracking the first two crossbars seemed to have dissipated. They plowed through two addresses over the weekend, then two more at the beginning of the following week, sneaking out during Hadley’s lunch break and after she got off work. Each time they used Velma’s charmed bags to hide their trail. They posed as charity workers, door-to-door sales representatives, long-lost relatives, and their finest bit of acting: country preacher and demure wife.
A waste of choice vaudeville, as all names led to dead ends.
Utterly vexing.
Still, the week wasn’t without merit. Her father’s health improved, and even though he couldn’t confirm the existence of Noel/Oliver, they saw not hide nor hair of Oliver and no magical chimeras pecked at their heads.
But, best of all, they buried their failures in consolatory rounds of increasingly daring sexual athletics: in the passenger seat of the silver Packard, darkened hallways, a public restroom, and—during a particularly blasphemous afternoon—on the back steps of an empty church when they were investigating a crumbling graveyard.
Every time he saw her was a gift. Even so, a mounting frustration dogged him that had nothing to do with the crossbars. Winter’s words echoed in his head. You want to see a woman like that,
you do it properly. Why did his brother have to be right? Because damned if Lowe didn’t spend half his time trying to keep their affair quiet: tiptoeing around her father and her coworkers; sneaking around her apartment building at odd hours, while he trudged up a million flights of stairs to avoid the elevator man; parking Lulu across the street at the Fairmont Hotel.
It was demeaning to both of them.
And almost a week after their first night together, here he was at ten in the evening, lurking around the cypress trees at the base of the museum’s front tower while he waited for Mr. Hill to take his break—the same guard who’d caught them in Dr. Bacall’s office when this whole thing started. When the man’s car sped around the side of the building, the museum door cracked open and Hadley’s face popped out.
“All clear!” she whispered cheerfully before ushering him inside the door and bolting it.
His eyes darted around the museum’s shadowed front lobby. Eerie to be in here alone. “Another guard is definitely not going to waltz in here, right?” he asked.
“The other two are stationed outside.”
“And Mr. Hill—”
“Won’t be back until after midnight.”
“If the wrong person knew this, you could be robbed blind.”
“We’ve only had two break-in attempts in ten years. And it’s not as if someone could pull up a truck to the front door and bust it down without someone hearing. Where’s your sense of adventure, Mr. Treasure Hunter?”
“Hmph. I think it got trampled beneath the wheels of our failure this week.” He bumped into a stanchion and gritted his teeth as the sound of grating metal bounced off the walls. “Jesus, Hadley. I feel like a misbehaving boy, sneaking into a building on a dare.”
“Well, hopefully the elevator in my apartment building will be repaired tomorrow. Then you can use your misbehaving ways to sneak up the stairwell without bumping into every tenant on the way up.”
