Above the Fold

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  The lock clicked, and the door yawned open. Mrs. Tillman appeared fresh and elegant as if at any moment she might be drawn away to town.

  “Evening, Mrs. Tillman.” He removed his hat. “I was hoping to speak to Elissa if she’s available.”

  Hesitancy shone in her eyes, then traveled to her mouth, lips squishing together.

  Had she changed her mind about welcoming him? He fidgeted with the hat’s brim.

  She blinked as if remembering her manners. “No, Cole. She’s not here.”

  “I see.”

  “Strangest thing. She dashed past me in her cleaning attire, so I assumed she was going to your mother’s.”

  “That’s where I came from, ma’am. She wasn’t there. Nor did I pass her on the way.” He shoved a hand in his coat pocket. “Does she volunteer anywhere else?”

  “No.” She tapped the doorknob. “I caught her mumbling about you and Mrs. Henry.” Her brow furrowed and head tilted. “Wasn’t she your tenth-grade teacher?”

  Understanding struck him like a bundle of wet newspapers. She wouldn’t. Not sophisticated Elissa.

  “Can you make sense of it?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, I can.”

  Her eyes widened. “She’s not in trouble, is she?”

  “Of course not.” Not if he could find her first. “She’ll be fine, Mrs. Tillman. No need to worry. I’ll bring her home.”

  A soft chuckle poured from the gentlewoman. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you two were up to something. Like way back then.”

  “Those were good times, ma’am.” The best. With his favorite girl … before he let the world taint him.

  He offered one more kind salutation and then jogged down the walkway to the street. He threw his leg over his Triumph and kick-started the shiny machine. Shelby had done more than tinker. Cole had left behind a rusty, sputtering scrambler, and today he’d been met with a restored-to-almost-new motorcycle. Sad he’d never get the chance to thank Shelby. He squelched a sigh and revved the engine. Regret had long been his sparring partner, but he hadn’t the time to enter the ring now. No, he needed to catch Elissa before she wound up in jail.

  The sting in Elissa’s right pointer finger didn’t compare to the pang of disappointment swelling in her gut. Earlier, she’d unlocked the powder room window in Shelby’s office building—the only room she’d been able to gain access to, due to Cole’s strict cousin—but she hadn’t devised a different plan when she’d found said window frozen shut. The vigorous jostling of paint-chipped wood accomplished nothing but slicing her finger with a fresh splinter.

  Careful to keep her balance on the piled wooden boxes, she flicked a glance at the alley behind her. All quiet. The darkness gained mastery over the fleeting daylight. Soon her visibility would be nothing.

  She sighed.

  Shouldn’t she be thrilled about this contest? Happy about finally securing the opportunity? Yet following Father’s announcement today, she couldn’t get past wondering why. After years of her pleading, why now? Considering the Review’s current financial state, she’d think Father would take no chances. The showcase of her name could anger current and potential advertisers. Could she risk damaging the Review for ambition’s sake? Her short-term dream could abolish her long-term one.

  What if Father thought he was playing it safe? Not expecting her to win against Cole? Her confidence wavered a degree. Uncertainty had a steely grip, but she wouldn’t side with it today.

  She glared at the stubborn window.

  One more time.

  Forget the numbing chill. And her frozen extremities. She shook her arms, a futile attempt to get the blood circulating, and planted both hands on the sill. “You’re going to move this time. You got it?”

  “Employing my old techniques?”

  “Wha—” She whipped her head in the direction of the familiar voice and lost her footing on the stack of wooden boxes. Limbs flailing, she fell back and landed in Cole’s arms for the second time in two days.

  Shadows danced across his features, but the amusement in his eyes shone brighter than noonday.

  He tipped his head toward the blasted window. “Wouldn’t budge, huh?”

  And neither could her speech. Their breathy vapors tangled in the air, alerting her to the closeness of his face. The fragrance of vetiver mingling with aftershave swirled her senses. The length of her arm pressed against his expansive chest, and the awareness of his sculpted biceps beneath her shoulder blade ignited a surge of warmth. For Pete’s sake, even her earlobes burned. She avoided his stare and fused her gaze on the dip in his chin. Which probably wasn’t the best course of action, considering his freshly shaved cleft.

  Oh, brother. The jolt must’ve rattled her brain. Harboring attraction to Cole was about as safe as guzzling cyanide.

  His smirk deepened to a scowl. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “You frightened me.” Her words sounded a bit rusty, but she could blame the cold and not the headiness coursing through her. “And could you kindly put me down?” His palm stretched across her back, no doubt taking in the heavy pounding of her heart.

  His mouth tipped up in a delicious—no, not delicious, irksome—smile. “That’s two now, Spark. On the third one, I’m going to start charging. Rescuing beautiful women could be a nice profession change for me.”

  Her brain hiccupped over the word beautiful, and she barely recollected being set onto her feet. “I—I don’t need your rescues. Thank you very much.” She rigorously brushed her clothes as if she’d fallen in the dirt instead of the safety of his arms.

  He perused her attire, gaze snagging on her frayed trousers.

  Once again, her attire demonstrated a failure of propriety, but what else could she have done? Climbing through a window had required this particular clothing. She met his suave smile with a hardened glare. “And if you’d like to switch professions, you have my blessing.” She peered again at her trousers to be sure the buttons were closed, but thankfully, her overcoat extended past her waist, securing her modesty.

  “I can always count on you for encouragement. And—” He tapped her lowered nose.

  She snapped her gaze from her drab clothes to his dazzling eyes.

  “Unlocking windows? I’m not sure I like you using my old break-in tricks to commit felonies.”

  She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “You broke into the school to get back your baseball glove after Mrs. Henry confiscated it.” If she hadn’t witnessed Cole unlock the window after everyone had left algebra, she’d never have had the idea. That day seemed like yesterday and a million years ago simultaneously.

  “I was a juvenile, you’re an adult. An adorable adult, but still an adult.”

  Her mouth slackened, but she caught it before it proved embarrassing. She didn’t know how many more compliments her composure could stand. Was he being serious? More than likely, he was mocking her. “How’d you know I was here?” She stooped to collect her purse she’d deposited earlier on the ground.

  “I paid you a visit, and your mom said she overheard you talking about me and Mrs. Henry.” His lifted brows disappeared under his hat. “Sterling said you came here this afternoon. I put two and two together.”

  She nodded, wisps of hair tickling her right ear. A mess. She must be an atrocious sight—from her faded cleaning clothes to the hairpin now coming loose.

  “Ah, she’s back.” Cole put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Who?” She mouthed because her vocal cords had frozen under his intense stare.

  “My Spark.” He tugged that troublesome hairpin, and it fell to the concrete with a ping. His fingertips trailed down the tender spot behind her ear, sloping her jaw, stopping beneath her chin.

  Despite the biting air, a warmth spread through her and somehow found its way to the drafty corners of her heart. Was she developing feelings for him … or had they never left? Terror hooked her by the spine. Yesterday, she’d run when dormant feelings had surfaced, but today
she’d be brave. “I can never be your Spark again.” She’d stripped any bitterness from her tone and left only raw truth. “I can’t return to that girl.” Because that girl had been awkwardly flawed and too easily wounded. She swallowed. Too easily left behind.

  He nodded, a frown appearing for only a second, and then he withdrew his touch.

  Relief and disappointment battled for prominence, intensifying her shiver.

  “I need to get you sheltered from this cold.” The protective edge in his deep voice did funny things to her already flipping stomach.

  Be strong, Lis. “You can go home, but I’m going inside.” She needed this scoop more than he did.

  “That’s still breaking and entering. Still illegal.” He tipped his head to the side, the waning light giving his perfect cleft ample exposure. “Besides, I was in there earlier. I didn’t see anything of great importance.”

  “Your cousin let you peruse the place?” She stiffened, thinning her gaze on the cheater. “This whole competition is biased. I’m not going to beat you if you’re getting exclusive information.”

  His crooked smiled serrated her nerves.

  “You don’t think I can win against you, Mr. Parker? I may not be a front-page journalist, but I have just as much gumption as you.”

  He dipped to her height, his breath feathering her neck. “I know that better than anyone, Miss Tillman,” he whispered and then straightened.

  Would he stop doing that? Her thoughts scattered more than the wind-driven snowflakes.

  His gaze scanned the alley before settling on her. “How come the majority of our conversations are out of doors? Come on, Spark. Let’s go inside. At least we won’t draw attention in there.” He jangled a key.

  “How did you ... did Sterling give you that?”

  He tugged her elbow, leading her around the building. “You kiddin’ me? Sterling wouldn’t do such a treacherous thing. No, Mr. Shelby gave me a key back when he tutored me.”

  She huffed. “It won’t work now. Probably been changed several times since then.”

  Cole adjusted his hat and winked. “But this isn’t for the front door. It’s for the secret one.”

  Despite her untamed pulse, she kept her facial expression nonchalant and followed Cole to the intriguing secret door. “All I see is a bush.”

  “The entrance is behind it. Hug the wall. So the twigs won’t rip your clothes.” Cole’s tone revealed he’d had plenty of experience. He smoothed the way, snapping branches, batting cobwebs.

  Her Oxfords sunk into the soil with each step. A twig hooked a lock of her hair, and she worked it loose. She groaned.

  By the time she reached his side, the door was unlocked and cracked open. She moved to slip past him, but he wrapped his fingers on her shoulder.

  His pensive eyes reminded her of his cop cousin, but the crinkles at the edges spoke all of Cole. “Any information I have is yours. If you’re curious about what I have so far, here.” His hand remained on her shoulder while the other retrieved his notepad. “It’s yours.”

  As if she couldn’t see past this. “You’re only doing this so I’ll give you anything I find.”

  He scowled. “Did I ask that of you?”

  “No. But it’s either that or …” She matched his scowl with one of her own. “You have the same look on your face.”

  “What look?” He sighed and dropped his notebook back into his pocket.

  “Badminton.” She shoved her chin into the air. “At Kennywood. You let me win because you believed it wasn’t a fair contest. Because a man could always outmaneuver a woman. Well, not in this competition.”

  “Man alive, Elissa.” He yanked off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Badminton had nothing to do with your gender. I let you win because you were an awful loser. I couldn’t have you angry at me. You were my dance partner that evening. Remember?”

  A wave of warmth slid up her neck. Those dances. One in particular when he’d kissed her at the end. Had Cole recalled that too? Because he cleared his throat and focused on the branches behind her head. Shoving all memories aside, the truth became evident. “So I’m right. You think I’m going to lose and then I’ll be cross.”

  “Woman.” He snagged her wrist and, despite his tone, gently tugged her into the Shelby building. “I can’t win with you.”

  “For the first time, I agree with you.”

  While keeping steady eye contact, Cole reached past her, brushing her side, and pulled the door tight behind them. Darkness shrouded her.

  “I’m hoping you packed a flashlight.” His voice was more distant, revealing he’d angled away. “Since this little escapade was all your idea.”

  “Of course I brought a light.” She fished around her bag, locating the tubular Eveready. She clicked it on. “I came prepared.”

  “Right.”

  Elissa angled the light toward her face in hopes he’d catch her eye roll. “Remember, I never asked you to come.” Any hesitancy she’d possessed had dissolved the moment she had realized Cole thought her writing insufficient. She could overcome him and his journalistic prowess.

  “And what exactly did you come here for?”

  A breakthrough. “Something newsworthy.”

  Cole chuckled. But it was deeper than she remembered from years before. Like life had settled into him and pulled his fervor down a notch. He’d been quick to smile over these past days, but even that seemed different. Matured and a bit toughened. He’d told her he almost died. A mystery that had been sidelined by the Shelby case and zero alone time with Cole. Until now. Should she ask? Curiosity battled with her defenses. Delving into Cole’s past could revive her deadened emotions. Compassion had been her weakness. That and the man who at the moment regarded her with a piercing stare.

  “If you want something newsworthy, you should’ve asked.” He stuck out his hand. “Give over the flashlight. You’re waving it around like a madwoman. It’s making me dizzy.”

  She surrendered the light with a sigh. His hand lingered on hers longer than necessary, but what terrified her more than the dark was the comfort of his touch.

  Oh, she’d better win this contest, without losing her heart.

  CHAPTER 13

  For all Cole knew, the police could be staking out the Shelby building. There’d been nothing abnormal in the back alley, but who was to say they weren’t in the front? While his nerves operated on high alert, Elissa hummed as if they weren’t invading a dead man’s office.

  “Shine the light here.” Elissa pointed to Shelby’s desk.

  “I forgot how bossy you are.”

  Her cheeky smile throttled the air from his chest. “Only when necessary.”

  It was necessary for him to peel his focus from the brilliancy of her eyes because he was seconds from wrapping his arms around her. No matter what her declaration may have been, she had been acting like herself again. Her stunning, carefree self.

  Elissa opened a drawer, removing a small glass bottle. “Cayenne pepper.” She scrunched her nose and returned the spice bottle. “Who would dare?”

  “My aunt would pour it on her food. But only because—”

  “Look. This might be something.” Elissa thumbed through a journal. “It’s an appointment book.” Her gaze steadied on the opened page.

  A wayward ringlet fell across her cheek, but she didn’t tuck it back in place. She studied the book, her posture slouching like it did in random moments at the newsroom. When Elissa immersed herself into her work, her stiff refinement disappeared, but in every other situation, she’d be as pristine as a fashion plate. As if she’d concealed her genuine nature from all the universe, only being herself around the comforts of her passion—journalism. No wonder she’d clung to the paper, it’d been her security, her world. It wouldn’t leave her, hurt her.

  A taut band stretched across his chest.

  She needed to win the blamed contest. He wouldn’t steal this opportunity from her. But would she value the triumph if Cole hadn’t
shown effort? If she discerned any charity on Cole’s part, it’d deepen her misery. Her distrust.

  “Cole. Come here.”

  He stepped closer, and the lemon scent of her hair tousled his senses. “What’d you find?”

  Unaware of his nearness, she eased back, bumping into his chest. A faint blush fanned across her cheeks then vanished. “Look at his meeting for today. I wonder what this means.” She tapped the page with a manicured fingernail.

  His eyes went to the scribbled words. “Today’s Sunday. Why would he have an appointment on a weekend?” The initials “A. G. P.” were scrawled, followed by the time, nine p.m.

  “Maybe he didn’t want anyone to be here. Maybe he had a secret rendezvous.” Her rich tone dripped with curiosity.

  “But her initials are ‘A. K.’”

  Her brow scrunched. “Who is her?”

  “Shelby’s secretary and mistress.”

  Elissa’s mouth hung open, incredulity glazing her eyes. “How do you know?”

  “Found out today when I came to pick up my Triumph.”

  “Does Mrs. Shelby know? I mean, I would be … wait. Your motorcycle? It still works?”

  Ah, a hint of excitement replaced her disbelief, and hope surged through him. “Yes, it works. In fact, Shelby pretty much replaced all the old parts with new ones. It’s ready for my favorite blonde. I can give you a lift home. Not like you aren’t dressed for riding.” He pointed to her trousers, a smile skimming his lips. Never had pants looked so good than on the woman two feet away. He would whistle if there weren’t a risk of getting slapped in the face.

  Pulling her lower lip under her teeth, she fought against a smile. She’d loved that bike as much as he. Together, they’d blazed many adventures. But nothing had compared to having Elissa’s arms snug around him, depending on him for safety. If he won her precious trust again, he’d never mishandle it.