The thug skimmed the gun’s tip from my neck to waist, his finger curled around the trigger the entire time.
Face stiffened.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t touch her.”
The man’s fingers dug into my side, pulling me with him in the opposite direction of the boat. “How about you takin’ a stroll with me. My partner ’ere can tie up your pals, in case they decide on bein’ heroes and comin’ after you.”
So this man was going to use me as a way to escape? “You won’t be able to just walk away.”
He paused, easing back so I could view his full glower and sucked air through his yellowed teeth. “I can and will.”
“Not if I break your kneecaps.” With all my force, I swung that hunk of metal, nailing his legs with a sickening crack.
He howled in pain and doubled over, clenching his right knee. His spindly fingers released me, but not the pistol.
Shouts and whistles erupted from the boat above, heavy footsteps charging down the stage. The other crewmen were coming to our rescue. The first brute landed a solid punch to Face’s gut and dashed forward, linking an arm around the injured man. They took off.
I lunged forward to chase after them, my trusty crowbar in hand, but Jack caught my free wrist.
He gently spun me around to face him. “Don’t go after them. They’re still armed.”
Oh. Right.
Frustration tightened the corners of his eyes. Yet his wrath at the attack didn’t stop his gaze from roaming over me slowly, methodically, as if making certain there weren’t any broken spots. All the while, his bloodied lip dripped like a faucet.
I set the crowbar down and searched my pockets for a handkerchief. “Here. Take this.”
His expression turned downright grumpy. “Why?”
“To stop the bleeding.” I huffed and stretched on my toes, pressing the handkerchief to his busted lip.
He stiffened, whether from his stinging mouth or from my touch, I couldn’t tell.
The excitement of the past few moments sank into my bones, turning my joints wobbly. I flattened my hand against Jack’s chest, using his sturdy build for support while keeping the handkerchief in place. His heart hammered against my palm, making my own race. “Hold it with light pressure until I can clean it.”
Several other crewmen approached, and I stepped back from Jack. My mind needed cleared, and being that close to the first mate only hazed things. Who were those thugs? Why had they attacked us?
Duffy drew near, concern deepening the grooves in his forehead. His age-spotted hands cupped my shoulders and he stared into my face. “You okay, my girl?”
My heart clenched at the anguish in his voice. “Yes.”
“Is it true? Did that ruffian threaten you with a gun?”
I nodded.
His aged blue eyes lit with wrath. It had been a while since I’d witnessed such a reaction. All my tears on the wharf earlier now seemed foolish. This man may not be my birth father, but he was my papa in every sense of the word.
“Then Hattie clobbered him with a crowbar.” Face had made it to his feet, admiration stretching his grin. “Here we thought we was protecting her and ’twas the other way around.”
Duffy didn’t share Face’s humor. Instead, his scowl tightened. “This shouldn’t have happened,” he muttered. “It’s all my fault.”
I set my hand on his quivering one. “You’re not to blame. You couldn’t have known this.”
“Well, lookie here.” Face crouched beside the massive crate holding the matchsticks. “Seems we were fixin’ to load a stowaway.”
“What?” I rushed to the crate, Jack following. In the surprise, his hand holding the handkerchief had dropped from tending his wound. I nailed him a glare and he pressed it back to his lip.
A hidden door hinged open at the bottom of the wooden box.
I gasped and dropped to my knees, peering inside. My nose wrinkled at the familiar odor. Tobacco. The stench identical to the man who’d held me at gunpoint. He’d been hiding in this crate. Why?
“At least your lip stopped bleeding.” I dipped a washcloth into the lukewarm water in the washbasin in Duffy’s cabin. “I still need to clean the area.” Then possibly swab it with peroxide. But admitting that wouldn’t improve Jack’s mood.
Fury rolled off him in waves. His hands clenched at his sides. His body was as rigid as the chair he occupied. Was he fuming because the goons had escaped? Or because the crate held no alcohol and the investigation seemed at a standstill?
I wrung the cloth and stepped in front of him, taking in his disheveled hair, his blood-and-grime-stained uniform, and the split flesh of his mouth. Oh, his mouth. And oh, how alone we were.
Focus, Hattie. As the Idlewild’s unofficial nurse, I had a job to do. Although this was nothing like putting salve on a blister when the striker accidentally burned himself on a scalding pipe. Or splinting a thumb when the deckhand jammed his finger in the capstan. And this was nothing at all like the time I snapped a dislocated shoulder back in place when the watchman took a tumble. This was only a busted lip. Easy. And yet my nerves tangled like a thousand mooring lines at the thought of touching Jack’s face.
With a steadying breath, I bent close to him. But before my fingers could reach the swollen flesh, his warm hand came to mine. Our gazes bonded, and I realized I was wrong. His eyes weren’t filled with rage, but haunted, the blue hues like stormy waters.
“I’m sorry, Hattie.”
I blinked. “For what?”
He released my hand. “You could’ve been hurt. Shot.” His throat worked. “I should have protected you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”
My chest squeezed at the note of raw strain in his voice. The emotion he’d been battling was directed at himself. Not because of the case or even about the thugs. But stemming from his concern over me. “You didn’t know a man was hiding in that crate. Or that he was going to attack me.” I lowered into the chair beside him so our eyes were level. “You were taking care of the only threat you knew about—that brute. I’m glad I got the scrawny one.”
“But he was the one armed.” Jack’s brows furrowed. “I wonder what he was doing hiding in there. It seems he was more than just a routine stowaway.”
“Would the wharf office have any information that could help? Maybe they saw the person who paid shipping for the crate?” Though how easy would it be to invent a fake business card and leave a wad of cash?
His thoughtful gaze dipped to his folded hands. “It’s possible. I’ll look into it.”
“As for the stowaway part, do you think the man wanted aboard to retrieve hidden alcohol?” Wherever it was. Jack and I had searched this boat from top to bottom. If someone had hidden liquor aboard, they’d stored it in an excellent spot.
“That’d be my guess.” He appeared deep in contemplation, then shifted his focus on me. The skin framing his eyes—bunched in pain only a few seconds ago—were now crimped in amusement.
“What?” I hadn’t bothered to check my appearance as we entered Duffy’s cabin. Was there grime on my face too?
“I was just thinking about you. How you swung that crowbar like you belonged at Yankee Stadium.” All merriment fled, the admiration in his blue gaze making my breath flutter. “You’re a brave woman, Hattie Louis.”
His words latched on to my heart with a sturdy grip. But I couldn’t allow him to picture me this way. “That’s not true. Not when I’m afraid to go beyond the river’s shore.”
His head tilted. “What’s so scary about it?”
“This is the only place that accepted me after the world cast me aside.” I motioned toward the cabin door. “Out there, I’m the unwanted orphan. Here on the Idlewild, I have purpose. I belong.” My tone reflected my sadness. “Outside this boat, I could never blend in.”
“What if God designed you to stand out?”
“Why? I don’t have anything to offer. I don’t even know my true name. Duffy named me H
attie and gave me the surname Louis because of the wharf.” I couldn’t bear to look at Jack. I’d set out to disillusion him, but now I feared I’d done much worse—I’d made him pity me.
His knuckle trailed a tender path from my elbow to wrist, causing me to brave a glance at him.
“I’ve never met a woman like you, Admiral.”
The room, the space between us, felt as though it were shrinking. “You make it sound like a good thing.”
“Because it is. It is very much.”
May as well have said “bon voyage” to my heart, because it had sailed free from my ownership and dropped anchor in Jack’s hands.
Chapter 16
Devyn
“What do you think so far?” Devyn sipped her iced tea, pulling her gaze from the glistening waters to rest on Chase.They’d chosen two chairs on the deck and watched the Louisville skyline. One would think Devyn would tire of this view, but she hadn’t. Lights from the cityscape painted the river with brilliant strokes of color, like moving art.
“It’s impressive,” he said. “Hard to believe this boat’s been coursing waterways for over a century. She ages well.” He raised his Coke as if in cheers to the timeless gal.
“There’s something admirable in that, isn’t there? Throughout the decades, this boat’s weathered countless storms, surviving hits and damages.” Devyn idly stirred the ice in her drink with her straw. “It’s like life has thrown everything at her, yet she still paddles along. Her whistle a victory cry.”
As if in response to her words, the whistle sang loud. Devyn laughed. The pilot only pressed the steam treadle to signal to the tugboat passing the opposite direction, but the timing had been perfect. She glanced over to remark on it and found Chase watching her. This hadn’t been the first time she’d felt his gaze. Tonight she’d worn her hair down, having styled it with loose curls. Since the weather dallied on the warmer side, she’d donned her favorite sundress, showing more of her athletic frame than her sweatpants and baggy T-shirts. Chase’s appreciation had been evident in his lingering looks.
She tugged down the hem of her dress as she stood. “Are you ready to head back inside to the ballroom?”
“To dance?” He rose to his feet. “Gladly.”
“I was thinking more on the lines of food.”
He chuckled and followed her inside the air-conditioned space. They moved through the concession line and claimed a table close to the windows. Her barbeque chicken would be several minutes yet, so the workers offered to bring both dishes when ready. Devyn grabbed the opportunity to excuse herself to the restroom.
By the time she returned, their dinner had arrived, but that wasn’t what snagged her full attention. Chase had his mystery notebook open and was hurriedly writing.
He glanced up, and their gazes collided. His fingers snapped the notebook closed and a flush climbed his neck. Why the embarrassment?
Then it hit her.
The food on the table. Him jotting things down. This had been her family’s situation two years ago. Mom had kept a journal of all she’d eaten to help determine which food had agreed with her while on her meds and which hadn’t. Devyn had also used that same notebook, upon advice from the doctor, to keep records of appointments and insurance claims.
Everything fell in line with Chase’s behavior, confirming what she’d already suspected. The phone calls he’d taken in private. Those times she’d overheard him say “insurance,” “agent,” and other health-related words. And oh, hadn’t he mentioned that he’d been accused of being too serious? That could no doubt be blamed on a sickness too. Now tonight, he recorded what he’d eat, then was subsequently embarrassed. She wished she could tell him he had nothing to be ashamed of. That in a way she understood his struggle. She pulled her chair out and sat, her heart softening even more toward Chase Jones.
His lips twitched. “I’m not sure what I did to earn that look in your eyes, but I hope you tell me so I can do it again.”
She smiled. “Are you always this observant?”
“I try to be. Especially when a gorgeous woman is involved.” He popped a fry into his mouth with a wink.
They ate with light conversation mingled between bites. After Devyn polished off her milkshake, she regarded Chase with a satisfied look. “Now that I’m adequately sugared, I can relay to you my progress with Hattie.” She could bore him with updates on the ball. Although she was secretly pleased with the progress that had been made—the invitations printed and sent out, the flowers ordered. But tonight, she’d decided not to dwell on work.
Chase leaned in. “Did you find a record on her?”
“Not yet. But I called the steamboat museums and one of them returned my message, saying they’ve an archive room stuffed with old discharging logs.”
“Discharging logs?”
“They’re books usually kept by the purser, listing cargo and inventory on the packet boats. The museum’s system is organized by years, so I asked about the Idlewild during the 1920s. We may learn the names of the captain and crew. Not sure what that will tell us, but it may lead to something else that could give us more information on her.”
Chase idly toyed with his straw paper. “I think we should quit our search.”
Devyn blinked. “Wait. What?” She thought he’d flash his mischievous grin, teasing her once again, but he remained straight-faced. “What brought this on?”
He tossed the wrapper onto his empty plate and looked up, hesitancy deepening the granite flecks in his eyes. “We haven’t been able to locate her. What if she never wanted to be found? What if she remained anonymous for a reason?”
Devyn thought on his words. Of course by now Hattie Louis had passed on, but Devyn understood what Chase was getting at—respecting Hattie’s privacy. Or…he was nervous about what they would uncover. Maybe a deep secret that would involve his family. But wasn’t that why he began the hunt in the first place? To discover why the name Hattie had brought anguish to his great-grandfather? “What if the result brings closure to your family mystery?”
“It could.” He nodded, thoughtfully. “Just want to be sure the outcome is worth digging up another person’s secrets.”
“What if her remaining in the shadows wasn’t her fault? What if she wants her story brought to light?”
“That’s a possibility too.” His lips tilted in that familiar smile she was beginning to adore. “Let’s keep searching then.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but a teenage girl trailed by a young man about the same age approached their table. Their adolescent eyes on Devyn.
The girl wore a bashful expression and stroked the length of her long, dark ponytail. “Are you her? I mean, are you Devyn?”
No. No, no, no. She wasn’t ready for this. Not now. “I am.”
“See?” The other teen, the girl’s boyfriend, Devyn assumed, nudged her shoulder. “I knew it was her.”
“I wasn’t sure until we got close.” The girl released a nervous giggle. “You look different in person than on Space Station. But I think you’re prettier without all that.” She motioned in front of her face and Devyn got her meaning. All that makeup. Fakeness. “But you should totally come back. Everyone is calling for you. Even T-Man is—”
The boyfriend’s brown eyes widened. “Aubrey, don’t bring him up.”
She waved him off. “Maybe he’s sorry for what he did. Though gotta say, that was wicked cruel.”
Deep breaths. In. Out. They’re only kids. But oh, that curious look Chase sent her turned her milkshake to concrete in her stomach. She pressed a hand to her abdomen to quell the nausea.
“Can I take a selfie with you?” Aubrey slid her phone from her pocket like a gunslinger, but Devyn would rather face a revolver than the threat of her face being plastered all over Space Station.
“I—I don’t think…” But no other words would budge. It was like her tongue had fainted.
“Sorry, guys.” Chase stood. “But this is our song.” He gave Devyn a convincingl
y besotted look. “I promised to dance with her.”
The kids shared a confused glance, especially since the song the DJ was playing was “The Chicken Dance.” Chase seemed to realize a little too late but held his features as if the silly birdie music was truly their song.
The teens kindly took the hint and stepped aside. Chase held out his hand, beckoning her, and while her fingers trembled with the residue of the shaky moment, her lips pulled into a grateful smile.
He escorted her to the dance floor, dodging a spirited elbow belonging to an old lady flapping her pretend wings. Someone clucked loud, and Chase winced. “This has to be the most unromantic gesture I’ve ever done.”
She disagreed. He’d thrown her a lifeline. He’d realized her distress and, without hesitation, had come to her aid in the sweetest way. In her eyes, it was remarkably romantic.
Chase took in the surrounding scene with an exaggerated shrug. “I promised you a dance, and I’m a man of my word.” He waited until the next round of movements started and joined in.
Surprised laughter burst from her lips.
Those teens had exposed her. Devyn should be yanking Chase’s hand and dragging him to the pilothouse. But at the moment, she didn’t feel like running away, hiding. She shoved her anxiety overboard and shook her tail feathers with the best of them.
They flapped and wiggled through the entire song, and by the end, Devyn’s side hurt from laughing. Chase rewarded her with a beaming grin. Neither of them made a move to leave the dance floor but waited for the next song, which could have been anything since the DJ was taking requests.
The strums of Tony Bennet’s “The Way You Look Tonight” crooned through the speakers, and Chase raised his brows in question. Devyn needed no further invitation. She moved to wrap her arms around his neck, but instead Chase reached for her hand and curled an arm around her waist, imitating the waltzing stance she’d done that day on the stern.
She inclined her face to peer into his. “Are you trying to upstage my imaginary beau?”
Undercurrent of Secrets Page 12
