Ah, Mr. Dimple, I’ve missed you. And missed his voice, the strength of his deep resonance. She plain missed him. She had to resist slapping her forehead. Wake up, Vera-girl, you heard him. He’d sworn off matrimony. Not like she was in contention for the accompanying role, but knowing he was closed off made her heart wilt. “I wasn’t sure if you’d notice.” Or notice her.
Mick wiped the ring his cold glass left on the tablecloth with his napkin. “You tapped out my code—ACE.” He pulled his chair closer to the table. “You mastered it. I’m impressed.” His perfect lips slanted in a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Any chance of you being my poker partner?”
“Hardly. But tell me, are you impressed enough to share about the meeting?” She leaned forward, keeping her stare locked on his. “And why do you have that shiner on your cheek?”
The smile dropped from his handsome face, and Vera’s stomach tangled like Lacey’s darning yarn. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
“A man was outside your apartment. I barely missed his punch.”
Her breath caught. “My apartment? Who?”
“He got away.” His expression struggled between frustration and disappointment. “And as for the meeting, District Attorney Shultz wants you off police protection.”
“What? Why?” The sudden news drove her heart racing. On her own. “How soon?” She couldn’t stay in Pittsburgh. Where could she go? New York had been her goal for years, but now being forced to go—when Carson was still on the loose—unsettled her.
“We’ve got seven more days.” He jerked the knot of his tie loose, the frown on his face pushing more and more caution into her heart. “I told them that you—”
“What?” The word came out a reedy whisper.
“That you might know something.”
She sucked in air and held it. Why would he do that?
“It was the only way to extend your safety.” He rested his elbows on the table and looked at her. “Is there something, Ver?”
“No.” If only she could snap her fingers and have the answer. But she couldn’t. She’d told them everything she knew, and it wasn’t good enough.
“Here.” Mick reached in his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. “Take this before I forget.” He withdrew her bracelet, the one Carson had given her, from the cotton cloth.
“And?” She coached herself to be strong, whatever the news. Stolen. Fake.
“It’s a Tiffany. Worth a little over a grand,” he said. “Here. Let me help you with it.”
Vera held out her wrist, and he latched that puppy. A grand? That could help her start off right. She could go anywhere. Even abroad if she wanted to. Something pricked her heart. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Mick would go back to Pittsburgh and resume his life. Without her. “I thought for sure he put the heat on that bracelet.”
“It’s great for your sake, but it didn’t help the case any. You and I have a lot of work to do. We have to come up with a motive by June thirteenth. One thing is going for us. Because of what I said this morning, everyone thinks you have the evidence to nab him.” The glint returned to his eye. “Good strategy.”
Would the news travel to Carson? Angelo? Whoever it was that desired her death? An icy chill coursed through her, freezing her thoughts and stopping her heart for a breath. “You’re usin’ me as bait? A little fish to catch the big one.” He was supposed to be on her side. And this was why she couldn’t trust. “How could you? No way I am goin’ to be found belly-up in the Ohio River.” She pushed off the table to scoot her chair back, but he stuck his foot out, stopping the chair, keeping her seated.
“Nobody’s using you as bait.”
“Oh yeah? What do you call it? Besides that, you lied.” Her jab didn’t work—his face revealed no offense. In fact, it had a smile on it.
“I didn’t lie. I believe you know something. I just don’t think you realize it yet.”
She glared at the floor. He lifted her chin with his thumb, and their gazes connected, the intensity in his eyes overpowering her objections to pulling away.
“Ver, I have a gut feeling.”
Now she was stuck. Gut feelings were powerful. And usually true.
CHAPTER 20
Mick scooped up the flat board and wafted the fire, launching hundreds of fiery darts into the black sky, the soft crackles and pops a comfort in his ears. He’d never tire of that sound.
After they’d returned from Mrs. Chambers’ place, he’d suggested building an outdoor fire and enjoying the pleasant evening.
A familiar noise hooted in the dark.
Vera startled.
“It’s only an owl.” He focused his gaze on the glowing oranges and intense reds of the blaze.
“You can stop smilin’ anytime.” She snapped a piece of bark off the log stool she sat on and threw it at him.
“You missed.” His laugh shot out like his grandpa’s rifle.
She folded her arms. “I missed ya on purpose. Consider that a warnin’.”
“Sure. I’ll make a note of that.” He’d also make a note of how the fire’s light intensified her beauty. The soft glow danced across her gentle features as the light wind played with the ends of her hair, teasing him to test its softness. Eyes on the fire, Ace.
“Is he far?”
“Who?”
“The owl. It sounded like he was right behind me.” Vera glanced over her shoulder, her eyes holding an innocence that made his heart squeeze.
“Actually, he’s in front of you.” He pointed to the line of trees about forty yards from them. The darkness made the pines look like giant fingers scratching the sky. “He’s perched in there somewhere.”
“Well, I wish he’d pipe down. He gives me the creeps.”
“Everything gives you the creeps.” Mick shook his head as he stooped closer to the fire. The log on the left needed more centered. The silver scales on the burning wood illuminated brighter as he poked it in place. Better. “The bat you saw earlier. The raccoon I shooed from the garbage. Even butterflies. All of them made you wince.”
“Can I help it if critters give me the jumps? And the only shakes I enjoy is when I’m dancing the Shimmy, thank you very much.” Silence hovered like the smoke above the fire, until Vera’s laughter broke through it.
“Care to share?”
“I better not. It’s about you.”
He pointed the tip of the poker stick at her. “Now you have to share.”
“All right. All right. I was thinking about you attemptin’ the Shimmy.” She covered her mouth and another laugh escaped. “Sorry, couldn’t help that one.”
“I take it by your laughing you weren’t imagining me as F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“More like a tin soldier. All stiff and half a beat off.”
“Honest. A little brutal, but honest. And probably not too far from the truth. I don’t dance that one. Or the Charleston.” Was she laughing or shivering? He set down the poker and climbed to his feet. “Stand up. I’m going to move your chair closer to the fire.”
“It’s a log. A chair has armrests.” But she stood.
He scooted the log stool about two feet closer to the blaze. “Here.” He stripped off his jacket. “This might help too.” He wrapped the jacket around her slim shoulders after she sat down. Her perfume had lingered on the fabric for several days after he’d covered her with it the night they’d left Pittsburgh. Not that he’d minded.
“So, Micky, what dances can ya do?”
“The slow ones.”
“And are you careful with your hands, sir?” Vera flashed her palms and wiggled her fingers. “I’ve yet to meet a gent who is. But then, being forced to be with sweaty-palmed men for a coin a dance can really give a person a slanted opinion on the subject.”
Mick’s chest squeezed. “You were a taxi dancer?”
“Off and on at the Kelly Club. I was first hired to sell cigarettes, but I also had to serve as the dime-a-dance girl. That’s why I was so happy t
o become the canary.”
The image of drunken idiots with their grimy paws all over Vera ignited something in him. No wonder she had a tough time trusting men. Between Kelly, Cavenhalt, and the sordid patrons at the Kelly Club, the poor woman couldn’t help but carry a loathing prejudice against his gender. “Did you always want to be a singer? Was that your dream?”
“I gave up on dreams long ago. Survival trumps fairy tales.” She sighed. “I hated to be pinched. Grabbed. Being the canary, I went out and sang. That’s all. Nobody touched me.” She glared at the fire. “Angelo was my bodyguard. He’d throw out any creep with forceful hands. Usually, I found them in the crowd before anything happened. Except for that one time.”
A nerve throbbed in his temple. “What happened?”
“I finished my number, walked offstage, and …”
The flickering fire could be blamed for the shadows on her face, giving her a haunted look, but Mick knew better.
She shivered like the moment she’d spotted the dead rattler. Were the memories just as poisonous to her? “A man pulled me by the arm outside.”
He tensed. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. Carson found us and slugged the man, sending him running.”
“Did they find him? Was an assault charge filed?”
“No, they didn’t find him. And Carson didn’t take the trouble to search.” She blew out her cheeks with a noisy exhale. “How did we get on this topic again?”
“Dancing.”
She gave a ghost of a smile. “Oh, right. Men and their hungry hands.”
“Not all are like that.” Mick stepped toward her, thinking if he was at the Kelly Club right now, he’d pin all the men up on the wall by their collars.
“What? You goin’ to move my log closer?” She stood and took a step back.
“No, I am asking you to dance with me.”
She looked at him sideways, but the fire’s light revealed traces of pleasure in her eyes. “What did Lacey put in your lemonade?”
He didn’t move. She needed to know what it was like to be treated with respect. While he couldn’t surrender any portions of his heart, he could offer her this dance.
“You serious?”
“Yes.”
“There ain’t music.”
“Best around.” He motioned toward the fire. “The rhythmic crackles could rival any melody. And we have a spotlight.” He tipped his head back. “I ordered a full moon, just for you.”
She set his jacket on the log, and he outstretched his hand, fully aware that she could reject his offer with one word or even a shake of the head. Keeping his eyes trained on her, he hoped with all his soul she could feel the security in his gaze. He’d never harm her, and Lord help the man who tried while he was near.
The sides of her mouth slowly tipped up, and his patience was rewarded with a smile that throttled the air right out of him. She stepped into his arms, and the swell of victory rose in his chest.
He placed his palm on the curve of her back, and with his other hand he held hers. Her frame fit snugly into his. And they danced, swaying under the chunky stars set in a black velvet sky. Vera rested her head on his chest, and a comfortable silence lingered between them. “Am I putting you to sleep?”
“No. I was thinkin’.” Her hair was fragranced like every man’s dream—lavender hinted with campfire smoke.
“What about?”
“How different you are to the man who showed up at my door.”
Mick laughed. “I’m not any different. I have to harden myself. It’s important in my line of work. You know me better. That’s all.” He felt her nod, and most likely she felt his pounding heart. “Besides, I could say the same thing about you. You’re a different girl than that mouthy redhead who stuck her tongue out at me.” He glanced down, reveling in the way she nuzzled her face into his shirt. “You know I saw that, don’t you?”
Vera’s gentle laughter floated into his ears, and his eyes slid shut. “I did do that. Sorry.”
“Your world was crashing.” And the urge to be the one to help her put it back together raged within him.
She relaxed against him. “I’m glad you were at the Kelly Club that night.” The admiration in her voice speared him, like a hundred bullet casings in the heart.
Did she know how much she affected him? Made him long for things forever out of his reach?
He pressed a kiss to the top her head, lingering, letting the action speak what his voice never could.
His hot breath blazed her neck, while the pungent odor of whiskey burned her nose.
“Get off me!” Vera wrenched, but he sat on her legs, pinning her to the bed. The steel barrel of the pistol stabbed her gut, making her choke on her own saliva. “Stop!” Tears squeezed from her clenched eyes as his fingers bit into her throat.
“Give it to me.” His snarly voice grated her ears.
“No! It’s all I have left of her!” She shifted and thrust her knee into his groin.
He moaned and rolled off her thighs, his dirty hand still clutching the pistol. His finger grazed the trigger.
Thunder cracked, rattling the window. Her eyes popped open.
Vera’s fingers were tangled in her necklace, her legs twisted in the sheet. Her nightgown clung to her chest, dampened with sweat. It was only a dream. She was safe in the Boone cabin. She breathed out, releasing the tension in her muscles. It’d been eight years, and she still couldn’t get away from him? Eight years to the day.
Thunder roared again. She glared at the charcoal clouds strangling daybreak, a scornful laugh pushing from her gut. Dark and somber. Indicative of the kind of day it’d always been. Rain pelted the window in a fitful rhythm. She’d let the skies cry instead of her.
The effort of dressing and not burrowing under her covers all day added an extra strain. Could she possibly take on the task of pretending today meant nothing? As though the nightmare had never occurred? If Mick detected one shred of her unease, he might try to uncover the whole incident. And she couldn’t have that.
Maybe she could dwell on happier times—one so recent as last evening. She could’ve melted into a puddle, and it hadn’t been from the fire’s heat. She relived it, the planes of his face in the moonlight, the beat of his heart against her ear, and the pressure of his lips on the crown of her head. That one dance had done more for her heart than a hundred other dances had.
She dressed and went downstairs. Ten steps in various directions revealed Mick wasn’t anywhere nearby. But something else close drew her stare. Donuts. Her stomach growled. She neared paradise on a plate and found that wasn’t the only item on that dilapidated card table. No, there was a wooden box and a note.
“Because every girl should have a present on her birthday.” Vera read the message aloud and slowly descended into the chair. What? How’d he know? She glanced around to catch any trace of him, but there was only the sound of rain and her thoughts. She read the note again and smiled at the letterhead—Allegheny County Police Department.
Goodness, how long had it been since she’d gotten a birthday present? She fingered the gold chain around her neck, the last gift she’d received. Well, half of it, anyway. She’d always remember the delight which had coursed through her when her grandmother had bestowed it. Her fourteen-year-old heart had been filled with excitement to look all grown up with a real gold necklace. Such innocence. Vera’s heart panged. Oh, for life to be simple again. Pure.
She focused on the box. It was small, almost like … a ring box. Her heart spiraled into her stomach like the rain rolled down the roof. She remembered his words from yesterday to Lacey and dismissed any suspicions of that kind. Mick wasn’t interested.
Running her fingers across the carved paisleys, she studied the box’s elegance. Slowly, she lifted the lid.
She sucked in enough air for her lungs to explode. Resting on a folded handkerchief was … the other half. The other half! She cradled the golden cross pendant in her hand, gazing at the token she’d thought w
as gone forever. Where had he found this? Memories swirled—her grandmother’s faint scent of peppermint oil, the soft rasp of her voice, and the peace that permeated her cabin. A hot tear trickled as she pressed the pendant against her cheek.
“It was under your radiator.” Mick stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, hands anchored in his pockets, his shirt dotted with the rain.
Vera ran and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you!” She planted a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. “Thank you so much!”
“You’re welcome,” he said in a strangled voice.
“Sorry, Micky.” She laughed and released her hold. “You made me so happy!” Another tear, but who cared? “I used to keep it in my drawer folded in my grandmother’s handkerchief.”
“Not bad for an overgrown Boy Scout.”
“You goin’ to hold that against me?” She waved a hand at him. “That was ages ago.” Well, about eleven days, but it’d seemed like forever. “You’re on my A-list now, sonny.”
Mick grinned, and she’d swear that he rocked slightly on his heels. “If I’m on you’re A-list now, I’d hate to know where I was before.” He motioned toward the box she held. “That’s from me. I bought it to put the cross in.”
“It’s perfect.” Her heart filled with an emotion she hadn’t experienced in years—hope. She shamelessly shed another tear. “I was sure, so sure, the cross was lost forever. And here it is.”
“Happy Birthday, Ver.”
“Thank you,” she said on a sigh, turning toward him. “What do I say to the man who gave my grandmother back to me?”
He shook his head. “I only gave back the good memories.”
She allowed her gaze to pour over the cross. “Well, it’s the closest I can ever get to her.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” he said. “You can look her straight in the face again. She’s alive. Heaven is a real place.”
Rain pattered the roof, Vera’s emotions welling. How she longed to see her. Hear her. Touch her.
“Want to know what to say to the Man who gave your grandmother back to you? Tell Him that you believe on Him.”
The Red Canary Page 16
