Back at the house, Adele sought Rawley, who, not surprisingly, was in his office. Memories of their earlier encounter in the room washed over her, momentarily swamping her anxiety and guilt with warmth and anticipation. Her gaze lingered on the couch. Rawley cleared his throat, and she jolted. Madam Sophie’s horrid death reasserted itself in her thoughts.
He scooted around the desk and held her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong? You look...” He tilted his head. “I’m not sure, but I’ve never seen you look like this.”
She gazed at the top button of his dark green waistcoat, afraid to look in his eyes. That would make this all real. “Madam Sophie was killed early this morning.” She pulled in a deep breath and finally met his gaze.
His face drained of color, and he sat on his couch. She joined him, feeling weak in the knees as well.
“What happened?”
She filled him in. As she related the story, he grew increasingly agitated, which for him initially consisted of a muscle jumping in his jaw, and graduated to jouncing a leg up and down. Finally, as she neared the end, he popped up and paced the room. When she finished, he spun around. “You are in mortal danger.”
She slumped as much as her corset allowed. “I am a trifle worried about the matter.” Again, because of her need for thrills, innocent people had not only been hurt, but had died. But unlike before, she would not back down from doing what was right.
“A trifle worried? I’m much more than a trifle worried.”
“What should I do?”
Had she just imposed on him like that? She tensed, waiting while he paced, his shoes making a tidy squeak each time he turned about. Why would her mouth blurt such a needy question?
She didn’t expect help. Blech. She didn’t need it. So, why did she feel so exposed, so vulnerable like a huge big ball of...of...need?
Had their earlier encounter on the couch caused this? Or had crumbling the shield between her and Rex exposed more of herself than she intended?
She clenched her fists and stood. Enough of this. She’d overstepped, and it had been silly to ask for his advice, his involvement. Plus, her heart urged leaving now before she reached the end of his indulgence. She didn’t want to know it—the limit.
“Adele, wait.” Rawley gripped her arm and motioned to the couch with the other. “We need to discuss this.”
Something inside shifted slightly, and she knew, could see, in the set of his shoulders, in his gentle but firm grip, in the way his blue eyes held hers, that not only did this man take her seriously, but she could depend on him.
In a daze, she sat down. He settled next to her and faced her, one arm outstretched on the couch’s back. This close to him, she could catch a faint hint of his unique scent—bergamot, starched linen, and something else, something that sent a wholly inappropriate tingle down her spine, considering the topic of conversation.
He leaned forward. “I think you need to leave town.”
“Won’t he follow me?”
The hand on the back of the couch came down and thumped his knee. “Damn it, I don’t know, but there must be something we could do.”
We. “Well, I don’t know what it is. I’ve given the police everything.”
“What description did you have?”
She waved a vague hand. “Dark hair, average height, eyes too close together. I have a photograph, but it doesn’t help much. You can’t really see his face. And Jenny made a sketch, which I traced.”
“Can you show me?”
“Yes, I’ll be right back.”
Adele returned a few minutes later, and Rawley took the sketch from her, his blunt fingers holding it carefully by the edges. He tilted it toward the ambient light from the window, and his features took on a grim cast. He examined the photograph and sighed. “Yes, unfortunately you’re correct. Even the clothing is nondescript. No distinguishing items.” He flung the photograph onto his desk. “I still think you should leave town.”
“If he suspects me, won’t my sudden departure confirm his suspicions?”
He crossed his arms. “I don’t care. You need to be kept safe.”
She could tell arguing with him was useless. “I promise to think about it.” For two seconds. She wasn’t certain it was necessary. How could she learn more about this killer?
“It occurs to me we may know a little more about him.” He ran a hand through his hair, making several tufts stand straight.
“What’s that?”
“Well, he’s trying to sell top-secret government plans. He’s a spy. There’s a good chance he’s not American. You said Jenny didn’t want to see anyone of Spanish descent. Obviously he could be a traitor, but the likelihood, while not small, isn’t overwhelmingly possible. Perhaps we could direct our inquiries in that direction? Find who is new in town and Spanish?”
She growled in frustration. “Right now this town is overrun with people not from here. Granted, most of them are from upstate who came here for work on the government contracts...”
“Exactly. Perhaps we can focus just on the Spaniards.”
“I may have a name as well.” She filled him in on her theory and her hopes Madam Sophie could confirm it.
“Have you told the police?”
“No, I just had the hunch this morning and rushed to Madam Sophie’s, and...well...”
“Right, right.” He took a deep breath. “So we can tell them your suspicions, and we can inquire at the boarding houses for this fellow.”
“But those are numerous.”
“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”
“You’re right.” She tapped her fingers against her lips. She looked at him askance. “See, you protest to be a milksop, but here you are, proposing we pursue a cold-blooded killer instead of leaving it to the police.”
The blood drained from his face so fast and thoroughly, it highlighted a heretofore unseen freckle on his left cheek. “I... Well... I just want to feel like we’re doing everything possible to keep you safe. And if that’s discovering who this bastard is so the police can take care of him, then so be it.”
She smiled. “Whatever you say, Rawley.”
A knock on the open door interrupted them. Camilla stood there, hands on hips. “You had a telephone call. Mr. Tonti wants you at the newspaper right away.”
Rawley insisted on accompanying her to the paper for protection, and she found she didn’t care to argue. They hopped onto Smarty Pants, and his large frame, expertly clad in a dapper seersucker suit, loomed close. He draped an arm across the seat back, enclosing her in his space, but not touching. A flush crept up her cheeks.
His presence felt right. No effort required—no, that wasn’t right. It was like she could vibrate, be herself, without conforming or worrying about fitting in, or feeling like he had a leash ready. Well, except for that big leash—marriage, but he’d made it clear she wasn’t suitable. There was a freedom in that knowledge. Was there a way to fit him into her life without sacrificing her independence? Would he be willing?
Whoa. Where had that thought come from? No. Not the time to be thinking about that possibility. She needed to find the murderer and bring him to justice. Then she’d have time to sort her feelings.
Soon, she led him into the bustling newsroom.
“Ah, Miss de la Pointe,” her boss said, intercepting her by the copy desk and sticking a pencil behind his ear. “I have an assignment.”
Her heart rate quickened. Had he finally relented?
“As our society reporter, you will be the perfect person for this. I’ve already secured your passage.”
“My passage?”
“Yes, for you and a chaperone, on tomorrow’s maiden voyage of the Waterman Steamship Company’s new luxury cruise submarine, The Neptune.”
“A submersible?” Now her heart raced, but for a reason other than excitement. No. More like it had already started running away and labored at still being stuck in place.
“Yes. The latest in submarine technology, but fitted out on a grand scale. They tell me it can hold 1100 passengers. I booked you in a first-class cabin.” He whipped the pencil out and pointed it toward her in one emphatic push. “I want a complete story on its marvels, as well as the passengers and the on-board entertainment.”
She clenched her fists, feeling bombarded. “But, sir—”
“Many of the best families will already be on board, so you will not lack for acquaintances and companionship. I’ve heard there’s a full orchestra for the balls in the evening. It should be grand. A plum assignment.”
Water... A submersible... She couldn’t do it. “Isn’t there someone else who can do this?”
He crossed his arms. “You’re my only society reporter. You know that.”
“Yes, sir, it’s just I’m in the middle of investigating the murders. I have another story to file.” She couldn’t tell him the other reason she couldn’t do this. Getting on a submersible was out of the question.
His brows drew down, and his face flushed a deep red. “Forget that. I told you I don’t want you covering those stories. My timeline had been a smokescreen to deflect you anyway. Your writing for that position hasn’t been up to par, so you’re out of the running as of now regardless.”
She felt the world tilt, suddenly conscious of the others in the newsroom listening, especially Rawley. Not up to par? “But, sir, I’m so close.”
“Do you know who the murderer is?”
She hesitated. No. To spread speculation would be wrong.
“You hesitate. You have your suspicions.”
“But that’s all they are—suspicions.”
He stepped forward, his bulk and proximity emphasizing his opinion. “What are they? I can have Mr. Peterson write it up.”
She locked her knees to prevent herself from stepping back. “No. It’s my story, and I won’t be a party to blatant speculation.”
“What does it matter? The only thing that matters is selling papers.”
“What about integrity? Truth?”
“Pshaw. Ideals don’t sell news.”
She stood straight, skin flushing hot. This was the right thing to do, she knew it. “I’m not telling.”
He glared for a spell, then slashed a hand through the air. “Never mind. This article on The Neptune is important for the paper. Important for the city, actually. The city council is adamant we cover it properly.”
“The city council? We’re covering stories at their command? That makes us just a mouthpiece for their agendas.”
The look he gave was equal parts pitying and condescending, which made her want to take his equal parts and shove them back in his face.
“You have a lot to learn about how the world works. Yes. They hold the power. If they want a story that reflects well on this city, we’ll print it.”
“And does this help with the circulation?” She knew her voice held a little too much sass for being directed at her boss, and she braced herself for a stern reaction, but it just puffed against him. Proving he didn’t take her seriously.
“It’s an exception. It helps the paper in other ways. The Neptune promises to bring lots of trade to Mobile. Many people stand to become rich, if it’s successful. Or stand to lose much. I’m depending on you. These tickets are hard to come by, but the city council secured these for us. Be at the Waterman Wharf at 8 a.m. sharp, packed and ready. If you are not, or if you don’t turn in a spectacular piece, you can consider yourself out of a job completely.” He whirled around and marched back into his office.
Numb. Her whole body, mind, numb. She dragged in a breath. It was such a new feeling, shying away from an adventure. Anger seeped into the numbness—of all the high-handed actions her boss could’ve pulled. And the complete lack of integrity...
Taking the story from her felt like the ground had disappeared beneath her, followed by a flash flood of fear.
And, oh God. Water. Water-water-water. Too much. Just the thought of it was as if it swamped her, drowned all her other concerns. How could she face it? How could she deal with it at all?
A warm hand caressed the small of her back. “I will help you.” Rawley, his voice sympathetic, understanding.
She blinked to keep the tears of frustration at bay. “How, Rawley?” she whispered. “I can’t stand being in water, much less in a submarine.”
He stepped around and faced her, his voice pitched low so no others could hear. “There’s an afternoon of daylight left. Let’s go to the river and work through this.”
She took a shaky breath, touched he so readily assessed the situation and had a solution. She didn’t see how that would work, but she followed him anyway. If he had a solution, any kind of solution, she welcomed it, because right now, all she could feel, all that crawled up her throat, was a choking, can’t-deal-with-anything-else fear.