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Vanessa shivered as she stepped back out into the night, alone.
She pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. But it did little good against the chilly evening air turned damp with the lateness of the hour.
As she rubbed her arms to get rid of the goose bumps, all she could think of was the sound of Jake’s voice, low and soft in her ear, as he’d offered her his jacket. Had it only been a few hours ago that they’d been so happily dancing and talking and...kissing... together?
She pressed her lips together to suppress the tremble of her chin. She would not cry. Not here, not now, and especially not over Jake Ford.
He was ridiculous. Her feelings for him were ridiculous too. She straightened her spine. She was better off without him.
As Vanessa walked across the lawn to speak with one of the museum board members about the silent auction bids, she pasted a smile on her face.
She strode over to the gray-haired woman who stood by the silent auction table.
“Vanessa.” The other woman smiled. “This was such a lovely venue. What an excellent idea.”
“I think everyone appreciated the relevance tonight, Roseanne. How did we do?”
The older woman waved a stack of papers at Vanessa. “I’ll be sure to let you know bright and early tomorrow. Right now, it looks like you could use some sleep. I think everyone could.”
After Vanessa spoke with the event coordinator, she checked the late night train schedule back to New York. The last train back to the city was in thirty minutes. She called a cab to take her to the nearest commuter station.
She averted her eyes from the parking spot where Jake’s Land Rover no longer sat, and climbed into the waiting taxi.
Well after two o’clock in the morning, Vanessa made her way up from the subway station and let herself in to her apartment. Her fingers fumbled with the key and she couldn’t help but remember the very first time Jake had crossed her threshold, how she’d been almost giddy with nerves and excitement.
She clenched her jaw. Tried to shove aside the memories, and the certainty that she’d totally screwed everything up.
She heaved a sigh as she undressed and changed into her pajamas. Fear and worry warred with guilt and shame inside her. What if Jake was right? What if she had completely dismissed his concerns over his career? She winced as Jake’s accusation came back to her. Had she actually done to Jake what Eric had done to her?
She narrowed her eyes at her reflection as she brushed her teeth at the bathroom sink.
No.
She spit out the toothpaste. He was the one in the wrong. He was the one who’d acted just like her ex. He’d dismissed all the effort she’d put in her own career, and completely abandoned her in favor of his own.
Pain stabbed at her heart like tiny knives. This was how all her relationships would end, wouldn’t they? She was going to be single forever.
She twisted the faucet on and rinsed her mouth. Maybe that was just fine. Yes. She nodded at herself in the mirror. It was so much easier that way. No drama. No pain. And no Jake Ford in her life to complicate everything.
She walked into her bedroom, climbed into bed and went to sleep.
*
SUNSHINE STREAMED THROUGH the blinds Friday morning. The brightness of the light told Vanessa she’d slept in way too long. Oh no. Her eyes flew open. She had to get to work.
But then it all came back. The gala. The anagram. Jake’s face. His words. Her heart squeezed.
She shoved back the covers and her thoughts as she got ready for the day. She threw on a pair of slightly wrinkled capris and a turquoise top. She needed to put that man out of her mind. It’d do her no good to think about him or their argument or... anything else about him, for that matter.
She would bet that he certainly wasn’t wasting time thinking about her. Best to put all her time and energy into her work, into finding out the identity of Agent 355. She didn’t need Jake Ford’s help with that. She was perfectly capable of doing things on her own.
After she’d eaten breakfast and locked up her apartment, she headed over to the office.
She walked through office door, waved at the temp, then went straight to the break room to make herself a cup of strong, hot coffee.
Her gaze strayed to the hole in the wall. The masonry company had said they’d come next week to fix things. Her eyes lingered on the hollow cavity as she waited for the coffee maker.
Why had the journal pages been there when the journal itself wasn’t? She walked over to the wall and brushed her fingers against the rough edges of the cracked mortar. White chalky powder came off on her fingertips. Huh. Must be more loose mortar, like Bryce had mentioned...
But what was that? She felt along the inside edge of the newly exposed crack. It looked almost like—she fished a pair of tweezers out of the junk drawer by the coffee machine—yes, a page. Another one? Good grief. But this one was singed. Someone had wedged it deep into the crevice created by the loosened mortar.
She carefully extracted and studied the blackened and soot-stained third of a page. From the char pattern, it looked as if someone had tried to deliberately burn the page but the flames hadn’t quite finished the job.
that I told him ’twas safe to retrieve the cache. Indeed, I full believed it, for the British were distracted by 711’s bluff of an attack on New York. I had thought, in the ensuring busyness of preparing for the supposed attack, that he would not be discovered aboard the Swan. That he would not have been captured.
But oh, ’twas not so. I feel the fault is entirely mine. I should have gone myself, as I had intended, but, he declared ’twas a task he wished to perform. Who was I to stand in the way of such passion? What is the nature of love if not thus? If only I had known...
Yet my own fears and losses are but small compared to the greater sacrifices we all must make in this War of Indepen
“What is not the nature of love but thus?” Vanessa whispered to herself as Jake’s face flashed through her mind. “If only I had known.” She swallowed hard.
For several long moments, Vanessa stared down at the page. Re-read the words. Finally, she turned and walked slowly back to her desk and sat.
She drummed her fingers on the desk as she waited for her laptop to boot up.
She looked again at the paper. No date. But it must have happened after the ball. In the attempt to get the pearls back from the British, 355’s true love had been, apparently, discovered and captured.
But what about Agent 355 herself? Vanessa flicked back through her mental file on the woman, and on what Rhonda had said about those initials: H.M.
She cupped her chin in her hand. If she’d—
Her desk telephone rang. She jumped. What if Jake—She snatched up the receiver. “Hello, Women of the American Revolution Museum, Vanessa speaking.’
“Vanessa, hello. This is Roseanne White.”
“...Roseanne, hi. I hope you were able to get caught up on sleep after the gala last night?”
“Fit as a fiddle,” Roseanne chuckled. “Listen, I’ve had a chance to tally everything up.”
Vanessa’s heart pounded. The ticket sales had done well—they’d gotten almost half of their needed funding from that. Now with the additional proceeds from the silent auction, things should be looking good.
“That’s great,” Vanessa replied. “How did we do?”
The other woman paused. “After I went through everything, I counted a second time just to make sure.”
“I sense a ‘but’ in there.”
“I’m sorry, Vanessa, but the silent auction proceeds did not help meet the larger goal the museum said it would achieve. The auction proceeds covered maybe a fourth of the amount they needed to.”
Vanessa chewed on a cuticle. “So now what? Can we fix this?”
Roseanne sighed. “There’s nothing else to do, Vanessa. As you know, this gala was the last hope. Now that the funding goal hasn’t been met, I’m afraid the board is going to have to make some hard decisions here pretty quickly.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“We’ll put it to a vote but really that’s just a formality. The museum is going to have to close.”
Vanessa’s stomach dropped. If she could find the pearls, and figure out 355’s identity... But that was a pretty faint hope right now, realistically speaking.
She rubbed her temples. And despite her claim earlier that morning to figure things out without Jake, she didn’t have any fresh leads to go on.
She sighed. So there was really nothing else for it, was there? She’d have to call her boss and break the bad news.
*
WAY TOO EARLY FRIDAY morning, Jake forced himself to focus on the tablet in front of him. He stifled a yawn. He took a swing of coffee and did his best to push away the memory of Vanessa’s expression as they’d discovered those first diary entries in her office’s break room.
He put the black-and-red mug down on the dressing room table, as if the mere act of doing so would help him put aside the pain of their confrontation last night at the gala.
He winced. It didn’t work. His thought returned—yet again—to their heated words. He sighed. What had he been thinking? He shouldn’t’ve let things get so out of hand. He—No. This wasn’t his fault at all. He clenched his jaw. She was the one who’d jumped down his throat.
He’d only been doing his best to protect his show, his reputation. He hung his head. But maybe she’d been right?
No.
She wasn’t right. He wasn’t focused only on his career. That was a ridiculous accusation. He narrowed his eyes at his reflection in the dressing room mirror as the stylist applied gel to his hair.
He wasn’t some sort of self-interested...self-centered actor. He clenched his teeth. She’d gotten it all wrong.
He was only trying to do right by the show, for his fans. People across the globe loved this show and if it went down the tubes, so would his dreams. Something he loved so much, that gave him so much joy.
And wasn’t joy an essential service to the public? He straightened up. Yes. It was. Because without joy, the world would be a pretty grim place. Therefore, he hadn’t made a mistake in walking away from Vanessa.
She was the one who needed to apologize, to—Hang on, what was he thinking? He wasn’t actually wanting to forgive her, was he? He huffed out a breath. No. He wasn’t. He set his jaw.
The stylist made a few last-minute adjustments before she left.
He was just going to get on with his life. He was better off without Vanessa, if she was just going to jump to conclusions like that, and hurl accusations at him. He was better off single. Besides, it wasn’t exactly easy to find a woman who wanted to put up with someone who was gone for 200 days out of the year. And Vanessa had a stable job she loved. So, the whole thing had been doomed from the start.
But his heart clenched anyway.
“Mr. Ford?” An assistant stuck his head in the half-open dressing room doorway. “You’re on.”
“Great, thanks,” Jake replied. He took a deep breath. It was time to focus on things that he could control. And right now, that was doing his damnedest to get this show’s reputation back on track.
He headed onto the talk show set.
“...In three...” the cameraman counted down, and for a moment, Jake wished it was Bryce behind the lens. That guy had been around on his crew for so long he was practically family. And a little family, a little familiarity was what he needed right now.
“...Two....”
He took a deep breath. He could do this. He’d done this so many times before. It’d be as easy as jumping off a waterfall, right?
“....And one.”
*
VANESSA MASSAGED THE base of her skull, but it did nothing to ease the throb of a headache building there.
She forced herself to look back at the computer screen. But her eyes blurred and she sat back with a heavy sigh. Now what? The conversation with Kali hadn’t gone well, to say the least.
So here she was, scrolling through endless legal documents to try and find some sort of loophole in order to save the museum. And what about her exhibit?
She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. But she wasn’t a lawyer. She pressed her palms against her closed eyelids. The museum didn’t have a budget for one. And she didn’t know any, either.
With effort, she opened her eyes and lifted her gaze back to the page she’d been looking at, but all the words swam together.
She stood up and shut the lid of her laptop. She needed some fresh air and some fresh perspective.
Maybe she’d take a long walk in Battery Park. Yes. Some fresh air would do her good. She stretched and yawned and then grabbed the keys off the back hook, waved at the temp, and headed out the door.
As the breeze off the water buffeted her hair, she tucked a strand behind her ear and pushed her hands into her capri pockets.
She turned her head to look out at the water, as she attempted to shut out the throng of people around her.
Beyond the iron railing that stretched the length of the path, the wind-tossed waves caught the sun and made them sparkle and shine.
Normally, she loved the hustle and bustle here this time of year—thrived on that energy—but right now, she needed some peace and quiet. Looking out at the water gave her that sensation, even if she couldn’t escape land right now.
The yellow Staten Island ferry chugged by, and she thought back to the peace and stillness of Rhonda Miller’s wooded lot. Maybe, if she could ever afford it, she would look at property in Long Island. She recalled the rough bark under her fingertips as she looked up at those initials.
If Nathaniel’s family had owned that property before the Revolution, then maybe there would be something...anything...that might give her more information. Because maybe, just maybe, if she discovered 355’s identity, found the pearls, that would change the board’s mind?
“Tag, you’re it!” A little kid yelled as he sprinted by, ahead of a girl in pigtails who raced after him, spilling popcorn kernels in her wake.
Vanessa pulled up the search engine on her phone.
But after typing in Nathaniel’s name and the relevant dates on pretty much every genealogy and museum database she knew of, she’d drawn a blank. All her searching had only confirmed what scant information Rhonda had already shared.
She blew out a sigh. Maybe it was time to give up, let go of this whole ridiculous chase. The museum was going under. So what was the point? 355’s identity, and the pearls, hadn’t been discovered in 250 years. Why’d she ever think she’d have any luck herself?
She’d failed.
Overwhelm washed through her. She looked up at the seagulls calling to each other as they rode the currents above the choppy waves.
Despair nudged in beside overwhelm. What was she doing, anyway? She couldn’t keep the museum going. She couldn’t figure out 355’s identity or locate the pearls...
Jake’s face came to mind but she shoved it away. No. Just no. Tears sprang to her eyes.
...And she couldn’t win in her love life, either.
*
VANESSA MEANDERED ALONG the battery for what seemed like hours. She loved to walk, and would do it at times for hours. In New York, that wasn’t really a hardship or an issue. One time, she’d gone nearly twenty blocks in heels because the subway line she’d been on had unexpectedly stopped for someone who’d gotten sick.
That had been for the interview for her current job, in fact. Vanessa gave a half-hearted smile at the memory. Back when she was full of enthusiasm, passion, for the museum, for the ideas she knew she could bring.
But now what? She brushed away the tears but they continued to fall anyway.
Vanessa stared down at the hexagonal paving stones as she walked. A pink bubble gum wrapper blew by, and a homeless woman who leaned against a tree, rattled an orange paper coffee cup she held. Absently, Vanessa fished for some change at the bottom of her purse and tossed it in.
The woman, who didn’t look that much older than Vanessa, saluted her.
Vanessa turned her eyes back to the water. She was nearing the end of the path. A guy in a blue polo shirt adjusted his grip on a fishing rod that rested on the iron railing; its line dangled into the water.
As she came to stand at the same railing, she realized—that homeless woman hadn’t looked like she was sitting there feeling sorry for herself. No. She was at least making some sort of effort to help herself, even if it was only asking for change.
That’s what Vanessa needed to do, too. Her lips twitched at the irony—change. She needed to change her mind, change her outlook. She needed to push ahead. She couldn’t give up. She shouldn’t give up. She had to keep going. She owed it to herself, to the museum, and to history itself.
She retraced her steps to the museum.
Back at her computer, Vanessa read through the financial agreements again. Hang on. How had she not noticed this clause before? She must have been too tired and defeated-feeling.
Vanessa leaned forward. Special circumstances, the clause stated. She read the paragraphs under her breath, a slow smile starting to spread across her face.
Hmmm. She tapped her finger against her bottom lip as she studied the screen and the words there.
If funding amounts were not met, the applicant could appeal the decision and ask to file a loan extension. Could this work?
She picked up the desk phone. Paused. Should she ask Kali about this beforehand? No. She shook her head. Kali had enough to deal with at the moment.
Vanessa wouldn’t bother her with this. Better to wait until things had been approved.
She grinned as she put the handset to her ear and dialed the board chair.
*
MONDAY MORNING, JAKE sat at the gray office desk in his hotel room and rubbed his temples, alternating between worrying about how on Earth they’d be able to get this episode in with less than a week to go, and remembering how everything with Vanessa had imploded.
He jumped up, paced to the window, and looked at the skyline without seeing it. So he turned on his heel and flopped back into the leather office chair by the desk. He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.
Thank goodness that interview was over. He could only hope that it would have a positive impact on the ratings and on the Internet trolls. Too bad he couldn’t influence his love life in the same way.
He sighed, spun the office swivel chair around in a circle then booted up his laptop. He drummed his fingers on the desk. He needed to figure out this whole footage thing with Bryce. He fired off a text. A moment later, the reply came.
The online editing suite’s cloud service is prepping for some sort of maintenance update, and has things re-arranged, so I’m still looking.
Jake groaned. Were things going from bad to worse? He scrubbed a hand across his jawline. No. He couldn’t afford to think like that. Not in this business. He hadn’t gotten as far as he had by thinking negatively. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
He couldn’t do anything else about the footage situation at the moment, or the response to his interview, so his energies were better spent elsewhere.
Like figuring out anything else he could dig up about 355. Because wasn’t that the whole point? Find the pearls, find out the identity of the most elusive of Washington’s spies? He forced an image of Vanessa’s face out of his mind.
Yes. It was.
*
A FEW HOURS LATER, Jake sat back and tried to ease the crimp in his neck. Those letters. Those diary entries. He scrolled back through the photos of them on his phone. There had to be something else...some other angle he hadn’t thought of.
His thumb paused on the second diary entry, and 355’s words about Lord C.
Hmm. The man had served in the Royal Navy, and commandeered that French frigate. Surely his full name would be somewhere...
Jake’s pulse quickened. If he looked up Lord C, perhaps that would be the way to find out more about 355. She had mentioned the man as a suitor her father approved of. What if they’d gotten married? The marriage certificate would have to show both of their names.
If they’d gotten married, anyway. He’d try looking up a marriage license, too. He jotted down some notes.
But first, perhaps, the best place to start would be the man’s military records.
Jake pulled up a military archives website and plugged in the approximate dates and what little he knew about the man.
He scanned the results. Hmm. Lots of things related to the British occupation of New York, certainly. Now the trick would be to figure out how to narrow down the hits.
What would Vanessa make of this? For a moment, his heart constricted. He found himself imagining her green eyes lit with excitement—that same expression she’d worn when they’d pulled that first diary entry from the wall...
But Jake shook it off. He couldn’t waste his time speculating on things that were over and done with. And completely out of his control.
He kept scrolling. Naval records, troop movements, ship manifests. Hmm. What was this? He leaned forward. It looked like some sort of prisoner roster that listed patriots who were captured by the British Navy and incarcerated on prison ships in New York Harbor.
Oh, and it also looked like... He looked at the top of the list. A naval officer with the last name of Callingham had orchestrated the incarceration.
Jake frowned. That started with a c and ended with an m. But lord was a title, and wasn’t there something with the British aristocracy where a person’s name didn’t match what their title was?
He did a quick search. Yep. Mmm. So this Callingham person probably wasn’t who 355 had referred to. He needed Lord C’s given name.
Oh. What if he cross-referenced the name of that French frigate that 355 had named, with this list and see what he could find out that way?
Worth a try.
“Pay dirt,” he whispered to himself forty-five minutes later as he read the naval report. It looked like a man named Geoffrey Charles White, Lord Cunningham, had been the commanding officer when the French frigate Cignet had been captured by the British Navy. It was taken to New York Harbor where it sat in dry dock to await a refit, then was renamed the Swan. That fit perfectly with what 355 said. This Geoffrey person had to be the man she’d mentioned.
Now knowing that, he’d see what else he could find...
A bit later, he’d come up with just two documents, but very telling ones. His pulse thudded as he studied them.
Headquarters, New York Aug. 31, 1780
Dear Admiral:
In response to your inquiry of a fortnight ago, Sir, I am pleased to inform you that Mr. Nathaniel Wheeler has at last made a full confession. His attempt to retrieve the pearl cache from the Swan has failed.
Though...encouraged...by various means, Wheeler continues to deny all knowledge of any other parties who might have been privy to his actions. While I suspect he is lying, his stalwart stance will do him no good.
For I have already signed his death warrant. He is to be hanged as a Traitor to the Crown at dawn three days hence, along with four of his fellow treasonists.
I can find but little pity for someone such as that who believes in such flagrant displays of civil disobedience.
I am, Sir,
Your humble servant, etc.,
Cmdr. Geoffrey White,
Lord Cunningham, Esq.
To: Admrl Wm. James
Halifax hqrts
PostScript: As for your other query, you may be assured that I am indeed familiar with Halifax, and would be most interested in a transfer to those Headquarters should the opportunity arise.
––––––––
REAL NICE GUY. JAKE shook his head. So this meant that Nathaniel Wheeler, 355’s true love, had been executed by the man who 355’s father decreed she marry?
His thought turned again to Vanessa. How would she take this revelation? What would she have said if she’d discovered this? Why was he wondering? What if he actually asked her?
He jerked upright. If he presented her with the information, then... what? He frowned. No. He shook his head. She’d made it very clear she didn’t want to give him the time of day.
He turned to review the second document, a partial newspaper article from The Royal Gazette.
September 3, 1780 Disturbance at Gallows
After British troops garrisoned in the area searched the homes of several suspected patriots, four executions took place this morning. Despite the early chill and heavy rains, a large crowd had gathered to witness the capital punishment, and a hush had fallen over those present. Until a woman in a tattered red cloak, who had somehow pushed her way to the front of the line of spectators, called out just as the executioner slid the hood off Mr. Nathaniel Wheeler’s head.
But all her protestations did her no good, for she was expelled from the site for making a disturb—
The rest of the article had crumbled away, and there was nothing more to the digital scan.
Jake tugged his earlobe. So 355 had shown up at her lover’s execution and tried to stop it. Made sense.
Jake shuddered. If he’d been in the same position, would he have done the very same thing? Did he have that much courage?
He reread the article. She had on a red cloak. “Huh,” Jake murmured. This must’ve been right before she’d gone to Sally Townsend’s. Didn’t Therese say 355 had shown up at Sally’s door in a ragged red cloak? Yes. Jake rubbed his jaw. Yes, she had, and the timeframe certainly fit.
His gaze lingered on the article. His throat tightened. Did 355 find any happiness with Lord Cunningham? Jake’s lips compressed. Judging from his character in that letter, Jake found it hard to believe she could have.
He exhaled slowly. She’d been denied true happiness, risked imprisonment or maybe even execution herself, to cause a stir like that. And she still hadn’t given up.
But what was he doing? His heart pinched. Sitting here in the 21st century, feeling a bit sorry for himself about his show, his career and yes, he admitted it, his love life too.
The pinch in his chest grew as he gazed at the words on the screen. Who was he to just sit around doing nothing about his love life? He’d been an idiot to give up, just walk away from Vanessa, from his chance at actually having love.
Look at 355. She pretty much was guaranteed unhappiness and yet she still tried to fix things, still made an effort.
He sat up straighter. This was his chance—what he needed to do, too. No, he wasn’t facing an executioner, speaking out against injustice and wrongdoing, but the least he could do was make an effort, to show some strength of character, to at least try—he shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to try. He was going to do.
He stood up, shut the lid of his laptop, tucked it into his messenger bag, slung the bag over his shoulder and head out the door.
He needed to fix things with Vanessa. And perhaps this documentation, if she would listen to him, would provide the means to do that.
The only thing left to do was do it.
The hotel room door shut with a click. Jake made his way out onto the bustling sidewalk and hailed a cab.