Betty, leaning over the sink, sucking in air after, stiffened at the sound of the door opening, and let out a sigh at seeing Jane in the reflection of the mirror over the sink.
“Are you sick?” Jane asked.
Betty cupped water in her hand, used it to rinse out her mouth, and spat in the sink. “It must have been something I ate.”
“You haven’t eaten yet. Mother sent me up here to see where you were. Breakfast is almost ready.”
The mention of food made her stomach erupt all over again. She dropped down next to the toilet, but there was nothing left to come up. It was worse this morning than it had been. Probably because the baby was revolting against her marrying James.
No, the baby wouldn’t know the difference. No one would ever know the difference.
“I’ll tell Mother you’re sick,” Jane said.
“No.” Betty pushed off the stool and stood. “I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Yes, I am.” She shook her head. “Really, I’m fine now.”
“You’re awfully pale.”
Betty lifted the washcloth off the edge of the sink and used it to scrub her face, giving her cheeks some color. She then fluffed her hair, so it hung closer to her face. “There. How’s that?”
“Better.” Jane nodded. “Somewhat.”
“Then let’s go,” Betty said, and followed Jane out of the bathroom.
Breakfast was ready, and she and Jane had to hurry to get the table set before things grew cold. Betty ate cautiously, just some toast, which made her feel much better, and the cleaning up went quickly.
She hurried upstairs, to put her hair up and put on an apron for cleaning, and was just about to leave for the abandoned house when Jane entered her room.
“Sit down,” Jane said, closing the door behind her.
“Why?”
Jane huffed out a breath and, holding a magazine against her chest, she paced the floor.
“Why?” Betty repeated. “I need to—”
“I need to read you something,” Jane said.
Betty sat, but said, “I don’t have time to hear about actresses today.” Jane was forever sneaking popular magazines into the house, mainly those about actors, actresses, and singers, and always had something to share out of them.
“It’s not about actresses. It’s about you.”
“Me?”
Jane nodded.
“What are you talking about? I’m not in any magazine.”
Jane huffed out another breath and held up the magazine. “This is a woman’s journal.”
Betty shook her head. Jane snuck those into the house, too.
“It’s all about women and...” Jane shrugged. “Sex.”
“Sex?” Betty’s heart began to pound. Jane couldn’t know about what she and Henry had done that one night. That was impossible. She also couldn’t know the outcome. No one, not even her sisters could know about that.
“Yes, and more.”
“More of what?”
“Articles. I just pulled it out from under my bed to read until it’s time to start chores, and flipped it open, and started to read.” Jane turned the magazine around. “This is the article.”
“‘Pregnancy: What to Expect.’”
Betty’s insides turned to ice, but she kept her head up, prepared to deny everything. She had to.
“You’ve been throwing up every morning,” Jane said. “And you’ve been dizzy, light-headed, faint.”
Betty’s mouth was dry; as much as she wanted to deny those symptoms, to lie to her sister, she couldn’t.
Jane threw her hands in the air, and the magazine. As it fluttered to the floor, she said, “You’re pregnant.”
Betty gnawed on her bottom lip, knowing if she opened her mouth the truth would come out.
“When did you have sex?” Jane asked. “And why didn’t you tell me? Who did you have sex with?” She pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “Please don’t say it was James.”
Betty’s stupor disappeared. “Of course it wasn’t James.” She jumped off the bed and started pacing the floor, feeling frantic.
Jane grabbed the magazine off the floor. “Let’s see, morning sickness. Dizziness. Feeling faint. Are your boobs tender?” Jane asked.
Betty grabbed for the magazine, but Jane twisted out of her reach. “I don’t need a magazine to tell me anything.”
Still reading, Jane continued, “‘Overemotional. Crying for no reason. Exhausted. Confused. Mood changes.’”
Betty snagged the magazine this time and tossed it on the bed.
“What about your nipples?” Jane asked. “Are they dark? You can compare them to mine, if you need to.” Jane had pulled out the front of her yellow-and-white-striped dress and was peering down.
“I don’t need to compare anything.” Betty plopped down on the bed.
“How long have you known?” Jane asked softly.
“Not long,” Betty answered, placing a hand on her stomach.
Jane sat down beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Betty’s entire body was trembling. “Because there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing any of us can do.”
“Henry is the father, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” Fully despondent, Betty closed her eyes against the tears already trickling out. “Oh, Jane, what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to tell me about it,” Jane said. “Every sordid detail!”
Betty wasn’t about to do that; some parts were too private, too special, but she did tell Jane the things she’d wished she’d been able to before. About how she and Henry had met up in Seattle three years ago and how they’d met again at the Rooster’s Nest the night they won the dance-off. About their nights in the tunnel.
She stopped there, not sure how to explain anything else.
“At least you don’t have to marry James,” Jane said.
Betty’s tears flowed faster as she pressed both hands to her stomach, wanting to protect the baby inside her. “That is the one thing I have to do.”
“No. You can’t.”
“I have to—if Father finds out—”
“He won’t. Because you’ll marry Henry.” Jane leaped off the bed. “You’ve told him, right?”
Betty shook her head.
Jane grabbed her hand. “Come on—you have to get over to the house and tell him. You can’t be having a baby six months after you get married. Everyone will know you were pregnant when you got married.”
“I know that,” Betty said. She wanted to tell Jane more, about why she had to marry James and not Henry, about how she couldn’t be someone she wasn’t, but Jane wouldn’t understand. No one would understand.
Henry sat back on his haunches, and glanced at Betty, who had spread apart the tree branches to get a better view of the man and the creek in the small valley below.
“What’s he doing?” she asked.
“Sluicing for gold,” Henry answered. William Dryer was dumping shovelful after shovelful of dirt into the sluicing box set in the middle of the creek. As rich as he already was, Dryer still wanted more, and must still be convinced there was gold in the Santa Monica Mountains.
Henry had to wonder why a man who had everything—money, a family, a beautiful home, successful business—could still want more. That was how it was for some people. Enough was never enough.
Dryer had put time and money into wanting more, too. The dump truck parked near the large pile of dirt was brand new. The sluice box looked modern, too. It was a large one, and made of metal. He was seriously looking for gold.
From the looks of it, Dryer spent plenty of time out here. The road was well used, and hosted a large gate, complete with a chain and lock, so no one else could drive all the way to the creek. There was also a small cabin, which looked old, but well maintained.
“This must be where he goes every day,” Betty said.
Henry had parked down the road from the Dryer house this morning, and had followed William, far enough behind that the man had never noticed him. All the way to the road that led to the creek. Then he’d gone back to the Dryer house, and when Betty had walked out the door, to go to the abandoned house, he’d brought her to the car, and then they’d driven up here together.
He’d parked his car in the cover of some trees and they’d walked in. He hadn’t been sure what he’d find, but it hadn’t been this.
She let go of the branches slowly, so they eased back into place.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded.
They made their way back down the hill and he double-checked the backseat before letting either of them climb in.
“I remember the only time I heard my parents argue,” she said as he got in and closed his door. “I was about ten, we’d just moved into the house we live in now and Father had sold a couple of other lots for people to build homes. My mother was angry. Very angry. I’d never heard her raise her voice, but she did that day. She was telling my father that if he didn’t quit searching the hills for gold, she was taking us girls and leaving him. She said something about how they had almost starved because of his gold searching and she wouldn’t go through that again.”
“It doesn’t look like he quit.” Henry started the car and backed out of the trees.
“No, it doesn’t. That’s about the same time us girls were told we weren’t allowed to leave the yard. Father said it was because of the traffic, of people coming to look at land, but I think it was because we used to go exploring in the hills. He didn’t want us to see what he was doing. And tell Mother.”
To Henry, it appeared that the money William made selling land and houses was simply a way to fund his gold searching. “Did your father tell you that his grandfather bought up all this land because he was convinced there was gold in the hills?”
“No. We always believed Grandpa had bought it for farming, but that it was too hilly. Father never talks about his family.” She shook her head. “This explains why his clothes are so dirty some days. He must change his clothes up here, and brings them home only once a month or so to wash. Mother would tell us he must have been helping dig basements on those days.”
“Do you think she knows?” Henry asked.
“No. I’m sure she doesn’t. And I’m sure she’d be very angry if she did find out.”
“I guess that explains, in part, why he’s so strict.” Not only with his family, but within the elite houses he insisted on building. The fences he wanted people to build around their property were to keep people in their own yards, and out of his hills. Henry wasn’t sure if Dryer was just selfish, or that obsessed with gold.
“And so grumpy,” Betty said. “He’s afraid. Afraid someone will learn his secret.” Frowning, she asked, “Did you know? Is that why you followed him this morning?”
A mixture of shame, guilt, and what he’d come to assume was jealousy rolled around in his stomach at how he had been searching for a reason for her not to marry Bauer. Until he realized that this wasn’t about what he wanted, it was about what she wanted. Therefore, he’d give her the information she needed to make up her own mind, and a bit of power. How she used it would be up to her. “No, I didn’t know, but I thought you should know whatever I’d found.”
She frowned slightly, then nodded.
“There’s one more thing I want to show you.”
The house Bauer was building was about five miles away from where they’d seen Dryer sluicing for gold, and just like it had been yesterday, the site was void of any workers. A skeleton frame of the exterior had been built, and lumber was piled in stacks. Two-by-fours, just as Owens had said.
He pulled in and parked.
“This is the house James is building,” she said.
“Yes, it is.”
The basement was made of concrete blocks, and the tracks surrounding the remnants of what must have been the dirt dug out for the basement told Henry something else. William Dryer had hauled the dirt that had been dug up for the basement up the mountainside to his sluice box. That was why he had a dump truck. He must do that with every home built up here. That was commitment if nothing else.
More commitment than it appeared that Bauer had. There were no fresh footprints or tire tracks around the build site.
“It looks as if no one has been here for some time,” she said. “And those are two-by-fours, aren’t they? Like Blake Owens said.”
“Yes, they are.” He started the car and drove out of the building site.
“I’ll talk to my father about the building codes,” she said. “Rules are rules and they all should be followed.”
She was looking out the passenger window and the level of guilt inside him was high enough he should be drowning. He’d found every excuse he could to be with her since the beginning. He had to get over this deep-down draw he had toward her like some sort of lifeline that he was afraid to break. Why? Because for the first time in his life he’d wanted someone to care about him? No. He’d wanted that before, but had known it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t possible this time, either. That was why being an FBI agent fit him. Because when he stood, facing a criminal, guns drawn, he didn’t worry about getting shot, about his life ending, because there was no one waiting for him to return.
She, however, deserved a wonderful life, and he hoped she would find it. Even if it meant that was with James Bauer.
“I was fooled by someone once,” he said. “They used me to get what they needed.”
She frowned. “The woman you mentioned—the one who charmed information out of you?”
“Yes.” If this was what it took for her to understand why he’d taken her to the building site, so be it. “Her name was Scarlet, and she was warning rumrunners where blockades were being set up to catch them. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but the proof was there, so I had to.”
“What happened to her?”
“I arrested her,” he answered, emotionless. He didn’t feel anything toward Scarlet or what had happened. “She’s still in prison.”
“She got what she deserved.” She let out a long sigh. “James isn’t trying to fool me. I know what I’m getting.” She grinned slightly. “Because of you. I appreciate what you showed me today. Both my father and the building site. I have to think about all of that.”
He hoped she did.
As they pulled up next to her house, she asked, “Where are you going now?”
“I have a few more leads I want to check out,” he answered. “Stay here. You don’t have to clean anything at the abandoned house.” That, too, had been an excuse. He’d been justifying his actions in his own mind since meeting her that first night. He’d been doing that in other aspects of his life, too.
“Yes, I do,” she said. “My father may want to inspect my work.”
“So? Tell him he doesn’t need to inspect anything. It’s your work, not his.” He didn’t want to say more, about staying home due to Elkin because he didn’t want to scare her. “I’ll see you later.”
She opened her door and stepped out. “All right, but you be careful. I worry about you with such a dangerous job.” She shut the door.
He didn’t want her to worry. Not about him or anything else. He’d been after Elkin as an agent, still was, but it now was also personal.
Whether the house needed to be cleaned or not, that was where she went after Henry drove away, because it would give her time alone. Usually, she did some of her best thinking while cleaning, but hadn’t come to any conclusions, other than she would talk to her father about the building codes. She’d thought a lot about his gold mining, how he’d kept that from Mother for all these years.
It seemed so wrong, and she was truly trying to justify it, because it was too close. Too close to her own thoughts about lying to James about the baby. That was what it would amount to. A lifelong lie. She also realized what she would have to do in order to perpetuate that lie. Being here, in the house where the baby was conceived, made such thought nearly inconceivable.
She’d wanted to be with Henry. Still did. She doubted the desires she had for him would ever wane. Married or not, doing that same act with James made her sick to her stomach. One that wouldn’t go away by throwing up. It was an ugly, dark feeling that encompassed more than her stomach. It made her heart ache. Just like thinking about living a lie for the rest of her life did.
She couldn’t do it.
She would have to tell Henry.
Face whatever consequences that came about.
She’d stand her ground, too. With her father.
After all, she now had ammunition.
That didn’t make her feel any better, but she had to find a way to make this work.
Her heart jolted as the door flew open.
“Come on—we have to go!” Jane said.
“Go where?” Betty asked, with a hand pressed to her breastbone as she caught her breath.
Patsy stepped in the door behind Jane. “Henry called. Said we needed to meet him at the address.”
“Called who?”
“Me,” Patsy said. “At the newspaper office.”
Betty shook her head, tried to make sense of what she was being told. “Why would Henry call you?”
“He sure couldn’t call you,” Jane said, untying the back of Betty’s apron.
Accepting that answer for what it was, Betty removed the apron and set it on the floor by the mop and bucket. “Why? Why do we need to meet him there?”
“You know the address, don’t you?” Jane asked.
“Yes.” She had memorized it last night.
“Then let’s go,” Jane said, pushing her toward the door.
Reluctant because that was who she was, only Henry made her impulsive, she pointed at the car. “Whose car is that?”
“Mine,” Patsy said. “The one Lane gave me before we were married so I could drive back and forth to the newspaper office.”
Betty did recall that, but it had been during the time Henry had been missing, while he’d been shanghaied, so she hadn’t paid much attention to anything else.
“He didn’t like the idea of me sneaking out and taking the red line all the way to the newspaper office.”
“You took the red line all that way?” Betty asked. “When?”
Jane and Patsy shared a knowing look.
“Never mind,” Betty said. She obviously hadn’t been paying close attention at all during that time. Thank goodness nothing had happened to Patsy. She would never have forgiven herself.
Once they were in the car, driving away from the house, Betty’s concerns shifted. “Tell me what Henry said when he called.”
“I didn’t talk to him,” Patsy said. “The front secretary took the call, and she said that Henry called and told me to bring my sisters to the address.”
“He didn’t tell me he was going there,” Betty said aloud, while thinking that he had said he wanted to check out some leads.
“Did you tell him everything?” Jane asked pointedly.
Betty shot a glare into the backseat. “No.”
Jane shrugged and looked out the window.
“Where’s Lane?” Betty asked.
“He’s interviewing a new city councilman,” Patsy answered. “I left him a message. And I told Mother that I need the two of you to help me measure curtains.”
“Measure curtains?”
“Yes,” Patsy answered. “I needed an excuse, so I said I needed help measuring the windows in our apartment for new curtains. She knows how good you are at that. Jane and I can barely sew a seam without your help.” Patsy took the corner that would lead them to the main throughway. “What’s the address?”
Los Angeles had over a million people living within the city limits, and Henry swore nearly every one of them was on the roads near the railroad district this morning. Every corner he made, traffic was stopped. Horns were honking and people shouting.
There were every size, shape, and model of truck trying to back into places or trying to pull back out onto the roads. The shrill of train whistles was constant; so was the screeching of metal wheels grinding on the metal tracks.
Trains had the right-of-way, but more than one daring trucker shot across one of the many sets of tracks a moment before a train barreled past, blowing its horn.
Henry steered his way through the spiderweb of train tracks and dirt roads, searching for the street written on the slip of paper Betty had given him last night.
He found the street and began to follow it, searching for the addresses on the occasional buildings he drove past. Which was easy because traffic was as backed up on this street as it had been everywhere else.
From his calculations, he had about ten more blocks to go before the address he was looking for would be found. At the pace he was driving, it would be dark by the time he got there. It wasn’t like anyone was waiting on him, he just wanted to scope out the place. After dropping off Betty, he’d gone to the hotel and called LeRoy. Something had crossed his mind while watching Dryer sluice for gold this morning. Greed. For some men, the more they had, the more they wanted. It made men do many things. That had to be what was driving Elkin, and LeRoy confirmed something else. Elkin had applied for a supervisory position, which he hadn’t gotten, and within a few months, the leaks had started to happen.
He let out a long sigh; all this driving, all this wasted time, was giving him far too much time to think. About all sorts of things. Including Betty. He didn’t want her worrying. Did not. Worry didn’t do anyone any good. It was a waste of time.
So was all the denying he’d been doing. He’d been trying to fool himself into believing that he’d never cared about anyone or anything. It had worked for years. But not any longer. Betty had opened something inside him that had been hidden away, as if he’d had a trunk inside him as solid as the one on the back of his car, as dark and big, too, and unopenable without the key.
Betty had the key.
She’d used it, too.
Damn it.
He’d liked the delusion he’d had for years. It had served him well. His belief that caring about anyone didn’t fit into his lifestyle.
He cared about her. There was no doubt about that. He couldn’t even say how it happened. It just had. Like a shooting star. No one knew where or why, but suddenly it was there, shooting across the sky, leaving a fizzling light in its trail, for a moment so brief, unless you were watching, you wouldn’t see it. Could only be told about it.
That was what had happened. Had been happening for a while, but he hadn’t been listening, or had been pretending he was deaf. It wasn’t just the way she made him feel; it was things she made him remember. The other kids at the orphanage, how he’d stolen food for them, because he’d cared about them.
Whether he now accepted that, knew it all to be true, it didn’t change anything. He still had to walk away, move on to his next assignment because there was nothing else he could do. Because if he didn’t, he’d have to look at other aspects of his life that he’d been fooling himself about for years.
He’d spent too long convincing himself that he didn’t care about anyone or anything, not even about being an experiment. He couldn’t accept that had been false, because if he did, his entire life was false.
Ultimately, that would mean, he was not who he was. A loner. A rolling stone. Someone who didn’t want a home, a family.
The traffic had dissipated substantially as he’d driven the last few blocks. Though there was still a massive amount of railroad tracks, there were no more large loading docks for trucks to pull in and out of. There were mainly long lines of empty railcars and old buildings. Dilapidated and abandoned from the looks of most of them.
It appeared the road he was on also came in from the north, and he was in the midst of telling himself that was what he should have done, come in along the coastline, when a car caught his eye. A Chevrolet. Exactly like the one Lane drove.
The car was driving toward him, but turned quickly, and drove past a long line of old delivery trucks.
Henry’s instincts flashed a signal. A familiar one, like a lighthouse beacon, flashing out of sync in order to warn ships to be cautious of pending weather. He stepped on the gas and turned where the Chevrolet had turned, scanning for where it had gone.
He found it stopped on the far side of the trucks, and hit the gas again when he noticed Lane stepping out of the driver’s door.
His tires skidded on the gravel, spewing dust as he hit his brakes next to Lane’s car.
“I’m glad to see you,” Lane said.
Henry threw open his door. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for my wife, and her sisters,” Lane said, slamming his car door.
Henry stepped out of his car as a thousand curses raced through his mind, as did images. “What are they doing here?” That was a stupid question. He knew the answer, so he changed his request to “Tell me what you know.”
“Patsy’s car is parked next to the old depot I just drove past,” Lane said. “No one’s in it.”
Henry reached in his car and pulled his service pistol out from beneath the seat. Tucking it in the front of his pants, he said, “Let’s go find them.”