“You’ve heard of him?” Henry asked. Her reaction had been immediate. As soon as he’d said escaped convict. “Rex Gaynor?”
“There was an article about him in the newspaper, that he’d escaped from prison. I didn’t read the article, but my sister Patsy did.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, dear. Is he near? Here? Patsy said the newspaper said to keep all doors locked.” She jumped to her feet. “I have to go. I have to find my sisters and tell them. I—I have to get them home, now!”
Henry took ahold of her wrist, felt how fast her pulse raced. “No. He’s not here. You aren’t in any danger from Rex Gaynor. Neither are your sisters.”
“How do you know? You just said you are looking for him.”
Lying could make a person’s pulse race, but it usually didn’t make a person tremble the way she was trembling. He stood, and though it was unlike him, he laid his other hand on her upper arm. “You’re safe, Betty.”
“Why should I believe you?”
There was no more reason for her to believe him than there was for him to believe her. If he wanted to find out if she was being truthful, he was going to have to gain her trust. Not so unlike Scarlet had convinced him he could trust her. Maybe he had learned more from Scarlet than a lesson. She’d been an expert at seduction. “Rex Gaynor has already been captured, but he had a partner in that train robbery—that’s who I’m looking for now.”
Her dark blue eyes widened. “There were two escaped convicts?”
He rubbed her arm softly. “No. The one I’m looking for was never arrested.”
“But he’s here? That’s why you are here.” She gasped. “Oh, dear.”
She was trembling so hard the white boa around her neck was shaking. He rubbed her upper arm again. “Yes, he’s here, in Los Angeles, and that’s why I’m here, but you are not in danger. Neither are your sisters.” If there truly were any sisters. He still wasn’t convinced she was telling him the truth. He wasn’t convinced she was lying, either, and that bothered him.
“Is that how you found out about us?” she asked. “Because Patsy was trying to get information about Rex Gaynor?”
“Patsy, your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Why is she trying to get information on him?”
“Because she wants to write an article about him.” She shook her head. “She wants to be a reporter so badly she even convinced Father to let her attend secretarial school so she could learn to type.”
Henry nodded, mainly because he was taking this all in, and trying to figure out his next steps. Ultimately, he needed more information.
“Are you going to tell our father?”
“No,” Henry said.
The relief in her eyes did something to his insides, but he ignored it. He wasn’t going to fall for anything.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because...” He contemplated a reason. A believable one. “Because I need your help.”
“My help?” A hint of a smile touched her lips as she shook her head, then shrugged. “How? What could I do?”
He had no idea, but would come up with something. That little hint of a smile was enough for him to know this was a case of keep your enemies close—even potential ones. “First I have to know if you’re willing to help me.”
Her eyes scanned him, up and down, and up again, to his face, as she remained silent. It made his skin tingle, his blood warm, but he kept his gaze on her. Somehow. It was harder than holding eye contact with a criminal holding a gun on him. That had happened before, more than once—a criminal with a gun. He’d handled it, and could handle her, too. Even if she had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Even in the muted light from the flashlight, they were striking.
She blinked, nodded. “I am willing, but I would need to know exactly what help you would need.”
He held silent, giving himself a moment. That moment turned into a minute, and he still hadn’t come up with an answer. She was very pretty. And likable. And kissable. Dang it! What was it about her that...that affected him in ways he shouldn’t be affected?
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said, taking a step back and releasing his hold on her wrist and dropping his hand away from her arm.
“Tomorrow?”
Unlike many of the other women he’d met over years, there was an innocence to her. She might dress like a flapper and dance like a flapper, but that too was something he questioned.
She was different from most of the dames he’d met in joints like this. Her outfit—the blue dress, white feather boa, and white hat—was fetching, fashionable, but it was her face that he couldn’t stop staring at. Heart shaped, with a perfect little chin, big blue eyes and rosy lips, she was more than pretty. She was adorable, and made him want to shield her in a way he’d never quite experienced. That baffled him.
“Yes, tomorrow,” he said. “You came here tonight to dance.”
She looked at him from beneath those long lashes, almost as if slightly embarrassed.
Damn, he wished he knew if she was faking that, too. Either way, he was going to use it to get what he wanted.
He brushed a knuckle along her chin. “To dance, not sit in a dark hallway.”
She blinked and pinched her lips together. “It—it’s not so bad, and I—I have a flashlight.”
Was she testing him? Playing demure? He’d find out. “Listen,” he said. “Do you hear that?” It was muffled, but the song the piano man was playing filtered into the tunnel.
She nodded.
He took the flashlight from her hand and laid it on the top step, so it shone light on them. “I need to remain hidden, but I’d be honored if you’d dance with me.”
“Here?”
He stepped down the two stairs. “Yes, here.”
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded and stepped down beside him.
His heart thudded, only because he knew this was the route he needed to take. What he needed to do in order to convince her she could trust him. “There’s not a lot of room,” he said, while looping an arm around her waist and resting his hand on her back. “But we don’t need a lot of room, do we?”
“No.” Her answer was barely a whisper.
He grasped her hand and stepped closer. Every part of his body rose to full awareness, like it had last night, while dancing with her. Like it had three years ago, on the beach, while kissing her. His mind, however, knew this was all in the line of duty.
The beam of the flashlight barely reached beyond them, into the tunnel, and he carefully led her around the small area between the tunnel walls. The faraway tune was faster than what they were dancing, but she didn’t seem to mind.
The curve of her waist beneath his fingers made his hand tingle, imagining the skin beneath was as smooth as the silk of her blue dress.
Her eyes never left his, and that put him in some sort of trance. His body, his mind, were focused only on her. The dance seemed to stretch time, and when the music finally ended, their feet stopped, they were chest to chest, eyes locked. He saw the want in her eyes again, and despite all he knew about himself, that same want filled him. It shouldn’t. But it did.
By mutual agreement, with full understanding, their faces merged and they engaged in a kiss that was as natural and slow as the sun rising in the morning.
Her lips were so warm, so soft and sweet, he couldn’t get enough of them. The desires racing inside him coaxed him to use his tongue to part her lips and slip inside her mouth. His pulse pounded at the heat, the sweetness of her tongue dancing with his.
The kiss would have lasted a lot longer, he was sure of it, if a crash in the storage room hadn’t rattled the door. He pulled his mouth away from hers and instantly pressed her up against the tunnel wall.
A plethora of cursing filtered through the closed door, and several of his own silently crossed his mind as she pressed her face into his shirt. He kept his arms around her until the thuds and muttered cursing ended, and then took a step back.
“Are we going to be able to sneak back out that way?” she asked.
“Yes, the bartender must have been collecting more booze.” That was why he hadn’t seen her walk in the tavern earlier. He’d been watching from behind the curtain, because he’d already spied Lane. Upon seeing the bartender round the bar, he’d hurried into the room and then into the tunnel. When the coast had been clear for him to return to the curtain, she’d been sitting at the table.
Mirth shimmered in her eyes. “I think he broke a bottle or two.”
“Sounded like it,” he agreed.
She sighed, and then laid a hand on his chest, right over his heart. “You really won’t tell my father?”
Reality, of what he was doing and why, returned. “No, I’ll uphold my end of the bargain as long as you uphold yours.”
“I will.”
“No one else can know.”
“They won’t.” She let out a sigh. “What time do you think it is?”
He moved to the steps and picked up the flashlight.
As soon as the light hit his wrist, she gasped. “That can’t be right.”
He read the time. “Yes, it’s eleven fifty-five.”
“It can’t be. I was supposed to meet my sisters ten minutes ago.”
The urgency in her voice was as real. He grasped her arm. “Where?”
“Between two buildings up the street.” She rushed up the steps. “I have to go, Henry. Now.”
He stepped up beside her. “All right. Stay there, let me check.” He clicked off the flashlight and tucked it in his pocket before opening the door a crack and peeking through the bottle-lined shelf to make sure the storeroom was empty.
The area was free of anyone else, and he pulled the door all the way open and then pushed the shelf aside. “Come on. I’ll walk you to the alley.”
“No!” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered as she stepped into the room. “I have to go alone. They can’t know about you.”
“I won’t let them see me.” He pushed the shelf back in place and took her hand. “I’ll just make sure you meet up with them.”
“I’ll meet up with them just fine.”
Holding her hand, he walked to the door and opened it, peeked out. “What if they’ve already left?”
“They won’t leave without me.”
He stepped out the door and pulled it closed behind her. “I want to make sure.”
“There’s no need.” She flashed him a hint of a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Same time.”
He released her hand. “I’ll be here.”
She peeked around the edge of curtain, then shot out around it.
He waited a couple of seconds, and then walked out. No one was looking his way. They were all too busy dancing and drinking, smoking and laughing. He watched as Betty skirted around the floor and then scurried toward the door, her white boa flipping in her wake.
Slowly, to not draw any attention, he followed her. As he rounded the corner and pulled open the door, all he saw were the heels of her shoes as she ran up the steps and out the other door.
He took the steps two at a time and hurried out the two sets of doors and onto the street.
Once again, he barely got a glimpse of her running along the sidewalk before she shot into the space between two buildings.
Staying in the shadows, he walked to the spot where she’d slipped between the buildings and eased around the edge to peer into the narrow space. Three women were hurrying toward the alley on the other end.
He followed them along six city blocks, and then past two film studios before they entered the lawn of a house he knew well. The mob house where the tunnel ended.
Keeping well in the shadows, he watched as they continued walking.
They crossed the lawn near the far edge, where a row of trees marked the property line, then down through the ditch and up on the gravel road that led into Hollywoodland.
Here, like they had while walking along the buildings and the trees, they walked near the edge of the road, so they could slip into the ditch and the trees if a car came along.
They turned off the road after walking up the hill. He followed, staying in the trees, ducking around branches, and walking on the balls of his feet so he wouldn’t make a sound.
There had barely been a snap or click of heel from them, either. They were good at this. Used to it.
From the trees, he watched as they made their way across the backyard of a large brick home. He then held his breath at the sight that played out. One after the other, they shimmied up an ivy-covered trellis and into a window.
Betty was the last one up the trellis, and he waited, watching as lights turned on in three of the windows on the second floor. The last light had been in the room on the far right. That had to be her room.
He stood there for a long time, questioning all sorts of things. Besides her, he’d recognized one of the other women with her as one who had danced with Vincent Burrows last night, before the dance-off, before he’d noticed Lane Cox at the speakeasy.
Burrows had been at the bar, talking to the bartender, and Henry had walked past him, hoping to be noticed. LeRoy had been convinced their plan would work because Henry’s and Gaynor’s builds and black hair had been similar enough for someone who hadn’t known Gaynor that well to believe Henry was him. Burrows hadn’t noticed, though, because he’d been talking to a little blonde.
Burrows had left after that dance, and that was when he’d noticed Betty sitting at the bar. He’d seen her dancing before then and recognized an uncanny likeness to the sea nymph from Seattle, but it hadn’t been until she’d approached him that he’d known it was her for sure.
What he still wasn’t sure about was what to do about it. The lights clicked off in the house and he turned, walked back down the hill, along the road, and then to the house. As he’d known, the front door was locked. The back one, along with all the windows, was boarded up.
Returning to the front door, he pulled out his pocketknife and used it to pick the lock. The jacket he’d left on the stairs was of little concern, except that the keys for the house were in one of its pockets. The door to the storage room was unlocked, and that was a concern, so he made his way through the house, down to the basement, and into the tunnel that would lead back to the Rooster’s Nest. The entire way, his thoughts were on Betty, and the other woman, and just how deeply involved they were in all this.
Betty lay in bed that night, trying to make sense of all that had happened. She’d broken so many rules she couldn’t even count them. That wasn’t like her. She’d not only snuck into a dark tunnel, alone with him, she’d danced there, and kissed him again.
Kissed him in ways she’d never imagined. Her heart was still thudding over that. It was all for her sisters, to make sure their father didn’t find out about them sneaking out.
Except, she was having a hard time believing that. If it had been another man, other than Henry... Henry Randall. He was so handsome, just looking at him made her heart throb, and he was so mysterious, an odd sense of excitement filled her.
She rolled onto her side. What could she do to help him? She didn’t know anything about Rex Gaynor or the other man he mentioned. Didn’t know anything about anything, but she had to help him. Had to do anything she could to keep her father from finding out about their nightly escapes.
The thing she could not do again was kiss Henry.
Or dance with him. That made her forget everything, and the next thing she knew, they were kissing. That had happened twice now, and could not happen again. She would have to keep her wits about her at all times.
No more sneaking into the storage room and into that tunnel, either.
That had been thrilling, too, sneaking away, hiding.
Everything about him was thrilling, and that filled her with the most unique sensations.
She flipped onto her back, disgusted with herself. She was the oldest. The responsible and sensible one. The one to set a good example. If that had been Patsy or Jane, she wouldn’t allow them to go back out, not until they’d learned their lesson.
Patsy or Jane couldn’t find out about how she’d done that. Not ever.
No one could.
She was going to have to make sure her sisters were being extra careful, too, without them knowing about Henry. Or what he knew. She had to find out how he’d discovered who they were, and make sure that didn’t happen again, too.
It was going to be hard to not tell Patsy what she’d learned about Rex Gaynor. Patsy was nearly obsessed with the story, convinced that becoming a reporter was her ticket out of their father’s house.
Betty didn’t want to shatter her sister’s dream, so she never said much about it to Patsy, but deep down, she knew Father would never allow one of his daughters to get away that easy. Marriage was the only way he’d let any of them out of the house. Marriage to a rich man. He wanted his daughters to marry men with money. Lots of it. So they would no longer want his. He cared more about his money than he did any of them.
But she didn’t care about his money at all. It was how he thought that money was the most important aspect when it came to any of his daughters getting married. That their happiness meant nothing.
Father was sitting at the dining room table, reading the morning paper and waiting for breakfast to be served, when Betty entered the room the following morning. She wished him a good morning while making her way into the kitchen.
Patsy and Jane were already there, collecting items to carry into the dining room to set the table. Betty crossed the room and lifted out three serving platters for the sausage, eggs, and potatoes that Mother was cooking.
Other than the obligatory good-mornings to each other, there was no talking while breakfast was cooked, served, and eaten. Father’s rules again.
As she sat there, hearing only the occasional clink of silverware against a plate, she once again thought how her house would be nothing like this. When she was married and had her own home, it wouldn’t be silent. She’d encourage conversations and laughter at every meal because that was what she wanted most in her life, laughter, happiness. For everyone to be happy. That was all she’d ever wanted, which was the only reason she had agreed to help Henry. Not because she liked him.
Later that night, her sister Patsy was very happy that Betty and Jane were entering the Rooster’s Nest without her. Lane had met Patsy near the street corner where the trolley had stopped to let them off. Betty had serious concerns about that and that Lane was taking Patsy to a party downtown, but she herself had broken so many rules that ultimately, she had to let Patsy go with Lane.
There were times when Betty wished that she wasn’t the oldest. That she could be more carefree when it came to breaking rules.
Her stomach hiccupped with excitement, and she knew why. Whether she was breaking a rule or not, the idea of seeing Henry again was exciting.
Following Jane down the steps of the tavern, Betty ran her hands over the skirt of the cream-colored sleeveless dress she’d chosen to wear, making sure that no wrinkles had formed during the streetcar ride. The dress had an overlay of light pink lace and long silky fringes of the same color along the hem. She’d also chosen to wear a black hat and black shoes and a set of black pearls.
A moment later, her heart skipped a beat when her gaze settled on a table behind the piano player. Henry was there, saw her, and gave a slight nod in recognition. She bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t be so happy to see him, yet truly couldn’t help it. Everything about him was thrilling, from his looks, to him being an intelligence agent, searching for a criminal, to asking her to help him.
It shouldn’t be. She should be frightened to death, knowing he knew about her and her sisters, but she wasn’t, and that was as odd for her as breaking rules. It was almost as if there was something about him that made her want to break rules. Made her want to be someone she’d never been before. Even while sneaking out, she hadn’t been as boisterous and outgoing as her sisters. She had danced and had fun, but she’d also spent a lot of time watching, mainly her sisters, making sure they weren’t breaking rules that would get them in trouble. Like dancing with the same man too often, or sneaking outside with one, or drinking too many glasses of wine.
At least that was one rule she hadn’t broken.
“Hello,” Henry said, holding out a chair for her as she arrived at the table.
“Hello,” she replied, breathing through how fast her heart thudded.
He sat down and slid a glass in front of her. “I ordered you a glass of wine.”
A lump the size of an orange formed in her throat. She couldn’t even say thank-you.
He picked up a glass in front of him and held it out to her.
She picked up hers and flinched slightly as their glasses clinked, because she’d probably break yet another rule tonight.
She did.
She’d barely been there five minutes when she was already on her second glass of wine. He asked her where her third sister was, and when she said Patsy hadn’t joined them tonight, he said he’d seen all three of them leave the house.
She finished her glass of wine, and watched as he refilled the glass before she had the nerve to ask how he’d watched them.
“From the abandoned house,” he said.
She’d tried not to look at that house as they’d crossed the lawn tonight, but had, and had been thinking about how that tunnel they’d been in last night went all the way to that house. She took a sip of her third glass of wine, before saying, “Patsy is with a friend of hers. I gave her permission.”
He lifted a brow. “You gave her permission?”
“Yes, I’m the oldest, so I’m responsible for them.” When it came to her sisters, she was not only responsible, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep them safe. That gave her the courage to lift her chin. Meet his gaze. “Which is why I am here, Mr. Randall. To hear how I can help you, so that you don’t tell my father about them sneaking out.”
“What about you?” he asked. “You are sneaking out, too.”
“I can face the consequences—they can’t.” Her time of sneaking out was almost over. She only had a few months before marrying James. That was not something she liked to think about, nor did she like to think about what that would mean for her sisters.
He twirled his glass around on the table, as he looked at her and nodded. “Henry,” he then said.
“Henry?” She knew his name.
“Yes. You called me Mr. Randall. I’d prefer you call me Henry.”
“Oh, all right, Henry.” She’d merely called him Mr. Randall in order to remind herself of the reason she was here. To help him in order for her sisters to continue experiencing a small amount of freedom. “Have you determined how I can help you?”
“I have.” He glanced toward the bar. “I believe the person I’m looking for has started a bootlegging business and I need to be cautious as to who I question, in case someone recognizes me. I’m curious to know about the whiskey the Rooster’s Nest serves.” He lifted up his glass. “It appears to be a premium one.”
A bit of relief filled her. “It is. It’s Minnesota Thirteen. That’s part of the reason this place has so many dockworkers as customers. They know where the good stuff is delivered to.” She’d learned plenty during her first few weeks of sneaking out. “Murray gets deliveries every Sunday and Wednesday afternoon.” She tilted her head slightly, toward the bar. “Murray also arranges deliveries for parties and special occasions.”
“How do you know all that?”
She shrugged. “Listening. There was a man in here the other night, saying his whiskey was as good as Minnesota Thirteen, but Murray told him no, that he wasn’t interested.”
“You heard that?”
“Yes.” She bit her tongue from adding that the man hadn’t been happy or that her sister Patsy had danced with the man. She would help him, but she would protect her sisters at the same time.