Andrew stared down at Evelyn’s tear-streaked face, his temper rapidly reaching flashpoint. The mark across her cheek was even more prominent closer to the faint light from the overhead lamps. He was sick of men taking advantage of her delicate size. Infuriated that they’d think they ever had the reason or right to strike a woman.
More than anything, he was enraged that the woman impacted was the one to which he’d laid his claim.
Her slender fingers curled daintily over his harm, pulling gently but insistently. “Mr. Laurel helped me. He pulled Daniel off me. Please, Andrew. Let him go. He’s not responsible for this.”
Immediately, his hands relaxed. “Mr. Laurel,” he stepped backwards a pace, drawing Evelyn with him, “my apologies.”
Straightening his rumpled clothes as best he could, the actor nodded. “It was an easy misconception. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, at least for the part you witnessed.” He eyeballed Daniel Prince’s limp figure u
Andrew wondered if Evelyn suspected anything that had happened, particularly when the train put into the station in Chicago and the Princes disembarked onto the platform. If she did, to her credit, she said nothing. He couldn’t imagine her approving of such vigilante punishment, even on her own behalf, had he told her directly. But he liked to imagine the cold mist in her eyes and the upward tick of one graceful brow was brought on by satisfaction at seeing Daniel Prince trailing along behind his wife and their luggage with a clearly pained gait. Not that it mattered. He’d do it again in an instant if it insured her safety. Like his intuition about the mood of the market, Andrew’s instinct about the foolish and disrespectful Daniel’s mood was crystal clear too. Undoubtedly, they’d encounter the Princes again somewhere in society. Whether Evelyn was officially his wife or not, regardless of her upbringing, she’d be treated with all the respect due her. “Shall we see if there’s a chai
“Happy to be home, darling?” Andrew wrapped his arms around Evelyn from behind, standing at the window in their drawing room suite as the train moved slowly up to the platform. “It seems strange now to call it ‘home’,” she admitted. “It feels oddly like I don’t belong anywhere.” “You belong with me,” he replied confidently. “And as quickly as we can manage, I’ll transplant you into some warm, rich California soil and let you put down new roots. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Evelyn sighed deeply, almost contentedly. “It’s another world there.” She turned in his arms, looking up at his strong jaw, and smiling blue eyes sparkling with bright hints of green. “I haven’t figured out who I am there and who I am here seems muddied too.” He studied her face down his narrow nose, then dipped his head and kissed the faint hint of a frown line between her brows. “It will be interesting to spend a few days at the Trust, certainly. We’ve been living a significantly more relaxed life lately. I
Startled, Evelyn stumbled backwards into Andrew’s steadying arms. Recovering then, she looked back over her shoulder at him with a grin. “Why you sneaky man!” Andrew laughed outright. “Happy birthday, darling. And I’ll have you know, this was not my idea.” “Of course it wasn’t,” she muttered, knowing full well who’d orchestrated this. “You still took part,” she accused, kneeling as Peter bounded into her arms, his older sister, Sarah following more sedately. “Were you surprised!? Were you surprised!?” Peter demanded, clutching her tightly around the neck. “Why, you saw!” she chided. “I was so surprised I nearly leapt out of my skin and I’m quite certain I’ve ruined both your father’s dancing feet. Mmm. I’m so happy to see you both.” She hugged them both fiercely, kissing their cheeks. “We’ve only been gone a month and look how big you’ve grown!” “Governess is a good cook, Miss Evelyn,” Sarah replied softly. Peter snorted, backing away. “But she doesn’t know how to make chicken no
“Are you nearly ready, darling?” Andrew poked his head out of the master bathroom, making the first of the loops to tie his tie. “The nanny tells me she’s fixed breakfast for all of us, which, if my nose is any indicator, thankfully includes coffee.” Pivoting the fine dressing table stool his direction, she met his eyes, mostly green today against the dark blue suit he was wearing. “Yes, nearly.” Feeling rushed amid all the activity, she ran a brush hurriedly through her hair, then reached for hair pins to tuck the silky dark tresses up around her nape. “Do we take the children to school in the morning? Or does the nanny?” “For the moment, she does,” he replied, abandoning the bathroom mirror and hurrying around the bed to the dressing table. Stooping, he started to use the tri-fold mirrors to work on his tie again, stopping when Evelyn rose and took the job over for him. “That may change since we’ve added to her morning burden.” “I’ll make a point to get up earlier tomorrow to help
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Evelyn begged, gasping the words and struggling weakly against his chest. “A—Andrew, you’re hurting me!” Cursing, he tipped her gently to her feet. “We can’t stay here, darling. You need help. Immediately.” She clutched at her abdomen, panting at the vague but no longer unbearable pain near her navel that throbbed towards her hips and pelvis and around her back. As he set her on her feet, the pain dulled to a low roar, but she felt so faint and weak, she knew she couldn’t straighten from her doubled over position, let alone walk. Both her arms and legs felt tingly and uncoordinated, like they weren’t fully under her control, and every time the pain surged, she was certain she was going to lose her breakfast. Andrew caught her as she started to slump to one side, kneeling so he could look into her face. “Do you think you can sit down so I can call an ambulance?” “I—don’t—know.” Wavering against him, she closed her eyes and fought a
Evelyn squinted her eyes against the harsh blinding lights overhead. Her throat felt so dry, scratchy and painful, so much so that when at first she tried to speak, she couldn’t make the sounds come out. She felt so weak, there was no way to lift her head, which throbbed like it had after the one gala when Mr. Valenzuela had plied her with too much champagne. That next morning she’d woken with a miserable headache, much like this one. Or like the ones she’d had when she’d overslept after trying to catch up on previously missed sleep. What didn’t hurt was her body, her abdomen in particular. The knifing pain, both laterally and from front to back through her navel to her spine, that had split through her belly was gone. Mercifully. “Evie?” Lily. Evelyn sighed in contentment, despite the discomfort of being able to hear her best friend, but not lift or turn her head to see her. Her voice came from somewhere near her feet, but still beyond the reach of her visio
Evelyn woke to the soft rap of the nurse on the door, then the woman entered to take her vital signs. Smiling, she dragged herself slowly to a sitting position to make things easier for her caregiver, and whispered a polite, “Hello.” “Good morning.” She shook the mercury down in the thermometer and provided the tired instruction, “Under your tongue. Don’t bite the glass.” Holding her wrist still, Evelyn let her head shift towards the hard chair where Andrew was still sleeping, slumped over uncomfortably to one side, his shoulder hunched to keep his head on the chairback. Keeping her voice low so not to wake him, Evelyn asked the nurse, “What time is it, please?” since there was no clock in her room. Not having one had added exponentially to the sensation that she’d lost time and critical parts of her life. It didn’t help in the least that under morphine, her sleep schedule was erratic, leaving further gaps in her memory since she’d arrived at the hospital. “Just after seven. I’m so
Please God, do not let the moisture seeping into my sleeve be blood. Please, don’t let her be bleeding, Andrew prayed, still trying to rein in his own pain and keep Evelyn off the floor. “Mr. James?” “Tank!” Andrew exclaimed. “Thank God. I need your assistance. Will you help me get Evelyn off the floor, please?” A few seconds after, he felt the driver’s large arms slip gently between him and Evelyn, then her weight was lifted off. “What happened? Who was that woman? Mary!” Rolling to his knees, Andrew staggered to his feet, then glanced at his arm. Blood. He whirled, stumbling towards Evelyn where Tank had laid her on the sofa and crashing to his knees. A heavy stain, bright red against the shimmery white of her nightgown, stretched across her abdomen. “Tank, do you have a pocketknife?” “I have scissors.” Mary hurried forward, pulling a pair of scissors from the front pocket of her dress. Lifting the sticky fabric, Andrew snipped it open, then cut a wide hole in the abdomen of
“Stop, Peter!” Sarah exclaimed, whirling to face behind her. She shot her brother an angry glare. “Peter, for pity’s sake, don’t throw dirt clods at your sister,” Andrew called over his shoulder, shifting his swaddled, sleeping son from his right shoulder to his left as they walked the long, tree-lined drive that led to the James’ estate, perched with its back on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Gulls rode the ocean updrafts in the afternoon sun above the glistening water, occasionally diving when something of interest caught their eye. On the opposite side of the tree-lined drive, his wife’s tiny orchard of glossy-leaved oranges in full bloom left a sweet scent drifting over the drive on the warm, salty breeze off the sea. Not far away, Evelyn's gated garden was growing lush with upright stalks of corn, twined in the loving arms of pole beans with the wide leaves of squash spreading in a carpet at their feet along the ground in one row. In another, her tomatoes were already d
“M-ma-ma.” The stuttering word was an alarming half-sob and half-gurgle from the wounded Becky. “M-ma-m-ma.” Dear God! Whoever it was had shot her! That poor, helpless girl! Why!? She wasn’t a threat! And there was absolutely nothing here of any value! Evelyn’s heart leapt to her throat and hammered painfully. But she stayed close to the wall, inching forward on tiptoe to clutch at Andrew’s jacket. She pointed to the floor where their shadows fell long across it from the single overhead lamp in the middle of the room. If they drew too close to the door, their shadows would be visible to the intruder in the darkened hall leading to the bedrooms. She pointed to the window, and Andrew jerked his chin towards it in acknowledgement. Escape. They had to escape. Outside, on the sidewalk, they could summon the patrolling police officer. They could summon help. Men trained for this. Men with other guns. They had to move fast. Miranda’s daughter needed them. Even above the scuffling noises fr
Andrew rose slowly to his feet, an antagonized muscle twitching along his clean-shaven jaw. His expression looked like a bomb about to explode. Evelyn drew a sudden breath, one hand clapping over her mouth. She stared, in turns, first at Will, then at Miranda, and her mind whirled. What was it Alexander Lowell had said the day that Detective Kelly had attempted to arrest her? The same day he’d later resigned from the police department. Something about the detective being fed what he needed to lay an accusation upon Evelyn. The question of ‘why’ anyone cared about a lowly former secretary enough to attempt to kill her, let alone invest the effort in framing her was growing more convoluted by the minute. But it was clear it was centered here, with the account belonging to Glorietta Moreno and her rights as an heir to it. “It’s a stretch,” Andrew said softly, nodding towards Miranda, “but I can see why your mother might have had Russell’s name on that account. N
“You folks just planning on waiting?” their cabbie asked, his dark eyes studying Andrew and Will in the rearview mirror, despite that Evelyn was seated between them. “Meter’s running. Makes no never mind to me if you do, but I’ll have to circle the block or the flatfoots will cite me.” “How long do we have to decide?” Andrew asked, reluctant to have the cab move on the off chance that they might miss Miranda's departure for work during the process. “’Nother minute or two at most.” “Thank you.” He shifted slightly on the cab’s rear seat so he could better see his companions. “I know we’re early, but if she’s keeping business hours, I’d have expected she’d have to allow time to travel to a workplace. You’re certain this is the building, Will?” “It’s the place,” he replied definitively. “I can go in and wait. Tail her to wherever she’s going, then come get you.” “Is it possible she recognized you yesterday?” Evelyn asked, peering through the murk
The dancing had worked like a charm. For a couple of hours. Andrew had managed to get just shy of another couple hours on top of that, burning time off the afternoon by alternating between listening to the orchestra rehearse, dancing, and finally, by slipping a bribe to the broadcasting staff to show Evelyn their equipment set-up and to take their sweet time about it. After that, she’d become too fretful to do much beyond distractedly, which had quickly spoiled the ballroom option for both of them. They’d retired to their drawing room, taken afternoon tea, then Evelyn’s pacing had begun again in earnest. He had to admit, watching her as she combed through her drying hair at the dressing table, it might be time to worry about Will a little. It was going on eight o’clock. Late by any business standard, but certainly well past the time when most diners catering to the kind of clients they’d seen at the DeBaliviere Diner and Waffle House would be visiting
Wednesday morning in St. Louis dawned dark and gloomy and only marginally better than it had been upon their arrival early afternoon on Monday. When Evelyn emerged from the bedroom into the drawing room where he and the constantly-moving Will waited, Andrew flicked the newspaper he’d been reading down and smiled. They’d all slept poorly—again. They’d all woken late—again—and after their enjoyable brunch yesterday, both men were eager to see what other offerings were available in the East Lounge’s dining area. “Well?” she asked, her red-tinged and particle-irritated eyes roving the drawing room’s lush furnishings, immediately spotting the unmistakable coating of fine black powder and ash. “Are we trapped inside again today? It seems faintly better.” Will snorted. “By comparison to yesterday, being buried in black sand would seem better.” Andrew chuckled, setting aside the St. Louis Star-Times he’d been reading. He rifled through a stack of newspapers o
The hotel’s ballroom was a gently baroque style. Its elegant space was replete with all manner of luxuries one would expect of a high-profile hotel, no matter where one might visit in the world—custom paneled with artfully etched-mirror and plaster walls, gold-leafed accents and intricate crown moldings. Above the near-magical dancefloor, which was lit from below, hung in the decorative ceiling, a ponderous crystal chandelier lit the warm wooden dancefloor beneath it. Along the periphery, undulating balconies supported by Corinthian pilasters gave an air of classicism to the space, but one not overly staid. These generous galleries provided seating for those who had only come for a meal, to watch the dancing or to listen to the orchestra. They’d dressed for a late dinner, but though the orchestra played, their music broadcast exactly as Evelyn had always dreamed of experiencing, she and Andrew hadn’t danced. In fact, they hadn’t stayed much longer than
“The Coronado was built, and I believe is now run, by Preston Bradshaw,” Andrew advised more than an hour later as their cab pulled away from the curb at the train depot. “He graduated from Columbia with my brother, Russell. The two were quite good friends as I recall. My father introduced him to Stanford White in New York City where he worked before returning to St. Louis. He’s responsible for the monumental hotels on Lindell Boulevard. The Melbourne and the Coronado at midtown and the theatre district. And opposite, near the Central West end, the Chase and the Forest Park hotels were also his commissions.” “Did you know him?” Evelyn asked, closing her burning eyes and resting her head against his shoulder. “Is that why we’re staying at the Coronado?” She left unspoken the reminder that the Coronado Hotel, in particular the hotel’s famed Caprice Club, was where they’d found Charlotte to serve Andrew’s divorce paperwork after their tip-off from the Princes in Los Angeles.
The following morning Evelyn woke alone. She could tell by the way his belongings were packed that Andrew had already risen. If she was any guess, he was taking advantage of the train’s onboard barber, which meant she had time to bathe and dress without his typical morning enthusiasm for both processes. Selecting a warm dress from her traveling case, she draped her clothing over the empty towel rack in the bathroom and rooted through her toiletries for her toothbrush and toothpowder. When she was done, she hung a fresh towel on the rack nearest the shower beside the still-damp one Andrew had used and stepped under the spray. The warm shower felt delightful and soothed the telltale soreness from her bedroom exertions with her husband the night before. Once she’d washed, she stood with the warm spray draining off of her and for the first time since they’d come, wondered what they were going to do in St. Louis. They had only the name of a diner and a hotel off t