Dalliances & Devotion Page 9

  No. No, no, no, no. He could not possibly be pulling back on her again. She thrust her hands over her ears before leaping from the carriage without assistance.

  He’d said “yes,” and now he wanted to pause? A pause was just a hop, skip, and a jump away from a “no.” A “my work is more important than you.” An “everything is more important than you.”

  Well, to be fair, he had every right to change his mind at any point. And it was probably for the best. It’d probably save her from herself but what if she didn’t want saving?

  She gave the horse a stroke—at least someone appreciated her touch—and crossed in front of the animal towards the station. She didn’t need help. Not from David, not from the driver, not from anyone. She was an adult. A mature adult. A mature adult—ow!

  A whoosh and a thwack and something heavy lodged inside her skirts, thrusting her forward so her knees hit the cobblestones. Dirt streaked her gloves. Pain radiated through her palms and hips, making her vision waver again, liquid skimming over the surface.

  Someone—David—called her name. Footsteps shook the ground and strong arms lifted her back on her feet. Her skirts though slipped to the left with a loud rip. She patted around her flounces and her hand landed on something heavy. She closed her hand and yanked—double ow. Blood covered her glove, ruining the white and blotting on the pink all around the object in her hand.

  “David?” She gazed up at him and was met with concern. He plucked the thing from her palm and held it in the light. She blinked, her eyes and mind blurring. That couldn’t be a—could it? Shaking, Amalia managed to gasp one word before everything went black.

  “Knife.”

  Chapter Nine

  David pulled off his spectacles, rubbed his eyes, and yawned before placing his head in his hands as the midnight train lurched to a start. Late. His plan for their evening had not included several hours of answering questions for the Pittsburgh police, followed by an hour of composing a rather difficult telegraph to Thad, followed by a barely remembered missive regarding the complaints about her column to the agents in Indiana—not his best work, but it got the unwanted job done.

  Now though, he was inundated with visions of needing to write a darker missive. His heart lurched. So much blood. She’d been so pale.

  Her hand. A small, non-vital part of her body.

  He repeated the words in his head, pounding them into his skull so he could force his mouth to open and shut and his feet to move. So he could do his job. Because that was what Amalia needed him to do. More than anything else. Which is why he couldn’t stop—had to keep going, keep protecting and guarding, keep pushing forward until she was with her family.

  At least Meg handled secondary discussions with the witnesses. Not that any reported seeing more than he had.

  A dark cloaked specter. A near ghost. At least according to half the yokels milling about when it happened. Not that one of them had done anything to stop it.

  Tall.

  Large cap.

  No one saw a face.

  The same retelling over and over.

  “Well, the higher-ups can officially eliminate Ethan Bloomenstock as a suspect.” Meg slumped in yet another cushioned armchair, a repeat of the previous night, but the mood far graver. “I was just finishing at the house when you two caught the cab outside the park. No one came or left.”

  David rubbed his temple. “No, it had to be someone from the first train. We must’ve lost them for a little when we left this morning. Maybe they tried to follow, maybe they slunk around in the shadows, knowing we’d be back. That’s the only thing that makes sense after the rat.”

  But who would want to hurt Amalia? Could someone have followed her from Indianapolis? If someone had, how had he slipped through the other agents?

  None of the pieces fit together. How did one protect someone from a phantom? A phantom with seemingly unlimited resources. A phantom after a rather harmless woman. A charming, entertaining, beautiful woman, but a harmless one nevertheless.

  Nothing made sense.

  His temples throbbed. What was he going to do? How was he failing so much? He was supposed to be proving himself. Instead, he was showing he couldn’t handle leading one simple protection duty.

  Simple his tuchas.

  Damn the assignment. Damn the tempting promotion in an organization whose values he’d started to question over the last few months.

  Damn all of it.

  “I didn’t see anyone sniffing around the luggage.” Will popped his head through the door and slid in. “But I can’t be everywhere at once.” He latched them inside before leaning against the wall. Probably dead on his feet. Like poor Meg.

  A ripple of guilt spread through David. His friends had been working too hard, making up for his distracted mind.

  He glanced at Meg, whose eyelids fluttered as if fighting sleep. Amalia was his responsibility more than anyone’s and he was the one in charge. His fault, not Will and Meg’s. His failure. His screwup.

  Maybe everyone in Grodno had been right about him—he was the son of a no-goodnik, a no-goodnik in his own right, and nothing more. Maybe his family was prescient in their bid to get rid of him.

  After all, what had he done before he came to America? Treaded the same tracks his father had. And yet he failed there too. He couldn’t even turn his back on his people correctly.

  Could he blame Amalia for shielding herself from a man who’d never be good enough?

  He bent forward, face in his hands.

  “How’s Amalia doing?” Will’s voice boomed across the room.

  “Sleeping, last time I checked.” Meg’s expression was weary. “The cut’s nasty. She near sliced through a tendon. I’d wrapped it pretty tight when I first got to her but she bled through. I stitched it as best as I could. She’ll have a rather large scar.” His partner’s eyes were somber. “Using her fingers will be difficult for the next few days. And painful.” She tutted her tongue before shaking her head. “Poor girl.”

  His throat filled at her tone. It was bad. Really bad and they’d been very lucky.

  “Change of heart?” David managed to force something that almost resembled levity into his voice, even as guilt pounded his mind. He should’ve been paying attention. Should’ve at least noticed something amiss, instead of turning back too late to see anything but Amalia fall.

  Meg gave a soft chuckle and leaned farther in her chair as Will sauntered over to occupy the one across. “Nah, she’s still a spoiled brat.” Meg dipped her head back for a moment before rocking back to meet his eye. “But she certainly doesn’t deserve to be maimed for that.” His friend frowned. “Even if she has lousy tastes in men.”

  “Lousy?” The word came out a growl but the hairs on the back of his arms rose to attention. What did the first husband do? What had Meg seen? He’d been with her the whole time, except...the two had spoken privately for that one moment. It seemed innocent enough but if he touched a hair on Amalia’s head...

  Meg toyed with the sleeve of Will’s coat that she’d wrapped around the thin washer woman’s disguise she still wore.

  “What did the staff say?” He jumped to his feet, all his senses waking and in a full panic.

  Oh god. Had Ethan actually done something horrible to Amalia when they were married? A bubbling mixture of fear and rage raced through David’s veins. Where had Thad been? Where had her father been? How could they be so suspicious of him, but permit her to marry someone who would hurt her?

  A thrumming started in his ears. Where had he been? What had he been doing during that time?

  He swallowed. “Meg?”

  “Lord, David, no. He didn’t—it isn’t whatever horrible crime you’re imagining.” She bit back her lip, her brow creased, as if she was weighing each word. “He didn’t do anything, really, he’s just...”

  “What?” He’d bent
down so far he was almost on top of her. Will thrust him back with a slender, yet steel-strong arm and a warning glare. David stepped to the side, adjusted his tie and repeated the question.

  Meg gave both men a withering glance. “A bigger spoiled brat than she is.” She shrugged. “At least I think that’s the easiest way to describe it.”

  Everything inside David relaxed. “Ah. Well, I could’ve told you that.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and collapsed back on the couch.

  “I mean, I could see physical attraction.” He didn’t need to see Meg to know she was smirking again, probably wide enough so Will couldn’t miss it.

  David resisted a snort at her antics. Not believable. Will had nothing to worry about.

  First of all, Ethan Bloomenstock wasn’t that nice to look at. Sure, he had neat, lush, golden hair that probably glittered in the sun, along with even, white teeth that could be seen in every full smile. And bright blue eyes. And clean, pressed, soot-free, fashionable clothes. And probably smooth, un-calloused hands. And no accent. And a college education. Just as Amalia described all those years ago.

  He gritted his teeth. “I suppose.”

  Still, second of all... There was no second of all and his friends were now giving him these knowing, pitying glances, tutting over his lack of answers because somehow it’d all be turned around on him. Again.

  “Is that a bit of envy I detect?” Meg snapped off the t in a knowing manner.

  “No. Not at all.” David ground his teeth. “I know I’m not bad to look at and what you or Amalia thinks about that isn’t important. Not at all. Protecting her, solving the case is what’s important. That’s why we’re having this conversation, after all.”

  “Naturally.” Meg’s chair creaked as she shifted. “And you shouldn’t be jealous. Bloomenstock just has this attitude, like the war never happened.” His partner trailed off and David raised his chin to meet her haunted gaze, Will already next to her, his arm around her shoulder.

  Meg hugged herself a little, stroking up and down her sleeves, not acknowledging Will but still leaning ever so slightly against his chest. “He doesn’t see lifeless eyes staring at him from a shallow grave when he’s alone.”

  The three partners exchanged glances and the air thickened as much as it had with cannons and gunfire and summer heat, that terrible day. The day the four stood over Simon Truitt’s body and became something more to each other than cogs in the same machine. The day he became more, at least for a few months, than just a schlemiel with worn clothes and no trade and a lot of opinions and ideas but no way to make them happen.

  Will rested his hands-on Meg’s shoulders and the three sat in silence, memories roaring back. The hill and what came after. Four people who’d never spoken a word to each other, together, under a grove of trees in the middle of Pennsylvania. In July.

  Make sure someone looks after my sister. Not Ro. Thad watches Ro. Amalia.

  The guilt near choked him. Thank god poor Simon never knew what his “watching” involved.

  “We should look in on her.” David stretched his arms over his head.

  “I can do that.” Meg hobbled to her feet. “Don’t worry. I checked very carefully for rats.”

  “So did I, when I put her in there.” Another memory to haunt him. Laying her down and leaving, instead of sheltering her body with his. Because that wasn’t the best way to protect her now. And protecting her was his priority until whomever was after her was caught. Because until then, nothing else mattered.

  “You know, someone should be in there with her.” Meg squinted, her mind still probably back on the field. Next to the Truitt whose wounds she hadn’t been able to heal. “I’ll grab a blanket.”

  “Thanks, Meg.” He rubbed his eyes again. As if he could rub out all the twisting in his gut and force things back to the way they were. Before everything.

  Meg grabbed a cold cloth, crept into Amalia’s bedroom, and shut the door behind her. He turned to Will.

  “What are we going to do?” He hung his head in his hands.

  It was one thing to pretend to forget her, to avoid Thad and Delaware, throw himself into work or into fantasies or only thumb the letters when he was very, very, very lonely, or very drunk, but to have all chances of any reunion with her cut off...to lose her and all hope altogether...

  David rasped. He couldn’t breathe. He wrenched his tie over his head and threw it back on the couch, retreating to his position, as if holding his head could keep it on his shoulders, could keep him sane.

  Will strolled over and rested a hand on David’s back. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Didn’t I?” He couldn’t look at his friend as he replayed the cab ride—and the park—in his head. He’d been a fool. A lustful, selfish fool. After all he’d done in the past. “I should’ve been helping her out of the cab, should’ve had my body blocking hers so—”

  “You would’ve been stabbed in the neck and died? And what good would that do anyone? With you out of the way, whomever it was could’ve gotten to Amalia in less than a minute.” Will sat down beside him.

  “I was distracted.” He kept his head down. He took advantage of whatever strain she was going through and failed her.

  “By?”

  He peeked at Will. His friend frowned.

  “Her.” David pressed his hands to his temples again. Thad should really, rightfully blacken both his eyes, letters and touches or not.

  “Ah.” Will reclined and placed a finger to his lips. His eyes twinkled through the darkness. “She does that to you. Always did. Part of the reason I signed on to this mission, to see if she entranced you.”

  “So I was useless after we met?” David’s head shot up. “That’s unfair. For two years after that I risked my life and I saved—”

  “Yes, yes, yes, many heroics in the war. Lots of battlefield prowess, so much demonstrated greatness.” Will chuckled a little and shook his head. “Please don’t start with me. I’m not stupid. I know you enlisted to further your own sense of worth, just as much as to fight for my right to be treated like a human. And the fact that the ‘cause’ aligned with all that philosophy you spout made the choice very easy.”

  He squeaked a little, but Will wasn’t done. “What you did was courageous, but you don’t get to hide behind it.”

  David opened his mouth in protest, but shut it.

  “Good idea.” Will rubbed the back of his neck. “I like you, David, which is why I can see you. You’re not a storybook hero.” His friend sighed. “You have a good heart and do good things but you can be selfish and thoughtless too. Especially with your words.”

  Will lowered his voice. “I know you wrote her letters and she wrote back. Ones that would make Thad break a few of your ribs if he ever found out. You aren’t that clever at hiding your tracks, something you should consider if you want to lead more operations.”

  David dipped his head back and rested it on the window, the vibrations rumbling down his spine.

  “You need to confront this.” Will scowled. “You’re still mixed up and if you don’t watch out, you’re going to do something foolish like get me and Meg hurt.”

  “I’d never do that.” At least not on purpose. David rose and paced, tutting to himself. “Promise me you won’t tell Thad?”

  “Have I yet?” Will’s tone remained placid but his eyes hardened. “I also won’t tell about the other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?” David froze.

  “Don’t play the fool with me. Or insult my intelligence.” Will smirked a little. “I may have been born at night but it wasn’t yesterday. I was there at New Year’s. I have no idea what you did at the Jewish holidays but when we arrived—the way she looked at you, the girl near licked her lips.”

  His friend leaned back, kicking up his legs on the side of the chair. “Not that you were much better. You
followed her around like a lost lamb, hanging on every word and finding every excuse to brush her hand or side or bosom. But not like it was the first time. Like you were coming back for more.”

  Wasn’t Will supposed to be the strong, silent type? Where did that go?

  Oy, his head hurt. He rubbed his temples. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  His partner crossed his ankles and narrowed his eyes. “Whatever it was, whatever happened between you two, it hurt, at least in the end. Her attention made you bolder and more confident, while her rejection made you—”

  “Meshuggenah?” David snorted a little because that was apt. He’d run into enemy fire, twice. Without bullets.

  “If the boot fits.” Will nodded a little, as if he was sharing the same memory. “What it was for her, who knows? But for you, it was more than infatuation.” He straightened a little and cocked his head at David. “And now?”

  David pursed his lips and shoved his hands into his pockets. Hard. He sighed. “There’s desire, at least on my end. I’m different and she’s different, but I want her—like she is now.”

  He couldn’t face his partner, but it didn’t matter. The man was staring, his gaze fell hard on David’s back.

  “And her? How does she feel?”

  David shook his head before glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, I suppose she’d engage in the same activities if I offered, but more than that?”

  The two men sat in silence for a long moment. Will was the first to open his mouth. “You’re afraid. You’re afraid she’ll only offer what you had last time and you won’t be able to say ‘no.’ And you’ll feel and want more than she does. And you’re afraid of rejection. Again.”

  “I’d hope I’d have more self-control now.” David shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter much. None of that matters because she’s a client and her safety is paramount. I owe Thad and I... I’m a mess because she can’t die, which is all I should and need to focus on.”

  With a loud creak, Will rose. In an instant he was at David’s side, palm on his shoulder. “You wouldn’t let any innocent person die.” Will lifted his eyes to meet David’s. “You might not trust yourself, but I trust you. That’s why I call you whenever there’s a sign of trouble. I know you’ll always come, always help.”