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
