Henry couldn’t hold William’s goals and ambition against the man. His shrewdness had made him a millionaire, something he’d dreamed of becoming since he was a young boy searching for gold with his father and grandfather. However, those same goals and ambitions, those dreams of becoming rich, were still all William cared about. Making money far unseated his family, his wife and daughters. Very few people were aware that Dryer had a family, and those that were had thought the girls were young, practically babies, until recently.
A few weeks ago, Dryer had put out the word that he was looking for husbands for his daughters, and the list of qualifications was as long as the ones needed in order to purchase property in Hollywoodland. Meaning only the rich would qualify. Even though he had money, plenty of it, he wasn’t about to share it with anyone. Including his own family.
Everything Betty had said about her father, about his strict rules, had turned out to be true. The man practically kept them under lock and key. Prisoners. Henry could see why Betty and her sisters snuck out at night, because, like most prisoners, all they could think about was freedom.
He remembered feeling that way at the orphanage.
But there was more. William Dryer also seemed to be a recluse himself. Not in his house, though. He left early every morning and didn’t return home until late afternoon, and he wasn’t at building sites. He left most of the sale of land and home building to the man he was currently using to build his houses. James Bauer.
“Do you stay in the house at night?” Betty asked as they walked.
“No. I just use the tunnel to access places.”
“Where do you stay?”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “For your own safety.” He meant that in more ways than one. Not only for security against outsiders, but also in case her father was to learn that Henry was using the shack on his property. “When you were in Seattle, do you remember a beach cottage on the bay?”
“No. I don’t, but I only went to the bay that one day.”
“Why?”
She sighed softly. “My grandmother was ill, had been for a long time. Tuberculosis. She came home with us and wanted clams one last time before leaving. That’s why I was digging them that day. We left the following day.”
“And you never went back to Seattle?” he asked for clarification. His mind still wanted to believe she was involved in this, somehow, some way, because if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t have a reason to see her again. That wasn’t easy to admit, but he could no longer deny it. This wasn’t about the case as much as it was about him. Which made it worse. He knew the trouble of getting mixed up with a woman.
“No. There was no reason to,” she said. “My aunt came home with us, too.”
“Where are they now? Your grandmother and your aunt?”
“My grandmother died, in the sanitorium, a few weeks after we arrived home, and my aunt entered the convent.”
He stopped walking and took ahold of her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, that’s kind of you to say—”
She let out a little squeak and jumped closer to him as the roof overhead started to rumble.
He folded an arm around her. “It’s all right. There’s a street above us. That was probably a truck—the cars aren’t that loud.”
Her thick lashes slowly lowered, covering those big blue eyes for a moment. “It frightened me.”
“I should have warned you.”
The tiny smile she offered was tentative, yet sincere. “I shouldn’t be such a scaredy-cat.”
He released her and stepped back, knowing if he didn’t, there would be another kiss.
She rubbed her arms, looked down both sides of the dark tunnel.
The tunnel was cool, chilly even. He removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Let’s walk back to the Rooster’s Nest.”
“But you haven’t told me what you need me to help you with.”
No, he hadn’t, but what she’d said earlier would help the other agents that were working on finding Burrows. “That list you mentioned, of joints and the booze they serve, that would be really useful.” He’d met with another agent working on the case, one of the three who he knew he could trust, and it seemed that every time they got a lead on where Burrows was, he had moved on as if he’d been tipped off. A list of joints serving Minnesota Thirteen would be helpful. Burrows was sure to show up at them sooner or later.
“I can bring it to you tomorrow night,” she said.
“That would be good.” Then, after receiving the list, he would be done seeing her. Her being here was nothing but a coincidence, and he had to remember what happened last time he’d allowed a woman to get mixed up in his life. He took her elbow, started walking back the way they’d come. “Thank you.”
“How long will you be on this case? Using this tunnel?” she asked.
“Not long. A month at the most.” He expected it to be less than that, needed to make it be less than that so he could move on.
“What will you do then?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Several things.” The emotions filling him couldn’t be ignored. She wasn’t hard enough, cold enough to be working with the mole, but she was dangerous. To him. He hadn’t let anyone get under his skin for years and years.
“What things?” she asked.
“I never know where I’ll be assigned to next or what the job will be. Could be anything from counterfeiting to bank robbing.”
“That has to be hard, never knowing where you’ll be,” she said. “It sounds dangerous, too.”
“I’m used to it.” He liked it, too.
With a soft half laugh, she said, “I don’t think I could ever get used to it. The moving or the danger.”
“I’m sure most people would agree with you,” he said. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” He’d always liked that, moving, never getting attached to any
