He stayed where he was, watched as his followers grew closer. Two of them. Twisting about, he picked a trail along the underbrush, until reaching the top, and then paused to glance back down. They were still there, following him. The man looked like Lane Cox.
Henry heaved out a breath. Lane had lost his wife and daughter in the train robbery and had worked closely with the FBI during the capture and trial of Gaynor. Henry had known Lane would be on Gaynor’s escape like a hound. Every agent knew Lane could be trusted and would do anything he could to see justice was served. Including not printing information that hadn’t been released to the public. But until he knew who the mole was for sure, Henry couldn’t contact Lane. Couldn’t let him know the truth about Gaynor. There was just too much at stake.
As Henry made his way down the other side of the hill, something else occurred to him. The second person with Lane was a woman.
Betty’s sister. The one who’d danced with Burrows.
The only way Lane could have known to look at the abandoned house for him was from Betty.
The guilt inside him turned to anger.
He’d been duped.
Duped by a woman again.
He huffed out a breath and cursed at his own thoughts. She wasn’t like that. He wanted her to be so it would be easier for him to forget her. Lane had probably tracked him down all on his own. Betty had nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with any of it.
Which was all one more reason why he could never see her again. He had to stop pulling her into all this. He knew how dangerous that could get.
Once at the cabin, he left the door ajar as an open invitation for Lane to approach.
That was exactly what happened. Lane appeared, surprised to see it was him and not Rex Gaynor. That explained it all. Lane would have tracked Gaynor to the end of the earth for killing his wife and child.
Henry’s mind kept going down side roads as he, Lane, and Patsy discussed Burrows and the shipment of old bills that had been stolen off the train. All he could think about was Betty, and what he’d done to her. Henry’s thoughts were as jumbled as his insides, so when Lane offered to learn more about Vincent’s whereabouts, Henry absently agreed to meet him the following night at the Rooster’s Nest.
When this was all over, he’d tell Lane the truth, but he couldn’t right now, because no matter how badly he’d messed up with Betty, he still had a job to do.
As soon as Lane left, Henry, with the piece of paper containing the list Betty had compiled burning his skin through the material of his pocket, set out down the hill to search out another agent. One he was certain was clean. Jacob Nielsen, who—along with Curtis Elkin and Bob Mayer—had been assigned to arrest Burrows. Jacob had only been with the Bureau three years, so couldn’t be the mole, but Elkin and Mayer had been there seven years, and out of those two, Elkin was who Henry believed was the mole. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but Elkin was sly, shifty, and though he never said much, he always seemed to be thinking. None of that was odd for an agent, but Elkin made it seem odd.
It wasn’t anything more than a gut feeling. What Henry needed was proof, and he didn’t have that.
Yet.
He’d give the list Betty had compiled to Jacob. She’d put that list together for a reason, and Jacob had to know he could be entering a setup if he was planning on looking for Burrows at any of them.
The sky had opened up shortly after Lane and Patsy had left, a full-blown thunder-and-lightning storm. Henry tugged down his hat and flipped up his collar against the rain as he continued down the hill. This time, he hadn’t taken the trail that led to the house, he’d taken what had once been a road to the cabin. It was overgrown from lack of use for most of the way, but came out on the road before the curve that led up to Hollywoodland. That was where he kept his car. Well hidden in the trees.
Guilt was still churning his insides. After meeting Patsy with Lane, Henry knew he needed to talk to Betty. Needed to apologize to her. All he’d offered her last night was money if there were any repercussions. She’d need more than that. He didn’t know how he’d provide it, moving from case to case, but he’d have to find a way.
Rain was coming down in sheets by the time he arrived at the car. He wrenched open the door and jumped in. As he removed his hat to shake aside the rain dripping off his hair, he noticed the windshield was fogged over.
From the inside.
He grabbed the door handle, but it was too late. Pain exploded in the back of his head.
Betty had never hosted the type of anger living inside her today. She was even furious with her sisters. Patsy, who had been missing all day, showed up late for supper, dripping wet and with Lane Cox in tow, who stayed for supper, and was then sequestered in a meeting with her father. Second, Jane refused to sneak out because of what was happening with Patsy and Lane.
Betty was concerned for Patsy, and Lane, and understood Jane’s fears, but she’d told Henry she’d meet him, and she would. Last night had been amazing; she’d just gotten scared afterward at how she’d broken every rule and needed to tell him that. It hadn’t been because she’d been worried about repercussions. He’d made sure there wouldn’t be any. She had to let him know that.
She didn’t know what it was that made her want to be someone else, but when she was with him, she wanted to
