The guy nodded toward the other side of the crowd. “They are bringing your trophies. Two mugs of beer, one for you and one for your partner.”
Henry shook his head and stepped behind the man. “Accept it for me, will you, pal?” As deeper regret filled him, he added, “And tell my partner...” Tell her what?
He needed information from her. Find out why she was here and why she had been in Seattle three years ago. So had the mole. She could know the mole, could confirm he was right about which agent had been defying the oath he’d taken.
The piano man was looking at him like he’d just lost his mind. Maybe he had, but Henry couldn’t do anything about it right now. He couldn’t take the chance of his cover being blown by Lane Cox.
A cigarette girl was making her way through the crowd, carrying two mugs of beer over her head. Trophies for the winners of the dance-off.
Him and Lacy, or whatever her name was. He’d have to find that out, too.
She was twisting left and right, looking around. For him no doubt. A hint of remorse struck.
“Tell her what?” the piano man asked.
“That I’ll see her tomorrow night,” Henry said, slipping into the crowd behind him. As he neared the wall behind the piano, he took a final glance around to make sure no one was looking at him, and then ducked behind the curtain that hung along the wall. He would come back tomorrow night. Find out everything Lacy knew.
He opened the door that the curtain kept hidden and hurried through the long and narrow storeroom that was lined with shelves and crates full of various types of alcohol. If he was a prohibition agent instead of an investigation agent, the owner of the Rooster’s Nest would already be in jail and the contents of this room confiscated and destroyed.
Some of it destroyed. Some of it would be shipped elsewhere, where it would be consumed during secretive parties that the American people would be shocked to learn about.
Actually, not that many people would be shocked. In a lot of ways, prohibition had created more drinking than it had reduced. People seemed to love the idea of sneaking around, of drinking behind closed doors. It had become one of the most popular things to do. Throw in music and a dance floor, and joints across the nation were packed full every night.
Prohibition wasn’t a part of his job, and he was glad of that. That was a fine line the government was walking right now. He couldn’t see it lasting much longer. The Volstead Act hadn’t brought about the end results the followers imagined, and other than a select few, the number of people still supporting the act had dwindled over the years.
At the corner of the end wall, he found the little catch on the side of the shelf and swung it away from the wall. Opening the secret door the shelf kept hidden in the wall, he crossed over the threshold and pulled the shelf back in place. Then as he stepped onto the first step of the stairway that led down to the tunnel, he pulled the door shut behind him.
He stood there for a moment, on that first step, shaking his head. He’d never expected to see her again.
Never.
The odds of that had to be one in a million, which meant it wasn’t a coincidence.
Their past encounter had only lasted minutes, yet it had stuck with him.
Three years ago, he’d been in Seattle, undercover, which had grown into his specialty, and he’d just made a major break in the counterfeiting case by having gained access into a beach cottage where the perpetrators had been printing bills, when he’d seen her walking along the sand in the secluded bay.
She’d been wearing a pair of dark knickers and a white blouse and carrying her shoes in one hand and a bucket and clam-digging shovel in the other. Her long blond hair had been blowing in the wind as she’d walked, swinging her arms as if she hadn’t had a care in the world.
The tide had already been rolling in, and at the time, he remembered hoping she knew what she was doing. High tide in that small bay quickly flooded the entire area.
He hadn’t wasted any more time contemplating if she did or didn’t, because he’d known he’d only had minutes to complete his survey of the house and equipment.
He’d found what he’d needed to find, and made a hasty exit before being discovered, but upon leaving the cottage, he’d seen her again.
The tide had caught her off guard, and she’d been perched upon a cluster of rocks, clearly frantic at the water that had been sloshing around her shins and growing higher and higher.
He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shoes, just ran out through the rising water and plucked her off the rocks. She’d been crying and clung to him so hard she’d nearly strangled him by the time he’d carried her to shore.
Sobbing, she’d thanked him for saving her life.
He’d considered telling her the water hadn’t been waist high, but that had only been a part of it. The currents of the tide could have easily tripped her, and all the rocks made the water dangerous no matter how high it had been.
The first glance he’d gotten of her hadn’t prepared him for how pretty she’d been up close, even while crying. Her delicate features, dark blue eyes gazing into his, and her rosy lips had nearly taken his breath away.
Much like it had tonight.
As she’d started to explain what had happened, he’d seen a car pull up to the beach cottage.
At a risk of being caught, he’d acted quickly, and had done the only thing he could think of. Kissed her. A long, deep, passionate kiss that would convince anyone who might have noticed them that they were merely lovers taking advantage of the secluded beach.
They’d kissed until
