Emil had to admire his nonchalance. Men like Gunn didn’t rise to power by being unprepared. By allowing anyone to sneak up from behind. No doubt he’d had a dossier as thick as the Bible prepared on Emil the moment he was seen at the docks. Hell, Gunn might even know more about his tastes than he did himself. What he’d do to get his hands on that dossier. It was a temptation few detectives could refuse, learning what clues had been compiled under his own name.

  “Then you know I’ve been working for Leland Wingate.”

  “Aye.” Gunn continued to scratch, though a smirk appeared momentarily through the thick beard. “I kent him a whiles. There’s nothing the man does that escapes me. You arenae the first he’s sent after me, and you willnae be the last.”

  Emil got the sense he was seconds away from having the door slammed in his face. He had to intrigue Gunn, and fast. He’d hoped to ease into it, but seemed he’d overestimated Gunn’s need for niceties.

  “He ordered me to fabricate evidence against you,” he said bluntly. “Enough to have you arrested by next week.”

  The scratching stopped. The eyes narrowed. “That wee bastard has grown a new set of balls, I see.”

  His gaze drifted to the yard, and Emil forced himself to stand still while the Scotsman chewed over his words. He would remain nonchalant. In control. Because that’s the type of man Gunn hired to work for him, not one who was overeager or needy.

  “This mean you’re a turncoat?”

  Emil met the cold brown eyes without flinching. “It does.”

  “Then I suppose you’d better come in.”

  Gunn pivoted without another word, merely left the door open and walked into the house. Emil hurried in behind him, shutting the door with a grim smile. Leave it to Gunn to welcome a turncoat. He followed him across the ill-lit, frigid entryway to what was most likely meant to be the parlor.

  The grand room was unfurnished but for two rickety wooden chairs and a scarred, circular table in the middle of the room. The paneled walls, covered in a film of dust and a smattering of cobwebs, looked like they hadn’t been touched since the house was built. Emil quickly schooled his expression. This had to be a test; another way for Gunn to eject his few visitors as soon as possible.

  Gunn sank into one chair as if there was nothing strange about it, crossed one ankle over his other knee, and checked his pocket watch. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  Emil didn’t even pause to remove his hat. He recounted everything that had occurred with Wingate over the last month and a half. How he’d been hired to look into him, and how, despite his efforts to find anything suspicious, he hadn’t been able to.

  “Maybe you’re no as good a detective as you think,” Gunn suggested.

  “Or maybe you’re not as villainous as you want others to think,” Emil shot back before he could stop himself. He immediately grimaced. “Apologies, that was uncalled for.”

  Gunn barked out a laugh. “Believe you me, I am every bit as villainous as people think. But not, perhaps, as corrupt.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “A great deal, I’m afraid.” Gunn shifted, his foot hitting the ground with a thud. “You’ve two minutes.”

  Emil plunged onward, summarizing Wingate’s rage and how he hadn’t been willing to accept defeat. How he’d demanded Emil frame Gunn, or that he’d make sure he never worked in Seattle again.

  “I said no, of course. I was offended he would even ask. I’m a straightforward man, Mr. Gunn, and I’m good at my job. There’s already plenty of evil to root out in this world. No reason to go inventing more.”

  “On that we can agree.” Gunn steepled his fingers and examined him. “Despite your intrusion into my private business, you’ve impressed me.”

  Emil drew a breath. It was time to risk it all. “Enough to return the favor?”

  “Ah, the crux of the matter. What are you thinking?”

  “I took a risk turning Wingate down. His censure could very well be enough to sink my fledgling business. But if I were to work for you—on a single case, or on a short-term basis—it could be enough to dismiss any of Wingate’s rumors as par for the course in a business rivalry. And—” he continued blithely, as if what he wasn’t about to say couldn’t ruin everything— “You make it known I helped you buy out his shipyard. Anyone worth their salt will read between the lines and call Wingate for what he is: a sore loser. And I just might get another job or two out of it.”

  “But you didnae help me.”

  “Not then. But I am now.”

  “Hmm. Look at you playing fast and loose with the truth.”

  “Only enough to ensure we both get what we want, and no one else gets hurt.”

  “And what if I’m wanting you to conduct underhanded business dealings, as you so generously call them?”

  “I’d say no. But I don’t think you will,” he continued bluntly. “I think there’s a reason you’re buying up land from men who haven’t done much for Seattle except hold back progress and horde its wealth. I think you have schemes up your sleeves, ones that could help more people than you’re willing to admit. And that’s the kind of change I can get behind.”

  Gunn leaned back in his seat with a huff. “Dammit, Anderson. I didnae want to like you.”

  “Then we have a deal?”

  “Aye, we do. Turns out one of my men has to return to England next month. You can fill in for him.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gunn. I won’t let you down.”

  “Good.” He shoved to his feet. “Your time’s up.”

  Emil stood, grinning, and followed Gunn to the front door. He held out his hand, which Gunn eyed a moment before shaking it with a grip that was far too tight. Donning his hat, he stepped onto the front porch.

  “The blonde girl,” Gunn said suddenly. “The suffragist.”

  Emil turned, his hand tightening at his side. “What about her?”

  Gunn’s brows rose, as if he found Emil’s reaction amusing. “That was her letter in the Post today. You think it’ll do the trick?”

  Emil didn’t even ask how he knew it was Olive’s. “It better.”

  Gunn nodded once. “I’ll put out the word.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, not quite able to hide his surprise.

  “Can’t abide a woman in danger,” he replied with a shrug. But there was a thread of something in his voice that betrayed his nonchalance—anger? Bitterness? He didn’t have time to study it before Gunn shut the door in his face.

  Emil blew out a breath. “Well, that’s that.”

  He strode toward the Queen Anne streetcar, whistling a jaunty tune. He’d done it. Everything was going perfectly. He couldn’t wait to tell his father. Couldn’t wait to begin the new job. And most of all, he couldn’t wait to tell Olive.

  Everything was finally going his way. He would make sure it stayed that way, starting with treating Olive to the best outing of her life.

  Chapter 23

  “I could become accustomed to being chauffeured around in an automobile,” Olive mused, smiling at Emil behind the wheel.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “Very. Warm, too.”

  The moment she’d climbed into the front seat, Emil had tucked her feet into a raccoon fur foot warmer, draped her seat in an enormous flannel blanket, and tucked her into the seat with another. She was thoroughly taken care of, and she was thoroughly enjoying it. Still smiling, she returned her attention to the view outside the passenger window.

  She hadn’t been this far north of the city in a long time, and she was fascinated by the signs of urban sprawl. On one side of the road, a crew erected wooden utility poles and strung them with wire. On the other side, a newly built General Store heralded a growing population. The roads were still in poor shape, but the number of wagons, buggies, and pedestrians was far more than she’d expected. Progress was upon them.

  “Let’s keep this trip accident-free,” Emil said. “Or Mack will never let me borrow his pride and joy again. Even for you.”

  “Agreed.”

  She flexed her fingers carefully. There was a slight twinge, but nothing like the pain she’d had the past week. She would be healed before long, and not a moment too soon. The bills were due next week, and she needed the dinner performance at the Chevalier Hotel to make her budget. But that was a problem for another day—all she had to do right now was enjoy her first formal outing with a man.

  She stole a glance at Emil from beneath her lashes. He was always handsome, but there was something especially captivating about the confident way he maneuvered them through the streets. She had come to trust, even depend on, that unfailing competence of his. It made her feel safe. It made it unexpectedly easy to accept an invitation without needing to know every detail in advance or anticipate every possible outcome. God, what a relief it was. What freedom.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “And how would you know?” she teased. “Shouldn’t your eyes be on the road?”

  “It’s easy once there aren’t six layers of lace hiding you from the public,” he said, flicking her an amused glance.

  She laughed. “You promised to take me somewhere no one would know me. I believed you.”

  “If we’re going to celebrate our victory over Wingate, it’s damn well going to be somewhere you aren’t worried about appearances.”

  “We’re also celebrating your job with Mr. Gunn,” she pointed out.

  “That, too.”

  She wiggled a hand free of the blankets and placed it on his thigh. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not being upset I didn’t want to stay in town. For taking the time to think about what would make me happy. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

  “It’s how you deserve to be treated, Olive.” He let go of the steering wheel to pat her hand once before returning it. “Besides, I’m also looking forward to tonight. I’ve never done anything like it.”

  “A first for a man who’s done everything? I didn’t know I could become more excited.”

  He snorted. “I would dearly love to know what you think everything is. Hell, I’d love to try everything you can think of—and more—with you.”

  Warmth flooded her cheeks, and her lower belly tightened. There was no mistaking his meaning, not with the way his voice deepened to a purr. It made her want to scoot across the seat and press her lips to his neck. To see if she could make him shiver like he did to her.

  “I’m game.”

  He hissed between his teeth. “After, Emil. After your surprise. After.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “It must be a wonderful surprise, if you must instruct yourself to behave.”

  “It is. In fact, here’s the turn.”

  He slowed, then turned onto a narrow, dirt road. The auto rumbled and bumped along, and Olive bounced in her seat. Her lap blanket fell to the floor, but she just laughed and held onto the door handle.

  “Almost there,” Emil called out.

  When the auto pulled to a complete stop, Olive looked out the window in confusion. “There’s nothing here.”

  “It’s the back entrance to Rick Higgins’ farm. We have to walk around the bend. Wait there.”

  He wiggled the brake handle, then nodded with satisfaction. He threw open his door, adjusting his knit hat over his ears as he circled the front of the auto to open her door and hand her down. She shivered at the blast of cold air.

  “Good thing I didn’t wear my ball gown,” she murmured. She’d been sorely tempted, but the yellow gown Rhoda had gifted her was her prized possession. Emil’s only instructions had been to dress warmly, so she’d settled for a less attractive, but far warmer, walking suit and her mother’s coat.

  “You look lovely. Except for your hat.”

  Her hand flew upward to touch it. “Oh no. What’s wrong with it?”

  “It doesn’t match your scarf.” With a small flourish, he reached into his pocket and produced a burst of color. It was a tam hat, knitted from the same beautiful forest green wool as her scarf. “May I?”

  She nodded, her pulse kicking up a notch. She held still as he removed her mother’s old hat, mindful not to dislodge her pins, and adjusted his creation on her head. He’d made her something. On purpose. Without having to be cajoled, as his mother and sister claimed. If that wasn’t proof of how important she was to him, she couldn’t imagine what was.

  “There. Much better.”

  “I love it. Thank you.”

  He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s nothing. Let me grab our blankets, and then we’ll be on our way. I hope it hasn’t started yet.”

  “What hasn’t?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Tell me,” she wheedled.

  “And miss seeing your face when you realize? Not a chance.”

  Once the blankets were secured under one arm, he offered her his other and guided her down a winding dirt path sheltered by a bare-limbed maple tree, then toward a red and white barn with a chicken coop in front. A group of men was clustered to one side of the barn, their attention riveted on something in the distance. Suddenly, as one, they burst into cheers, stomping their feet and shouting.

  “This better not be a cock fight,” she said sourly.

  Emil laughed. “It’s not. Not the kind you’re thinking of, anyway.”

  As they neared the barn, Olive tightened her hold on Emil’s arm. She would have faith in him. He wouldn’t make her stand in the cold with a group of noisy men unless it was safe. Unless it was something really good. Something that wouldn’t make her regret⁠—

  She gasped.

  Before her, carved into the barren field, was a baseball diamond. One ragtag team occupied a bench behind home plate, and another was positioned across the diamond. She stared, her heart in her throat, as a fresh batter stepped up to the plate. The pitcher—goodness, was that Hyram Turner?—flowed into his wind-up, then hurled the ball toward home. The batter swung, and there was a mighty crack. The ball flew toward left field, and Olive’s heart soared along with it.

  Emil had taken her to a baseball game.

  “The season hasn’t started up yet,” he said at her side. “But I asked around and found out where the fellas meet up to play in the off-season.”

  She tightened her grip on his arm, unable to look away from the action. “Emil, it’s wonderful.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now, come this way. I asked them to save a couple of seats for us.”

  They approached the cluster of spectators, who greeted Emil with warmth before offering her a polite, indifferent nod. She settled onto an empty bench on the far side, smoothing the plush flannel blanket across her lap. The chill still crept in, but she didn’t mind. She was too busy watching the batter streak around the bases for a triple.

  Memories bombarded her—her father patiently teaching her every nuance of baseball. His soothing voice naming the plays as they occurred, highlighting a player’s skills or shaking his head at another’s mistakes. He’d loved to make predictions about which men might rise to the National League, and he’d tease her that she would be able to say she’d seen them play in person. She’d clung to every word, absorbing it as readily as she did musical theory. It had been their ritual, their special connection.

  And now she sat beside the only other man who had truly mattered to her. Outwardly, he was nothing like her father: charming and cocky rather than reserved and modest. But beneath the surface, the similarities were striking. Both kind and protective; both intelligent and driven. To be graced with the same sort of man twice in one lifetime seemed unfathomable, yet there she was. She swallowed hard and blinked into the light.

  Emil leaned in and whispered, “Are you overwhelmed?” She could only nod. Of course he’d notice. He adjusted his posture until one hand slid in between hers. “Hold on to me, and it will pass.”

  She squeezed his hand, grateful she didn’t need to explain. They sat, hand in hand, while the inning progressed. Eventually, the tightness in her chest eased, and it was safe to speak once more.

  She tilted her head to study Emil. He was riveted on the game, chuckling as a particularly ripe insult was hurled toward the catcher. He passed comments with his neighbors, entirely at ease. He must have felt her gaze on him because he glanced back at her. When she smiled, he flashed his beautiful, crooked grin. The one that told her it was real. The one that made her heart sing and her core ache.

  “Better?”

  “Better,” she confirmed.

  “When was the last time you saw a game?”

  “A month before my father passed.”

  “Ah, I see.” His grip tightened on hers. “Was it as cold as this one?”

  “It was one of the hottest days of summer,” she said, smiling at the memory. “A player fainted in the heat, and my father was called to assist. Then he bought us ice cream, but he was so engrossed in the game that it melted all over his coat. I can’t blame him, it was an exciting game. It was the play-offs, and⁠—”

  “Look out!”

  She started at the shouted warning, her pulse kicking up as her gaze snapped past Emil—just in time to spot the blur of a ball slicing through the air toward them. There was no time for him to turn, no time for her to warn him. Her hand shot out on instinct, braced against his shoulder, and shoved.

  Emil toppled backward off the bench with a startled grunt, landing in a sprawl just as the ball whipped past inches from where he’d been sitting. It thudded somewhere on the ground behind them. A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, laced with mock cheers and scattered claps.

  From the ground, Emil gaped at her. “You couldn’t just catch it?”

  “No glove,” she said sweetly, unable to stop herself from giggling. “Safety first.”

  Emil broke into laughter and allowed his neighbors to haul him to his feet. Once he had wiped the grit from his pants, he adjusted his hat and gave her a wry look.

  “Tell me this isn’t the most exciting game you’ve ever attended.”

  “It’s up there.”

  “Then a bruised backside is worth it.” He moved to regain his seat on the bench, but she flung out a hand.

 

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