“I’m asking.” His fingers slipped behind her neck as his lips covered hers with a fervency and desire unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. This moment, this very moment when love declared itself and two hearts beat as one, held enough joy to surround any sorrows.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
A shot rang out on the deck above, interrupting the sanctity of love’s first kiss. Eloise scrambled to her feet, fear for her father pushing against her need to hold on to the thrill of being in Phillip’s arms before the sensation faded. She grabbed the derringer and headed for the stairs.
Phillip followed close behind her. At the foot of the stairs, he caught her. “I’ll go up first.” He tried to take the derringer, but she didn’t let go.
“My dad’s up there.” Her concern nearly choked the words, and a tiny corner of her brain registered that this was the first time she hadn’t referred to him as Father since she’d been a small girl. What had changed? She didn’t know, and now wasn’t the time for self-analysis.
“Eloise.” Phillip held her wrist. “Please.”
Common sense told her to give him the gun. He was the trained agent, the better marksman, the skilled fighter. But instinct propelled her to slip from his grasp, to scurry up the steps and slam open the door.
Time slowed as she stood on the deck and took in the scene. Velvalee pointed a revolver at the man Eloise had loathed for years. He clutched at his bicep as blood flowed among his fingers. Velvalee turned, her face twisted with hatred and a strange satisfaction as she aimed the pistol at Eloise.
Someone shouted no and a gunshot reverberated in Eloise’s ear as Phillip collided into her. As she fell, she lifted the derringer, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. Her head hit the deck, sending her into a tailspin that echoed with a woman’s screams.
The fog lifted to too many voices. Too many people. Eloise cared only about the two who helped her sit up then knelt beside her, love and pride shining in their eyes.
Her dad had appeared like the cavalry in a dime Western when she needed him most. He wore the bandage covering his grazed arm like a badge of honor. Phillip had pushed her to the deck, covering her with his body when Velvalee fired her gun. The bullet struck the boat’s woodwork instead of Eloise.
Velvalee huddled on the deck, screaming unladylike obscenities at the FBI agents who tried to administer first aid to her shattered kneecap.
“Did I do that?” Eloise asked.
Phillip twirled the derringer on his forefinger. “Couldn’t have aimed better myself.”
“I didn’t actually aim.”
“Shh,” her dad said. “That crazy woman dropped her gun when you hit her, thereby saving us all. Nothing else matters.” With a groan, he rose to his feet. “Enjoy the accolades, Emmie. They don’t come around that often.”
Before she could respond, he joined the agents surrounding Velvalee.
“He’s right, you know.” Phillip put his arm around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “You saved us. You caught the Doll Woman. You’re a heroine.”
“You saved me.” She slipped her hand between his collar and his neck to bring his face closer to hers. The shift in position caused her head to throb, but she ignored the pain. “You’re my hero.”
Without caring who might be watching, she pulled him into a lingering kiss that pulsed with the promises and possibilities of a future that was meant to be theirs.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The following days passed in a blur with debriefings and interrogations and even more debriefings. Even though he’d participated in meeting after meeting after meeting, Phillip still wasn’t sure he knew how all the puzzle pieces of the mission fit together to make a complete picture. Maybe they didn’t.
The owner of the Misty Blue, the man Eloise’s father had thrown overboard, proclaimed total ignorance of Phillip’s kidnapping. He still maintained he’d been paid to take two passengers south to San Francisco, no questions asked. So, he’d asked no questions.
A warrant had been issued for Itsuki “Isaac” Hirano, but he had disappeared. Phillip doubted they’d ever see him again.
The biggest surprise was Lorraine Mitchell’s role in the entire ordeal. She blamed her journalist pal, who managed to drag Red Eckers, of all people, into the fray. Leonard was considering a divorce though, in a weird and twisted way, he also enjoyed the notoriety.
Best of all, the Doll Woman was in jail. She still blamed her deceased husband for the forged letters—an impossibility since he died before they were written—but she couldn’t blame him for the kidnapping or the threats she’d made against Eloise. Phillip suspected she’d be spending the rest of her life, however long that might be, behind bars.
He winced as Eloise changed the bandage behind his ear. The wound from the second blow was even more tender than the wound from the first.
“I wish I could kiss the hurt away,” she said.
“I like that idea,” he teased as he grabbed her around the waist and nuzzled her neck.
She giggled and made a halfhearted attempt to escape his grasp. “Behave yourself and let me finish this. Your uncle is waiting.”
Phillip let her go while she affixed the new bandage. “You should probably know he chose me for this mission because he knew I wouldn’t fall in love with you.”
“If he says anything about that, just tell him that God had other plans.” She gathered the medical supplies back into their box.
“Yes, I suppose He did.” He slid his arms around her in a gentle embrace. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
“I’m positive. You?”
“Absolutely.”
He offered her his arm and escorted her to the car waiting to drive them to the courthouse for plan C: marry Eloise.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear World War II Fan,
This story is based on the FBI’s investigation of Velvalee Dickinson, also known as the Doll Woman, who received money from the Japanese government during World War II in exchange for information about American ships damaged at Pearl Harbor and our shipyards on the West Coast.
Since this is a work of fiction, I did take a few liberties with the facts. Though the FBI had the five forged letters in August 1942, it seems that Velvalee wasn’t identified as the letter writer until sometime in 1943. She wasn’t arrested until January 1944. That was too many months for Eloise and Phillip to be on her trail!
Lee Dickinson died in March 1943 not in October 1941, as indicated in the story. It’s true, though, that Velvalee tried to blame him for her treachery.
I also changed the names of the women who were victims of Velvalee’s forgeries. This allowed me the freedom to create these characters “from scratch,” so to speak. However, I kept the names of the Special Agents in Charge of the various FBI field offices—Cincinnati, Denver, Indianapolis, Portland, and Seattle—as a small gesture to honor these men.
My primary sources of information for this novel were a book titled Velvalee Dickinson: The “Doll Woman” Spy by Barbara Casey and the FBI’s archival and historical pages found on their website. When I found conflicting information, I put the needs of the story first.
The Code Girls: The Untold Story of the American Women Code Breakers of World War II by Liza Mundy was an incredible help in creating Eloise’s character and backstory.
For more information about my research and sources, please visit The Cryptographer’s Dilemma ~ Behind the Scenes at www.johnnie-alexander.com.
I hope that you enjoyed your travels from one end of the country and back again with Eloise and Phillip as they sought the identity of an unlikely spy—and the first American woman to face the death penalty for her wartime betrayal. (Velvalee served seven years of a ten-year sentence, changed her name to Catherine Dickinson, and, with the help of Eunice Kennedy Shriver, obtained a position at a New York hospital.)
May God’s blessings be upon you!
Johnnie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a novel is rarely a solitary endeavor, and I am grateful to those who walked this journey with me. Special thanks to:
• Tamela Hancock Murray, my amazing agent to whom this story is dedicated, for her guidance and encouragement;
• JoAnne Simmons, whose editing skill and suggestions were invaluable to this story;
• Hebe Alexander, my sister, brainstorming buddy, and keeper of my angst;
• Patricia Bradley, a superb novelist I’m honored to call friend, who provided valuable feedback after reading the first draft;
• Cathy Gambill, an Ohio friend with a green thumb who never tires of my questions;
• Jill Lancour, my daughter, who surprised me with an egg sandwich and hot chocolate after I stayed up all night writing;
• Presley Lancour, my nine-year-old granddaughter, who retrieved Manhattan maps and cross-country train routes from the printer and delivered them to my desk time and time again.
• The Barbour team for their support, encouragement, and advice. It’s always a pleasure to work with each of you.
As always, all my love and gratitude to my family: Bethany and Justin Jett; Jeremy, Jedidiah, and Josiah Jett; Jill and Jacob Lancour; Kaydi and Presley Lancour; and Nate and Bre Donley. You are bits of my heart walking around without me.
Johnnie Alexander creates characters you want to meet and imagines stories you won’t forget in a variety of genres. An award-winning, bestselling novelist, she serves on the executive boards of Serious Writer, Inc. and the Mid-South Christian Writers Conference, and cohosts Writers Chat. Johnnie lives in Oklahoma with Griff, her happy-go-lucky collie, and Rugby, her raccoon-treeing papillon. Connect with her at www.johnnie-alexander.com and other social media sites via https://linktr.ee/johnniealexndr.
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