The Flapper's Fake Fiancé

by Lauri Robinson

  She pushed his hand aside to whisper, “Who?”

  “Vincent Burrows, the Charlie you pointed out last night.”

  “That’s his name?”

  “Yes.” Flustered, he ran a hand through his hair. It was dark in the hallway, but not that dark. He could make out her features perfectly, as well as the blond waves of hair cascading over her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw you walk inside.” She glanced up at the cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling. “No one’s lived here for a long time.”

  He took a hold of her arm, spun her around and held his breath as her perfume wafted in the air. “Let’s go.”

  She took a step, but then stopped. “What are you doing here?”

  Not willing to go into his reasons behind anything right now, he asked, “Do your parents know you’re here?”

  “Of course not.” She twisted her arm, trying to break his hold. “I snuck out to go to the Gazette, to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have to believe I’m telling the truth. That my father doesn’t know anything about me knowing you, about me wanting to become a reporter.”

  The pleading in her eyes was enough to gut him.

  “The only thing I lied to you about is my name, and now... Now, I’ve ruined everything.”

  Frustration burned his chest. “What’s everything?”

  She sighed and leaned back against the wall. “My father is very strict. Very, very strict, and now that we’ve all grown up, it’s become worse. He’s already found a man for Betty to marry, but she doesn’t want to marry James. None of us want to marry the men Father will choose because he’s only worried about them having enough money so they won’t want any of his.”

  He’d witnessed that, so had to believe that much.

  “None of us really even want to get married,” she continued. “We want to live. See things. Do things. We’ve had someone telling us what to do our entire lives, and once Father finds out...” She shook her head.

  He didn’t want to tell her father anything, but would have to soon, with the way the rumor of their engagement was spreading. Two of his own reporters had asked him about it this morning.

  “I won’t bother you anymore,” she said. “I won’t send you any more articles or—”

  They both froze at the sound of thudding footsteps. The light in the hallway had already told him she’d left the front door open, partially at least. He pressed a finger to his lips and pulled her backward, into the kitchen. Convinced whoever had just arrived on the front porch would be heading toward the basement door that had been left open a crack, he opened the other door and pulled her inside.

  It was a broom closet.

  A small one that had them pressed together, chest to chest. It was dark too, but, because they were so close, his eyes adjusted enough to see her clearly.

  “Who—?”

  “Shh!” he whispered. Their lips were but inches apart, and he instantly thought of last night, when they’d kissed. The very thing he’d tried not to think about since the moment it happened. She’d responded to that kiss with the same enthusiasm she displayed while dancing the shimmy. Unabashed exuberance.

  Her eyes grew wide at the sound of approaching footsteps. Hurried ones.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tighter against him, and hoped she knew, believed, that he’d protect her from whatever, whoever, was out there. He would. He just couldn’t protect her from her father. That was none of his business and he couldn’t get involved in that.

  The footsteps went past the closet door, and a moment later, they echoed off the basement steps, and faded.

  Patsy looked up at him.

  He gave her a reassuring smile.

  “Who would be in this house?” she asked, barely making a sound.

  “Burrows,” he answered, just as quietly.

  “Why?” Her eyes grew wide. “The money.”

  “Shh!”

  She nodded, and then closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his chest. He gave her a reassuring hug. He would protect her from Burrows. Fully. Completely. No one would blame him that a story got in the way of that this time. That’s what had happened with Naomi. Her parents had blamed him for her and Sarah’s deaths. Had said if he had been more committed to his family than his newspaper, he would have been on the train with them, could have protected them.

  The silence burned his ears, and memories burned his stomach, his chest. The newspaper hadn’t meant more to him. He’d been working day and night back then, for his family, so that he would have the money to properly take care of them. Feed them. Clothe them. House them. Her parents hadn’t seen it that way.

  Naomi had. She’d known how hard he was working, and that’s why she’d gone to her mother’s, to have help with Sarah until she was feeling better. She’d been distraught over not being able to keep up with cooking, cleaning and taking care of Sarah. He hadn’t minded helping out with those things, and truly had just wanted her to feel better. When she’d suggested going to San Diego, he’d struggled with agreeing and vowed to help her more, until he’d come home and found her slumped over the kitchen table, asleep, and a pot of potatoes almost boiled dry on the stove.

  It had been seven years ago, and they’d had some wonderful times during their short two years together, yet, that was the image he recalled every time he thought of her. Pale. Lifeless. A ghost of the sweet, gentle woman he’d married.

  Patsy lifted her head and stretched on her toes to whisper next to his ear, “Do we dare make a run for it? I can run fast. Really fast.”

  Despite hiding in a closet of an abandoned house, a chuckle formed in the back of his throat. She was spirited and daring and believed she could do anything she set her mind to. Why couldn’t her father see that?

  “No,” he answered. “We are not going to make a run for it.”

  “Then what are we going to do? We can’t stay here forever.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t stay here forever.”

  She dropped back down on her heels and looked up at him while nibbling on her bottom lip. He’d seen her do that often, and knew she was thinking about something. Making a run for it, no doubt. Probably how to convince him that’s what they should do. The thought of kissing her, just to get the idea of making a run for it of out her mind, crossed his.

  Actually, it hadn’t just crossed his mind. He’d been thinking about it the entire time they’ve been in the closet. Even while other thoughts and memories had floated by.

  “I’m not worried,” she said. “I—”

  “Shh!” he interrupted and pressed her against his chest.

  And held her there for two reasons.

  One to keep her quiet.

  Two, to keep him from kissing her.

  The thudding of footsteps sounded again, and grew closer. Coming up the steps. They stopped momentarily, then started again as a door shut. The steps weren’t as fast this time. They were slow, almost purposeful.

  She trembled. He rested his chin atop her head and tightened his hold on her even more.

  The footsteps went past the closet door, and continued.

  Lane held his breath, hoping that would allow him to hear better. Still, the footsteps faded beyond hearing distance, but a moment later, the front door closed.

  Releasing the air in his lungs, he also lessened his hold on Patsy. Finding the doorknob was easy. It had been jabbing into his hip the entire time. He shifted enough to grasp a hold of it. “Wait here.”

  She clutched onto his suit coat with both hands. “Where are you going?”

  “To see if the coast is clear.”

  “Oh.” She let go of his coat and smoothed the material flat again. “Be careful.”

  He turned the knob and pushed open the door enough to peer out
. Sensing the space was empty more than seeing due to the darkness, he eased out and glanced around. Nothing.

  Quietly, he stepped out of the closet, and keeping his heels off the floor, he walked on the balls of his feet across the kitchen, then down the hall, and then through the front room. Arriving at the door, he carefully pushed aside the stiff-with-dust curtain covering the round window in the door.

  A man was walking away, toward the corner of the house, and every muscle in Lane’s body tensed at the man’s build. His broad shoulders, lean hips, long and lanky legs, and at his coal-black hair. “Rex Gaynor.”

  “Where?”

  Lane spun around.

  Patsy shot past him and pulled back the curtain to peer out. “That’s Rex Gaynor? How do you know?”

  “I told you to stay in the closet.”

  “I wasn’t staying in there by myself.” She pulled open the door. “We have to see where he’s going.”

  She was out the door before he could stop her.

  “Shh!” he hissed while closing the door behind him.

  She slowed, and shot him a grimace over her shoulder as she rose onto her tiptoes and stepped down the porch steps. He crossed the porch in one leap and took the stairs in another one, grabbing her around the waist with one hand on his way. Crouched low, they snuck past the porch and to the side of the house.

  The man, Gaynor, was walking toward the gravel road.

  “Where is he going?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  Gaynor was zigzagging between the trees and bushes in the yard as he walked, to stay as hidden as possible. He was also carrying something that he kept glancing at.

  “What’s in his hand?” Patsy asked.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s a piece of paper.”

  * * *

  Patsy’s heart was beating so fast and furiously she could barely breathe. She bit her lip but couldn’t keep silent. “It’s a map,” she whispered. “Of where he hid the money!” She shot upright. “We have to follow him.”

  Lane tightened his hold on her waist. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “He’s crossing the road. There’s nothing up there but woods and foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains.” Urgency filled her. “We’ll lose him if we don’t hurry.”

  “There is no we in this.” Lane twisted her around. “You are going home. Now.”

  “No, I’m not.” She leaned back to glance around the corner of the house. Gaynor had crossed the road and would soon disappear in the thick bushes and then heavy woods. Lane had released her waist and taken a step back. She had to act fast. “You can go home if you want to, but I’m following him.”

  Spinning around, she ran to a big tree, and then peered around the side, making sure that Gaynor hadn’t noticed anything.

  It appeared he hadn’t because he kept walking, straight into the bushes.

  She was about to run to the next tree when Lane grabbed her waist again and spun her around to face him. Pinching her lips together, she closed her eyes. Being stuck in the closet with him had done something to her. She’d felt dizzy and couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him again. That feeling was still there, making thinking straight difficult. She’d dreamed about him last night, during the few minutes she’d slept. About kissing him.

  She’d been shocked to see him enter the abandoned house while walking down the road, but was overly glad that she didn’t have to venture all the way downtown in order to talk to him.

  “You are not following him.”

  She snapped open her eyes. “Yes, I am.” He wasn’t the only one she had to worry about telling their father about her escapade. Victoria Lloyd might. But this. This could be her answer. If she could catch Gaynor, turn him over to the police. She could tell her father that’s why she’d snuck out last night, to find out where he was hiding. It was everyone’s civic duty to assist the police whenever possible.

  “What are you going to do when he sees you? Knows you’re following him? He’s much bigger and stronger than you.”

  He would have to point that out. She glanced over her shoulder, around the tree. Gaynor was no longer in sight. Her chance was slipping away.

  Knowing Lane would stop her if he could, she slumped against the tree and pulled his hands off her waist. “Fine.”

  He released her. “Fine, you’ll go home?”

  She nodded.

  He let out a long sigh and stepped back. “I know—”

  “I’ll go home later.” She spun around and shot out from behind the tree, and didn’t stop running until she’d crossed the gravel road and entered the brush. That’s when Lane grabbed a hold of her waist again and lifted her right off the ground.

  Twisting to look at him over her shoulder, she saw a car instead, coming up the road. “Duck! Someone’s coming up the road.”

  Lane put her down, and they both crouched down behind the bushes. The car, a big black one, rolled past and continued up the road.

  “We can’t let him get away, Lane,” she whispered. “Just can’t.”

  He huffed out a breath. “I know.”

  “The longer we waste arguing, the farther away he gets.”

  “I know that, too.”

  Hoping that he’d finally stop arguing with her, she added, “We’ll just follow him, see where he goes. Then we can tell the police and they can arrest him.”

  He shook his head.

  She clasped her hands together and held them against her chest. “Please, Lane. Please. I have to do this.”

  “You’re wearing a dress.”

  “So?” She pointed to his clothes, a brown suit and white shirt, which made him look as handsome as ever. “You’re wearing a suit and tie.”

  He glanced around and then shook his head as his gaze landed on her again. “You’ll come back, won’t you? If I make you leave, you’ll come back.”

  “Yes.”

  Huffing out a breath, he stood and helped her upright. “Let’s go, then, but stay behind me, and obey everything I say.”

  Excitement flared inside her. “I will. I promise.”

  He turned around and led the way deeper into the brush.

  She stayed right on his heels. “How do you know which way to go?” she asked when he’d veered left.

  “The broken branches.” He pointed toward the bushes. “See how the leaves have been knocked off?”

  “Yes. How did you know to look for that?”

  “From being a kid, roaming in the woods.”

  This was so thrilling, sneaking through the woods with him, whispering. “Really? That must have been fun.”

  “It was.” He held a branch so it wouldn’t hit her. “I used to camp out in the woods, too, with my father and grandfather.”

  “Did you live around here?”

  “No, we’d lived up north when I was younger. They are both gone now. My father died in the war, my grandfather had died before then.”

  She had to wait until he walked through a narrow space between the thick bushes before she could ask, “What about your mother?”

  “She died a few years after my dad did.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was. The odd tightening in her chest said so. Her parents may have rules that drove her crazy, but she did love them, and couldn’t imagine how awful it would be if one of them were to die.

  “Thank you.”

  The brush was giving way to tall trees and more open ground. He paused, scanning the ground carefully, and then started walking again.

  “Stay close,” he whispered, “and be careful where you step.”

  “Why?”

  His expression was completely serious. “Snakes.”

  They’d had plenty of snakes in their yard, and though they startled her, they didn’t frighten her. “Too bad we don’t have a s
hovel.” She glanced around and saw a long stick. Walking over, she picked it up. “Here’s the next best thing.”

  Frowning, he asked, “What are you going to do with that?”

  “Kill a snake if I see one.” Shrugging, she walked back to his side. “Most likely we won’t see one. They’ll probably feel us coming and slither away.”

  He started walking. “Who taught you that?”

  “My father. Snakes come down the hills all the time.”

  He nodded and then weaved left. “This way.”

  Though trees surrounded them, there was an opening near their peaks, where she could see the side of a big hill. And movement. “Look. Is that him?”

  Lane peered in the direction she pointed. “Yes,” he whispered. “Sound carries out here.” He pressed a finger to his lips.

  That was exactly why she and her sisters never spoke upon entering their own yard each night. Clamping her lips together, she nodded.

  He grinned and shook his head as if amused.

  Happiness welled up inside her as they continued forward, through tall grass, over fallen logs and around massive trees, moving as fast as possible. Lane seemed to know exactly where to step, where to weave left and right. Without him, Patsy was sure she’d have lost Rex Gaynor’s trail long ago. Not Lane. One more thing he was amazing at. He kept weaving around or through whatever was in front of them, finding the right path to keep them going forward, and up the side of the foothills.

  She was thankful for the stick she’d picked up. Not because of snakes. Because it gave her something to hold onto as the trek became steeper. Lane gave her his hand, and helped her over some of the steeper rocks.

  As she made it to the top of a flat formation, Lane pressed a finger to his lips. “There’s a cabin,” he said so softly she barely heard.

  “Where?” she mouthed.

  He pointed down the other side. She scanned the area, not seeing anything except trees.

  “Look right between those two big ponderosa pine trees,” he whispered.

  She saw it then, a small wooden structure. “What do we do now?”

  Chapter Nine

  Lane stared down the hill, to the shack that Gaynor had entered. The smart thing to do would be to head back down the hill and call the police, tell them where the convict was hiding out. That would take time and there was no telling how long Gaynor would be here. Maybe that had been a map in Gaynor’s hand, and this was where the money was hidden. Cross country, it wasn’t that far from where the train robbery had taken place. Seven years ago, the city wasn’t as big, and getting here would have been a cinch.