The Long Path Home

by Ellen Lindseth

  “I wish, signor,” Vi said, barely controlling the urge to roll her eyes at the predictable pitch. Romeos apparently operated from the same playbook no matter what country they came from. “But our stage manager is very strict about us not going out with men at night.”

  “I am sorry to hear this,” he murmured back, his gaze already running appreciatively over Gertie.

  Over my dead body, Vi thought. Whether he knew it or not, Casanova here had met his match. She was already sorting through possible scenarios that would get him tossed out.

  As they approached, Gertie looked over and smiled, her face positively glowing with postperformance excitement. “Hiya, Vi. Who you got with you?”

  “Gertie, this is Sr. Conti.”

  “It is a pleasure.” Sr. Conti executed a small bow over Gertie’s hand, and Gertie blushed. Vi tried again to subtly catch the MP’s attention, but the dratted man was too busy watching Ann.

  Sr. Conti raised Gertie’s hand and gazed at it. “Such a delicate wrist, Signorina. It must be difficult to find a watch that fits properly. But perhaps you know this?”

  “Oh boy, do I ever,” Gertie said with a rueful laugh. “I’m forever punching extra holes in the strap so it won’t slip off.”

  He laughed, too, and then said, “Perhaps you are the one who ordered a watch from my shop, then? I received an order with no name—”

  “That would be mine,” Vi jumped in before she could think twice. There was no doubt in her mind that the watch order wasn’t Gertie’s. The girl had been with them today at the clock shop and had shown no interest in the wares. “I didn’t mean for you to come all this way to deliver it, though.” She fluttered her eyes coyly. “That was very nice of you.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He turned a warm smile on her, though she noted it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  She took his arm, determined to get him away from Gertie now that the watch conversation was in play. If she had been more ruthless, she might have let him go on thinking the other dancer was his target. After all, it would have kept him away from Marcie, whose safety was Vi’s real goal. But she wasn’t that callous, or that despicable.

  Pulling the fangs of dangerous men was a survival skill she had learned from her years at the club. It was tricky and required experience—something neither Marcie nor Gertie had.

  “If you would be so good as to come with me, signor.” She dimpled at him as she ran her free hand along her collarbone. As she had hoped, his gaze dipped to her cleavage, so amply exposed by her costume. She leaned in to give him a better view and whispered, “That watch was meant to be a surprise for our stage director. Perhaps we could agree to meet later, so as not to give away the secret?”

  She had no intention of following through on that agreement, but he didn’t need to know that. With any luck, the troupe would finish their Rome run and be on the road again before he lost patience and forced the issue.

  A slow, sensual smile curved his lips, and she barely repressed a shudder. “I think that would be . . . most agreeable, Signorina Heart.” He reached into his evening coat and withdrew a slim silver case. “I give you my calling card. Come any night this week and my servants will let you in. Come any later, and I may have returned to my villa.”

  “Don’t worry, Sr. Conti.” She gazed up at him through her eyelashes as she took the card and then tucked it discreetly into the top of her dance costume. “I will come. Surprises are so delightful, after all.”

  “Good evening, signor. Miss Heart.” Wyatt’s calm voice made Vi start guiltily. The disapproval in his expression made her feel two inches tall, but there was no way she could defend herself with Sr. Conti standing right beside her. To do so would undo all her hard work. “I hear from Miss May that you enjoyed the show. May I introduce you to the director? He would be pleased to hear your opinion for himself.”

  Vi held her breath, hoping the fellow would go with Wyatt. With her objective of securing Marcie’s safety having been achieved, she no longer wanted him anywhere near her. But there was only so much a twenty-one-year-old woman could do when it came to persuading older men to move along. It was a power imbalance incredibly difficult to overcome without help.

  “Grazie, Signor . . . ?” Sr. Conti raised an imperious eyebrow.

  “Miller.” Wyatt held out his hand. “And you are?”

  “Stefano Conti.” The two men shook hands as Vi committed his first name to memory.

  If . . . when she saw Sergeant Danger again, she needed to tell him about Sr. Conti’s visit.

  “What do you make of him?” Frances asked softly, having come up beside Vi. Her features were pinched with suspicion and dislike. In this case, Vi actually agreed with her.

  “Nothing good. He was trying to get Gertie to meet him later at his place.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Frances vowed.

  “He was also after Marcie, but I was able to shut that down,” Vi replied, her gaze on Sr. Conti as he chatted with Mr. Stuart. “Tell you what: you keep an eye on Gert, and I’ll do the same for Marcie. Something about him seems fishy.”

  “He’s a horny dog. That’s what he is. I’ve dealt with men like that before.”

  Vi glanced at Frances in surprise. “You too?”

  The brunette’s green eyes were stormy as she watched the man. “Men with money always think women without are for sale. Particularly the pretty ones.”

  “Sometimes they are,” Vi said, thinking of her own past. “And if a girl is hungry, would you blame her for wanting to eat?”

  Surprise flickered in Frances’s expression, and then it hardened. “If she gives in, she makes it harder for everyone else. Because success with one girl means those jackasses won’t take no from another.”

  “I doubt a single instance of success would lead a man to that conclusion.”

  “If you let a dog eat off the table once, he’ll forever think it’s allowed,” Frances said coldly.

  “Men are not dogs,” Vi said.

  “No, you’re right. Men are capable of viciousness inconceivable to a dog.” Frances turned and strode away.

  Vi chewed on her lip, the revival of her painful past dimming her joy from the evening’s performance. She had done what she’d had to. It was easy to say one would never stoop so low when one wasn’t starving. But was Frances right? Had she somehow endangered other young women by her acquiescence? She would like to think she hadn’t. It had seemed her only choice at the time, but had it been, truly?

  Life wasn’t always black and white. She had learned that in more ways than one. Sal was a good man who worked for horrible masters. Some of the nicest people she had ever met were other burlesque dancers, who took off their clothes for a living. Some of the worst were ministers who seemed more concerned with condemning people than loving them. Young men were considered heroes if they killed and slaughtered the enemy. A dancer could wear the skimpiest costume imaginable, but as long as she was of “fine moral character,” no one blinked an eye, whereas Gypsy Rose Lee was called a whore even when fully clothed.

  What was one supposed to do in such a crazy world?

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Vi jumped and spun around, relief spiraling through her. “Sergeant Danger, you came!”

  He frowned in confusion. “Should I not have?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just . . . wait.” Grabbing his arm so he couldn’t disappear on her, she turned to find Sr. Conti. He wasn’t there. Panic squeezed her lungs as she searched the crowd but didn’t see him. “Where did he go?”

  “Who?” Sergeant Danger asked.

  “Sr. Conti.” She went up on tiptoe to see if that helped. “He was just here.”

  The muscles of his arm flexed and turned to steel under her fingers. Startled, she glanced up. The sergeant’s gaze was sweeping the area, his jaw set.

  “What did he look like?” he asked casually, but Vi wasn’t fooled.

  “White hair, dark eyebrows and mustache, polished manners, not ve
ry tall.”

  “And you say he was here? Backstage?”

  “He waltzed right past the MP, saying he wanted to meet us because he loved the play.”

  Sergeant Danger’s eyes dropped to meet hers. “If you see him again, you walk the other way.”

  “Gladly.” She hesitated. “But it might be too late.”

  “Why?”

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself for his reaction. “Because I think he’ll be back, because he was here looking for Luciana.”

  Chapter 29

  If Vi had ever doubted whether Sergeant Danger had it in him to be a cold-blooded killer, his expression in that moment rid her of the notion. She actually stepped back, even though she was fairly certain she wasn’t the one in danger.

  “What makes you say that?” His voice was calm, but she could sense the coiled violence lurking beneath the surface.

  With no reason to prevaricate, Vi rapidly relayed everything she could remember, right down to her telling Sr. Conti the watch was for her, and his subsequent invitation to visit his apartments. If she had hoped disclosing her quick-witted actions to protect Marcie and Gertie would help diffuse his anger, she was wrong.

  Instead, he wordlessly grabbed her arm and began hauling her toward Mr. Stuart and Mr. Miller.

  The two men stopped their conversation, their eyes widening as he approached.

  “Miss Heart will be leaving with me,” Sergeant Danger told the two men, addressing both and neither in particular. “Now.”

  Vi stiffened. “Wait a minute. Don’t I get a say?”

  Mr. Stuart drew himself up and glared at the sergeant. “No one goes anywhere unless—”

  “That wasn’t a request,” Sergeant Danger snapped.

  “Excuse me!” Vi angrily tried to pry his fingers from her arm. “But I’m not leaving my travel buddy stranded.”

  “Fine, she comes, too.”

  “Like hell she will,” she said through her teeth. “Marcie has played no part in any of this, knows nothing about it, and never will as long as I have breath in my body. Do you hear me?” On this she would not budge. No matter the sergeant’s plans for her, she would keep Marcie clear of them, even if it cost Vi her life. Marcie’s safety came first.

  Sergeant Danger pinned her with a hard look. Refusing to be bullied, she glared right back.

  “Fine.” The sergeant turned back to the two men. “Don’t let Miss May out of your sight until you hear back from me.”

  Wyatt’s expression was stony. “Virginia, if you don’t want to go, say so, and I’ll have the sergeant tossed out.”

  She bit her lip, touched by his concern but not sure her refusal would be wise at this point, since the situation was far more complicated than Wyatt knew.

  “I think I should do as the sergeant asks,” she said, praying that she wasn’t making a mistake. What if Mr. Stuart took exception to her leaving with the sergeant tonight and kicked her out of the production? It had to look darned irregular, perhaps even scandalous.

  Sergeant Danger apparently had no such worries as he all but dragged her toward the women’s dressing room. “You have two minutes to change or you go as you are.”

  “Go where?” she said testily. After all, she wasn’t the one at fault here. She hadn’t asked Sr. Conti to show up tonight. “I think I have a right to know.”

  “Two minutes, Virginia.”

  The use of her first name silenced further questions. It reassured her that he hadn’t forgotten last night and the fragile connection that had formed between them.

  She quickly changed, switching from chorus girl to USO officer in record time. As soon as she had her hat pinned on, she bolted toward the door, her last costume still swinging on its hanger behind her.

  Sergeant Danger was leaning against the wall, his brow furrowed in thought.

  “Ready,” she said to catch his attention. He looked up, and to her surprise the anger had all but vanished from his eyes. What remained were shadows and sorrow.

  Her steps slowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ever hear the word ‘FUBAR’?”

  “Sure. Fouled up beyond all recognition, right?”

  “Yeah.” His laugh was bitter. “Though I would have used a slightly different word than ‘fouled.’” He straightened off the wall. “Anyway, that’s about where things stand right now, and I’ve got to find a way to fix it.”

  She hesitated. “It wasn’t my intention to cause trouble.”

  “I know. But intentional or not, you’ve landed smack dab in the middle of something extremely dangerous.” He gestured toward the exit at the back of the theater. “So let’s go. There’s someone who needs to hear your story.”

  “Who?”

  He opened the door to the alley and glanced both ways. “Someone who can hopefully help get you out of this mess.”

  Stopping her at the curb, he flagged down a military vehicle, held a hushed discussion with the driver, and then helped her in. Ten white-knuckled minutes later—the pitch-black streets were even more terrifying when trapped inside a hurtling car—they were let off in front of a wrought iron gate. Up the driveway beyond was what looked like a large mansion.

  A uniformed guard stopped them.

  “We’re here to see Major Ricca,” Sergeant Danger said quietly. “And no, he’s not expecting us.”

  The guard radioed to someone inside with their names and their business. After a brief static-filled moment, a disembodied voice gave permission for them to enter.

  After the guard opened the gate, Vi preceded the sergeant onto the drive.

  “Where are we?” she asked, a bit intimidated by the size of the house and all the guards.

  “Nowhere I want you to talk about later.” He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her forward. The pressure of his palm against her body both reassured and unnerved her. It was an oddly intimate gesture.

  “Is Major Ricca your boss?” she asked, nervously glancing up at the blacked-out windows. No light peeped out beneath the curtains. No sound, either.

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Can I know anything?” she asked, her temper sparking. “How about your name, at least? Your first name. That seems fair since we kissed last night.”

  “Do not mention that in front of the major,” he said sharply, and with a touch of panic, even.

  The irony of that, given she was in the same boat with her bosses, almost made her say something. But she didn’t, pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

  “Ansel,” he said quietly as they climbed the front steps. “My name is Ansel.”

  She turned the unusual name over in her mind as they stopped in front of the ornately framed front door. Oddly, it fit him.

  Vi took a deep breath and wrapped the security of his trust—for names had power; she of all people knew that—around her like a blanket. “Thank you. And mine is Violet.”

  Ansel gazed silently at her for a moment, his expression lost in the shadows. “That’s a pretty name. I take it Virginia is your stage name?”

  “Yes.” She squeezed her hands together to quiet her nerves, not sure why she had told him, except that it had seemed right to. He had trusted her with so much of his past, and she had done so little. “My real name is Violet Ernte of Chariton, Iowa, but I’d prefer to be called Vi.”

  “Vi it is, then.” He turned and knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal a heavily armed and uniformed soldier.

  Showtime! Vi squared her shoulders as the soldier gestured for them to enter.

  The soldier shut the door firmly behind them. “Major Ricca is in the study.”

  Ansel nodded and began escorting Vi down the hall, his hand once again on her back.

  Maybe it’s to make sure I don’t run away.

  She could see the appeal of trying to make a break for it. The environs screamed power and privilege. She tried not to stare as she took in the crystal and gilt elegance of the light fixtures, the polished oak wains
coting and thick felted carpets.

  She may have been raised a banker’s daughter and may be well able to hold her own at a formal dinner party, but more recently she had been a lot of other less socially acceptable things. What if they had somehow marked her?

  “Relax and follow my lead,” Ansel murmured as they stopped outside two paneled doors.

  Her knees felt like they were made of water.

  His expression gentled as he gazed down at her. “I’ve got your back, Vi. Don’t worry.”

  “Who says I’m worried?”

  His lips curved beguilingly. Then he sobered and knocked on the door.

  A man’s muffled voice came through the thick wood. “Come in.”

  Ansel opened the door, and Vi took a deep breath. Curtain up.

  “Sergeant Danger, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” A dark-haired man, with a thin mustache and graying temples, stood behind an imposing desk that was covered with file folders and stacks of papers. Dressed simply in a nondescript white shirt and patterned tie, his jacket slung over the back of his chair behind him, he looked more like an office worker than an army major. A very well-paid office worker, though, given the quality of his cuff links.

  He smiled pleasantly at her while he waited for Ansel to close the door. “And you must be Miss Heart. I caught your unit’s show last night. It was quite entertaining.”

  “Thank you.” She returned his smile with the ease of an actress, even as shock raced through her. Had he and Ansel watched the show together?

  The major gestured toward the two chairs across the desk from him. “Please, sit.”

  Vi sat, wishing she had gotten a better night’s sleep or at least had given one fewer performance today. She was hardly at her best, and she had the feeling this man didn’t miss much. Despite telling Ansel her real name, there was still a lot about her past she wanted to keep buried. She had a friend to protect, a USO tour to finish, and possibly a Broadway spot to claim, all things that could be ripped away from her if she wasn’t careful.

  While Ansel seated himself, the major settled back and regarded her intently for a moment. Vi fought the urge to squirm under his inspection. Even though she had changed, she was still sweaty and disheveled from the performance.