by Ana Morgan
Three policemen ran out of a stand of trees with guns drawn.
“Blade!” Jared’s hands slid under his shoulders, raised him to a sitting position, and shouted, “He’s all right.”
Blade’s relief turned quickly to despair. How would he find Stormy now?
“Mr. Masters. Mr. Masters.” An insistent voice pierced his misery. “I think we’ve got something.”
Blade couldn’t imagine what, but he forced himself to focus.
Crouched beside Peabody’s torso, a mustached policeman held a blood-soaked slip of paper. “It’s hard to read, sir, but I think it’s an address. It could be where he’s hidden your fiancée. Eight twenty—”
“Juniper,” Jared exclaimed. “That’s the rooming house.”
Blade struggled to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his jaw and ribs, he pointed at the officers. “You, you, and you. Follow me!”
~ ~ ~
Blade ignored the police commissioner’s order to let his officers secure the rooming house. He leaped from his brother’s carriage and ran inside shouting Stormy’s name. When he heard no response, he skipped the office door and pounded on the next.
The mustached policeman who’d found the slip of paper in Peabody’s breast pocket caught up to him. He raised his weapon and nodded.
Blade kicked in the door. The room’s occupant wasn’t home. They backed out and approached room number two.
Jared and a second team of policemen thundered past and marched up the stairs to the second floor.
The hausfrau rushed out of her apartment waving a ring of keys. “I good person,” she shrieked. “Why you break my place?”
Blade turned toward her like a lion on a mouse.
She recoiled and blanched. “You?”
“Where is she?” he roared.
“Up,” she squeaked. “Come.” She scurried toward the stairs, urging him to follow. “This not my idea. She pay money and threaten to burn down if I talk.”
“Who’s she?” the policeman demanded as they climbed.
“Stripples! Bad tenant. Make hanky-pank all hours of the night. Her man not care what she do.”
“Who’s her man?”
“He say his name is Vance. He finds room for her, and then she makes me find one for him.” She stopped, breathing heavily, in front of a narrow door. “He fix room up.”
“The attic?” Blade reached for the door knob, expecting it to be locked.
It turned easily in his hand.
Fear stabbed his heart. Peabody could have moved Stormy before he came for the ransom money. He pushed open the door and stepped onto a dark flight of steps. At the top, another door was shut tight.
The policeman touched his arm. “Let me go first.”
He shook his head. “We’ll go together.” He raised his fingers. One. Two. Three.
They charged up the stairs and rammed the door with their shoulders. It flew open.
Stale, foul air choked the room.
Stormy lay on the floor at the end of a heavy metal chain hooked to the headboard of an iron cot. Her unseeing eyes were sunken black circles. A thin, bloodstained quilt partially covered her wasted body.
Blade knelt beside her, praying she still breathed. He pressed her neck for a pulse.
Policemen poured into the room, and he motioned for silence. Seconds ticked by. Uniformed men shuffled their feet.
Unwilling to give up, he cradled her icy hands, bent his head, and blew streams of warm air over her fingers.
One digit twitched. Then, another. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Parched and cracked, her lips moved.
Overjoyed, he scooped her into his arms and held her close.
She spoke two faint words. “Baby. Vance.”
Chapter 35
Jonathan Vance left the charity store with three simple shifts and a cloak with an over-sized hood. Until Stormy was well again, she’d do fine wearing hand-me-downs. The cloak would conceal her well enough to board the Pride of Dakota without suspicion. She could finish recovering in their stateroom.
Peabody had done him an invaluable service, poisoning Stormy to miscarry. Being fair-haired, he couldn’t risk her giving birth to a dark-haired bastard. Not if he hoped to be elected South Dakota governor in a few years.
He hailed a hansom and gave the driver directions to the rooming house. Barely comfortable on the cheap, hard seat, he pulled Stormy’s ring from his pocket and held it up to the light. The stunning ruby and four smaller emeralds sparkled.
He’d sell the stones in Yankton and buy her a smaller ring. Spend the rest of the money on elegant gowns and sophisticated three-piece suits. Before returning to Prosperity, they’d pose for pictures, and he’d hire a reporter to write the story that would launch his campaign for state legislator. Jonathan Vance, Esq., rescues fiancée!
The hansom turned a corner and stopped abruptly.
“Have to get out,” the driver said. “Big to-do up ahead.”
Surprised, Vance leaned out.
A dozen uniformed policemen surrounded the rooming house. A smaller entourage escorted Blade Masters as he carried a blanket-wrapped figure toward a fine carriage parked between two police wagons. Peabody was nowhere in sight.
Masters and another man settled into the carriage.
They had Stormy!
White-hot anger erupted in Vance’s gut as four officers hopped into the two police wagons. He slammed his fist into the tin door of the hansom.
Blade Masters had interfered with his plans for the last time.
~ ~ ~
Vance waited all day for the police to clear out of the rooming house. When they finally left, he drew the small handgun he’d just purchased and rapped the muzzle on the office door. “Investigator Phillips. Open up.”
A short, brown-haired woman answered. “Yes?” her voice quavered.
“Come with me. You’ve been named an accessory to the kidnapping. Ten years in prison, if convicted.”
Hands trembling, she backed against an entry table. “But, I already tell the other officers I know nothing.”
“Have you disturbed anything?”
“In the attic? Nein.”
“Have you discussed the case with any tenants?”
“There’s one you should talk to,” she said heatedly. “Stripples. She knows what happened.”
“Show me.”
The hausfrau fumbled for a key ring, scurried up the stairs, and opened a room.
Inside was a jumble. The bed was unmade. Wardrobe doors wide open. A woman’s undergarments tossed about. It appeared Miss Stripples had left in a hurry.
Clucking like a biddy hen, the hausfrau pointed at the bedpost, where a ribbon-wrapped handcuff dangled. “You see? Maybe the poor girl was held in here.”
“I’m impounding this room as a crime scene until further notice. If you cooperate, I’ll see that the charges against you are dropped.” Vance slipped the gun back into his coat pocket, shooed her to the hall, and held out his hand for the key. “One more thing. I work best alone. Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”
“I keep quiet.” She drew a girlish X over her heart. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
Vance shut the door and scanned the room.
He doubted Miss Stripples would return if she was involved with Peabody. Most likely she was a girl who worked on her back. Either way, this place was his, free and clear, until Stormy was well enough to walk. Then, willingly or unwillingly, he’d take her home to Prosperity to be his wife.
~ ~ ~
Vance plucked a copy of the St. Louis Telegraph-Dispatch from a rack in the hospital’s main waiting room.
The front-page headline screamed Society Diva Jailed. Side-by-side pictures purported to show the same woman
. Mrs. Candace Masters, smiling and elegant with upswept hair and jeweled necklaces. Miss C. Stripples dressed in dowdy jailhouse stripes and kerchief.
A quote from the local police commissioner said Candace Masters was accused of posing as C. Stripples to plan and execute a kidnap-for-ransom crime with one Edward Peabody, who was shot by police during a high-stakes exchange. Mrs. Masters had yet to confess her motives. Her court-appointed attorney was planning a vigorous defense.
The side article recounted how Candace Masters had ushered Miss Ophelia Hawkins, fiancée to Blade Masters, eldest son of Sam and Olivia Masters, through the finest Society salons. She was planning their lavish September wedding while the future Mrs. Masters shopped for high-priced houses in Lafayette Square.
Stormy had finally acquired a taste for the finer things in life.
Vance smiled as he tucked the paper under his arm and strolled past the elevators. When no one was looking, he slipped into the small grieving room next to the chapel.
Three days ago, he’d befriended an idealistic young nurse in a nearby bar by pretending to be a reporter working on a feature entitled ‘The Noble Nurse.’ Over dinner and drinks, he’d mentioned that the hospital administrator had suggested he interview her. And, if she could bring the hospital’s kidnapping victim—to get a newsworthy patient’s perspective—the article would surely make the front page of the upcoming, big Sunday edition.
He inspected the room and sat to reread the articles. It really sounded like Stormy had sworn off wearing jeans and roping steers.
If she’d embraced Society life because she thought she carried Blade Master’s child, she could do the same for him in South Dakota.
When the nurse brought her to him, he’d offer to take her home. If she refused, he’d make her. At gunpoint, if necessary.
Chapter 36
Lying in her hospital bed, Stormy turned so Blade wouldn’t see her eyes fill with tears again. “I just want to go home.”
“I know, sweetheart. But, we promised to wait for Mouse to return from Chicago. And, you’re still regaining your strength.”
He’d not left her side for days—and she loved him for it—but it wasn’t helping. She’d lost the baby they’d made the night of the Founders Day dance. The baby neither of them knew she was carrying.
She wiped her cheeks and rolled onto her back again. “Have you told your mother I was only pretending to want to live in Lafayette Square?”
“Not yet. She has her hands full coping with the Candy scandal.”
“What about your father? Does he know?”
Blade shook his head slowly.
She clenched her fists under the sheet that covered her. She was tired of maintaining the charade. After all that had happened, wasn’t it time for everyone to tell the truth?
“Why do you always think you know better?” she blurted. “You’re the one who insisted I go shopping with Candy and your mother. If I’d stuck with you, like I wanted, none of this would have happened.”
Blade winced as if he’d been struck with a whip. He pushed out of his chair, crossed the room, and stared out the window. His shoulders shook like he was sobbing.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Blade. I didn’t mean to say that.”
Her tears fell in earnest now. The doctors whispered that she might experience melancholia for months. They wanted her to stay close, where they could keep an eye on her. No one believed she’d heal better on the ranch.
But, she did. Death was a natural part of life there. Once, when she was young, she’d tried to stop a broody hen from abandoning its nest. Brownie pulled her away and said bluntly, “Not all eggs are meant to hatch.”
At home, if she wanted to wail, no one would try to stop her.
Someone knocked on the hospital room door.
After a respectful pause, a pretty nurse came in pushing a high-backed wicker wheelchair. Her snowy pinafore was as stiff as the starched cap on her head. “I was thinking it might cheer you up to get out for a bit, miss.”
Stormy brightened. “Outside?”
“Oh no, miss. The doctors would never allow it. I could push you through the halls, though, and give you a ride on the elevator.”
Stone-faced, avoiding her eyes, Blade turned and spoke to the nurse. “I don’t want my fiancée to be left alone, but I need a breath of fresh air.”
“Take your time, sir. I’ll stay with her until you return.”
Blade walked out without a backward glance, leaving Stormy with an aching hole in her heart.
The nurse urged her into the wheelchair and draped a white flannel sheet over her lap and legs. “He’s a fine man, miss. Very attentive.” She smiled shyly. “And, handsome.”
Stormy forced a smile. She wanted to chase after Blade, but the ward orderlies would surely stop her before she reached the stairwell. This was the first time she’d been allowed to leave the sterile confines of her room.
The nurse wheeled her to the end of the hall and pressed a button to summon the staff-only elevator. “Miss, a newspaperman is interested in asking you a few private questions about the nursing care you’ve received in our hospital. Would you mind?”
Any excuse to stay out of her room sounded good. “All right.”
They rode the elevator to the ground floor. The nurse pushed her past the chapel and into a somber room with half-drawn shades. “We’re here.”
Behind her, the reporter said, “Wait outside, please, nurse. Interviews are confidential.” He shut the door and turned a lock.
Stormy folded her hands and prepared to complain about the food, the room ventilation, and forced bed rest.
Jonathan Vance stepped in front of her, holding a long, shabby, brown cloak. “Put this on. Our riverboat leaves in an hour.”
Stormy gasped and gripped the arms of her wheelchair. Her stomach heaved in fear of what he’d do to her when he got her alone. “I won’t go anywhere with you.”
He backhanded her across the face. “Do as you’re told. Your fathers want you to come home, and so do I.”
Her cheek stung, and her eyes watered, from his blow. Still, she had to resist. “I can’t. I’m too weak to walk.”
“Then, I’ll carry you.” He flung the cloak over her shoulders, hoisted her roughly onto his shoulder, and clamped an arm around her legs.
The cloak’s hood flopped over her head. Her pulse pounded with life-or-death desperation.
Instead of going out through the main hallway, he hauled her out a side door that led to a storeroom filled with shelves of crisply-folded sheets and stacks of pillows.
She beat her fists on his back and cried out for help.
He pushed open another door and stepped outside into the blinding sunlight. Bouncing her on his shoulder, he carted her away from the building.
He stopped short. “Stay back, Masters. She’s mine, and I’m taking her home.”
Blade? She arched her back and clawed the cloak’s hood off her face.
Blade dropped a florist’s box and strode steadily toward them. His face was a mask of loathing, his eyes determined and defiant.
“I’m warning you, Masters. You’ve interfered for the last time.” Vance pulled a small handgun from his coat pocket, raised his arm, and fired.
She screamed. The smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils.
Blade clutched his chest. His gaze met hers for a split second, before he crumpled to the ground.
Engulfed by fear, she tried and failed to read his thoughts.
White-clad hospital workers and several policemen in blue uniforms ran toward her.
Vance dropped her on her feet, pulled her back against his chest, and squeezed her neck in the crook of his arm. He swept his gun from side to side. “Back off or she’s done for.”
A ball of rage deton
ated inside her. Vance had killed the love of her life.
Mustering every ounce of strength, she raised her knee and drove her heel back into Vance’s groin.
He shrieked and doubled over, dragging her down with him. His forearm choked her windpipe. His hot breath wheezed against her neck.
She fought him, but could not get free.
A shot rang out behind her.
Vance screamed. Blood spurted from his arm. His weapon fell to the ground, and he released her.
She coughed and gasped for air. The sky spun over her head as she crawled away, desperate to gain distance so his hands wouldn’t grope her again.
“Miss Hawkins.”
Blind with fear, she slapped the voice away.
“Stop, Miss Hawkins. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
She stilled. Caring hands eased her onto a gurney and rushed her into the hospital. Her questions about Blade were drowned out by the shouts of doctors and orderlies.
Grief compressed her chest as they examined her for injury.
Blade was dead.
Chapter 37
Despite the nearly constant bustle of nurses in and out of her hospital room, Stormy had never felt so alone. Or, more guilty.
The events leading to Blade’s death played in a vivid, haunting loop in her mind, beginning with her unspoken accusation. ‘It’s your fault I lost our baby.’
Her feeble ‘I’m sorry' had not undone the deep wound she’d inflicted. Hurt had laced his voice when he spoke to the nurse. His shoulders were stiff when he left her hospital room. He didn’t look back.
Then, proving herself an even bigger fool, she fell right into Vance’s trap. Blade ran to save her, like he’d done so many times before, and she didn’t lift a finger to keep Vance from firing until it was too late. The horrified look in Blade’s eyes, just before he died, was clear in hindsight. Her actions had killed him.