When Tides Turn

by Sarah Sundin

  “What shall we talk about then?”

  Dan liked how the train’s motion jostled her shoulder against his. “How was your birthday?”

  “My birthday?” Her eyes widened.

  “Mary mentioned it in a letter. I’m sorry I missed it. I brought you something.” He wrestled a small package out of his coat pocket.

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “You’ll understand. Open it.”

  “All right.” Tess unwrapped the brown paper and opened the polished mahogany case. “Oh my. It’s a compass.”

  “I bought it in Annapolis when I was at the Academy.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “It’s yours? I couldn’t—”

  “Admiral Howard gave me his compass. I want you to have this. I know you’ll enjoy it.”

  She stroked the brass casing. “I will. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

  He couldn’t have asked for a better connection. “I’d prefer to say it’s useful. Practical. Has a purpose.”

  Tess looked him full in the face, her eyes shimmering. “You remember.”

  How could he forget? Dan tapped the compass. “But you’re right. It’s also pleasing to the eye. Proof that something can be both beautiful and useful.”

  He held his gaze firm, praying she’d hear the full meaning of his words, see a hint of how much he admired her and loved her.

  Tess returned her attention to the gift, her cheeks pink. “It is.”

  Dan’s bearing was true. He’d continue his pursuit.

  32

  Tess set her hands on her hips and scrutinized the rough stage. “Let’s put bunting along the base on all three sides. We’ll hang the banner across the top, with streamers draped in an arc below. The sides—oh, they’re ugly—let’s cover them with posters. We’ll decorate the podium too.”

  “We have plenty of bunting and streamers.” Mary patted one of the boxes. “And I brought hammers and nails and tape.”

  “Wonderful. Thanks for letting me use your supplies for ship launchings.”

  Bill Bentley picked up a hammer. “I did roofing work to put myself through college. I don’t mind climbing the ladder to hang the banner and streamers. Nora, would you like to help me?”

  “Sure.”

  Tess stifled her smile. After making her friends vow not to tease her, how could she tease them?

  “I’ll take care of the podium,” Mary said. “Arch and Lillian, why don’t you work on that side of the stage, and Dan and Tess can do the other.”

  So innocent, that Mary Avery. And so conniving.

  “Let’s get to work.” Dan grabbed a box and flashed Tess a grin.

  Her knees buckled. Thank goodness he walked away so he didn’t see her catch her balance on the stage.

  It wasn’t fair. She’d always considered him arresting, fascinating, and insanely attractive—but when he unleashed that grin? It snatched the breath from her lungs and the sense from her head. How was she supposed to conceal her feelings for him?

  At the back left corner of the stage, Dan opened a box of nails. “Why don’t you get out the bunting?”

  “All right.” Her voice squeaked. She’d have to be careful not to make him laugh. She’d probably swoon like some silly B-movie heroine.

  A sober conversational topic would help, and she had several to choose from. Tess pulled out a pile of bunting and laid it flat on top of the stage. “Did you hear the verdict in the Cocoanut Grove case? It came in yesterday.”

  “Mm-hmm. They found the owner guilty, but not the inspector or the contractor.”

  “Involuntary manslaughter. They think he’ll get twelve to fifteen years.” Tess held the end in place while Dan tapped a nail through a grommet in the canvas tape. “It doesn’t seem like enough. They kept the exits bolted and the windows blocked.”

  “Four hundred and ninety people died. They’re tossing the public a morsel.”

  Tess blocked the memory of hands groping through the flames, the smell of the smoke and the feel of the heat, and she stretched out the first loop of bunting for Dan.

  He set the nail in place and waited for Tess to move her fingers out of the way. “Say, did you ever figure out who that man was—Yvette’s date at the Cocoanut Grove?”

  Tess smoothed the next section. “No, but I saw him last month. He followed me.”

  “What?”

  She turned him back to his work. As they decorated the stage, Tess told him everything that had happened while he was at sea. Following Yvette and being followed by the mystery man. Agent Sheffield’s warning. Yvette and Henri practicing hand-to-hand combat, and their secret plan to leave town in June.

  Dan drove a nail into the front corner of the stage. “So, what do you think?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I do, or I wouldn’t have asked.” He pointed the hammer at her. “Since you’re being reticent, you must be back to the theory that Yvette is a Nazi spy.”

  Tess pulled the next batch of bunting from the box. “I prefer to think she’s training with the OSS, but that sounds just as outlandish.”

  “May I add a third theory?”

  “Oh, please. I hate the others.”

  Dan anchored the end of a new string of bunting. “Yvette sounds terrified. She’s the one who first suspected a spy in the group, and she was right. Everyone thinks she threw that bomb. Maybe she thinks the spy is out to get her. Maybe she bought the gun to protect herself. Maybe she and Henri are learning to defend themselves—those are defensive moves you described, not offensive. Maybe they’re leaving Boston to escape.”

  Tess smoothed a swag of red, white, and blue. “That makes sense. But we still don’t know who the spy is, the bomber. Either Yvette and Henri are guilty—or someone is working very hard to make them look guilty.”

  Dan slid the box of nails along the stage and selected one. “Who dislikes Yvette?”

  Tess lifted a wry smile. “Solange, but only because she’s jealous of Yvette. She doesn’t have what it takes to be a spy or a bomber.”

  “All right. But if she hates Yvette, she might be willing to work with the real spy. Who is she closest to?”

  “Madame Robillard, but she couldn’t be guilty. She’s the sweetest woman in the world. She was heartbroken when the contact was arrested and she couldn’t get letters to her sons. And she’d never let someone smash the window of her bakery.”

  “Good point.”

  Tess held the canvas tape flat. “Then there’s Jean-Auguste, Solange’s boyfriend. He . . . he fished for information about my work, about Professor Arnaud’s work. I didn’t tell him a thing, of course.”

  Dan clutched a nail, and his eyes darkened. “Tell me about him.”

  “He’s a salesman for a bakery equipment company. That’s how he met Madame Robillard and got involved with the group.” Tess untwisted a wayward swag. “He’s been preaching about the dangers of an Allied invasion, how innocent civilians would be killed. He says the Resistance and the SOE and OSS bring danger to France.”

  “Danger?” Dan straightened, his mouth grim. “Talk like that is the real danger.”

  “It makes my skin crawl. Someone like that might want to betray a Resistance member.”

  Dan gazed around, his eyebrows low. “And the bombing. Wouldn’t he love to break up a group that helps the Resistance? There’s your man.”

  Black-and-white Dan, with his straight lines and precise corners. How she loved him. “He was in New York the night of the bombing. They checked his alibi.”

  He jerked his head to one side. “Very well. Who else? Who doesn’t like Yvette?”

  Tess stretched out another section of bunting. “Pierre Guillory. He’s no Nazi, that’s for sure. Fiercest patriot in the bunch. He’s angry at Yvette and Henri because they don’t speak up as much as they used to. He says they switched sides.”

  “If he’s a patriot, he wouldn’t betray a contact.”

  “No, but he’s a loudmouth, and he could have accidentally
spilled the information. Loose lips sink ships, you know.”

  “Believe me, I know.” The next nail went in with two strong strokes. “If he thinks Yvette and Henri are traitors to the cause, he might want to frame them for the bombing.”

  “He was inside the bakery, but he could have accomplices.”

  “We have some excellent suspects. Anyone else?”

  Tess prepared the next section. “You won’t like this one—Professor Arnaud.”

  “From the Rad Lab? I thought he was the leader.”

  “He is. When I started attending, no one spoke more poetically about aiding the Resistance and fighting for France. But then he refused to admit there was a spy, even when Henri proved it. Lately, he just begs everyone not to argue.”

  Dan’s jaw jutted out, and the hammer rang on the nail head. “You’re right. I don’t like that theory at all.”

  “Bear with me. Let my imagination play for a moment. Can you do that?”

  He gave her an adorable sidelong glance with a touch of amusement. “Only because it’s my day off.”

  “Good boy. Now let me spin my tale. Let’s imagine a dastardly Nazi spy infiltrated a classified organization so he could steal Allied secrets. Let’s say he started a group of French expatriates and talked like de Gaulle himself to earn their trust. Let’s say he helped the members pass letters, tucking in his classified papers.”

  “And the bomb, oh tale-spinner?”

  Tess pressed down the next bit of tape. “This odious spy wants to shatter Allied morale. So he terrorizes his own group with a bombing and silences the most loyal voices. Voila! A toothless wine-and-cheese club.”

  Dan’s hammer strokes were slow and methodical, as if he were processing her words.

  “Should I sell it to Hollywood?” She put extra perkiness into her voice.

  He gave her his old not-quite-a-smile. “Your imagination is . . . colorful.”

  “Thank you. I think. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell that one to the FBI. Only the cold, hard facts for Agent Sheffield.” They’d reached the front right corner, where Lillian and Arch had stopped in order to hang posters. “I don’t know what good I do for the FBI. I just report what people say and keep my mouth shut.”

  “Good.” Dan drove in the final nail. “That’s your job, not to investigate, and not to solve the case.”

  She fluffed out a red, white, and blue arc. “I know, but I wish I could have some thrilling insight that breaks the case.”

  “Tess . . .” His voice rolled in a gentle but firm way that made her heart vibrate. “Be careful. You’re doing the right thing, but there are some shady characters in that group. Please be careful.”

  “I will.” Her voice caught.

  That intense gaze of his delved inside. Not so long ago, he’d looked right through her. Then he’d looked inside and seen and judged. But now there was a softness in the corners of his eyes, as if he were looking inside and appreciating her, all of her, mind and character and personality.

  Appreciation was far better than adoration, a heady feeling.

  “Are you done with that box?”

  Tess startled and spun around.

  Bill pointed at an empty box. “Are you done?”

  “Yes. Yes, we are.”

  “I’ll take it back to storage.” He slid it off the stage and headed toward the storeroom with Nora.

  “Well,” Dan said. “It looks like Bill and Nora called a truce.”

  Tess smiled as they walked away. “Oh, it’s more than that.”

  “I don’t know. They’re barely speaking.”

  “Trust me. Women know these things. See how he looks at her? It’s darling.”

  “Is that so?” The humor in his voice turned her to face him.

  His smile. Not the full knee-buckling grin, but a warm and personal smile she’d never seen before and prayed she’d see again. Completely and utterly darling.

  “Well?” he asked, that smile deepening.

  She pulled herself together and tried to remember his question. “Yes, it’s so.”

  Dan leaned closer, one eyebrow raised. “But is she looking at him the same way?”

  Was he talking about Nora . . . or Tess? How could she think straight with his hazel eyes so close, the smell of his aftershave making her wonderfully woozy? She tilted her head in a playful way and returned his smile. “She is.”

  “As you said, women know these things.” He glanced over her shoulder toward Bill and Nora.

  Tess only hoped she was right.

  33

  Boston

  Monday, April 12, 1943

  A spasm buckled the back of Dan’s neck, and he gripped it with both hands. Randolph had his revenge. Dan was ruined.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Avery,” Bill said. “I couldn’t disobey orders.”

  Dan stood in front of his desk, piles looming before him. “I know. It’s not your fault.”

  “I did as much as I could.” Bill laid his hand on one stack. “This stack hasn’t been started, but I did the preliminary work and organized it by project. The stack in the middle contains reports ready to be written up, with the facts and figures in each folder. The stack on the right—complete and ready to be typed.”

  “He insists I type them myself, even though we have yeomen.”

  “Yes, sir. He said he’d be able to tell if you typed them yourself.”

  Dan slapped the edge of his desk. “Yeah, by all the typographical errors. Doesn’t he care that sloppy reports reflect poorly on the whole unit?”

  “Apparently not.”

  His hands were tied. He had to obey orders. Going over his commanding officer’s head with petty complaints violated Navy protocol and was beneath him as an officer.

  With delegation of duties and some grueling late nights, he could plow through this paperwork in a week or so. But without delegation? Impossible.

  So much for balancing work and rest. So much for spending time with Tess. Other than this morning’s trip to the Rad Lab, he’d only see her in passing for the foreseeable future.

  He slapped the desk again. “I need to get started, but first I have to report to Commander Lewis.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Bill opened the office door. “I’ll take whatever blame I can.”

  “No.” Dan grabbed his portfolio and headed down the hall. “I won’t let you do that. You’ve done everything you possibly could.”

  “I’m coming anyway.”

  At the end of the hall, Mr. Randolph’s office faced Commander Lewis’s. Mr. Randolph looked up from his desk with a mean little smile that begged to be knocked to kingdom come.

  Instead, Dan greeted Mr. Randolph properly, then turned on his heel and entered his commander’s office. After salutes, Dan and Bill sat in front of Commander Lewis’s desk.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, Dan relayed the salient points from his two cruises. Mr. Randolph sneaked into the back of the office, but Dan ignored him.

  “Excellent work,” Commander Lewis said in his rich Louisiana accent as he flipped to the last page of Dan’s report. “Thorough but concise.”

  Mr. Randolph huffed. “I wish he’d be as conscientious with his work here.”

  Dan swallowed a dozen retorts and kept his gaze on Commander Lewis. “I give my all to my work, sir. I always have.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You do have a large number of outstanding reports.”

  “After my visit to the Rad Lab this morning, I’ll get to work. I’ll get it done.”

  “You have a week.”

  Dan’s chest seized. “A week?”

  “The Bogue is scheduled to ship out on Saturday. Captain Short requested your presence aboard. At first I refused, but then he told me his crew will spend two weeks at the British antisubmarine training facility in Belfast. I want you there. That would be an excellent opportunity to swap notes with the British.”

  “Yes, sir.” He could barely speak over his dry tongue. “It would.”

 
“Sir?” Mr. Randolph said. “Perhaps you should send another officer, someone who’s caught up in his work.”

  “No, it should be Mr. Avery. He knows the ship, the crew, and their work, and Captain Short speaks highly of him.”

  “But, sir.” Annoyance tinged Randolph’s voice green. “You haven’t seen how much work he has. It’s reprehensible. Negligent.”

  Dan’s mouth hardened. The only reprehensible and negligent man in the room was Mr. Randolph himself.

  Commander Lewis leveled a glare at Dan. “You have until Saturday at 0800. If you aren’t finished, I’ll send Mr. Randolph in your place.”

  Dan’s chest caved in from the pressure. Mr. Randolph might as well pack his sea bag, because Dan could never meet that deadline with current orders in place. “Aye aye, sir.”

  Commander Lewis looked above Dan’s shoulder and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Beaumont. May I help you?”

  Tess stood right outside the doorway, as bright and colorful as light through a prism. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, sir. I just wanted to catch Mr. Avery’s eye and let him know I’m ready to go to the Rad Lab whenever he is.”

  She’d caught his eye, all right.

  Then she gave him an affectionate smile, and his gut lurched. If Mr. Randolph saw her look at him that way, he’d destroy her as surely as he’d destroyed Dan.

  An idea flashed in his mind, perfect in its brilliance, solving all his problems at once. If only Bill would play along.

  Dan flicked his ensign hard in the forearm. When Bill startled, Dan shot him a significant look, then addressed the commander. “Sir, may I have a quick word with Miss Beaumont?”

  “Very well.”

  Dan put on his sternest expression and approached Tess. Her smile drifted south into confusion. He motioned her farther into the hallway to give the illusion of privacy while ensuring Commander Lewis could hear every syllable.

  He glowered at her. He hated doing so, but what better way to conceal his love, to protect her from Randolph? “Miss Beaumont, would you care to tell me why I have a stack of papers ten inches tall waiting to be typed?”

  “I . . .” She blinked sleepily, as if clearing her vision. “I don’t understand.”