Undercurrent of Secrets

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  “Miss Fairview, nice to see ya ’gain.” He leaned forward, and I caught a glimpse of the beastly man from the Louisville wharf. The one who’d gotten into fisticuffs with Jack. “This time you’re comin’ with me.”

  I’d screamed, clawed, and kicked, but my captors had withdrew pistols. Instead of aiming at me, one of the two men leveled their weapons on an unconscious Mr. Jones, who had already been bloodied up something awful. They’d wisely targeted my compassion, and all my courage died as the night choked the last drops of daylight from the ominous sky.

  They’d bound my wrists and ankles with coarse ropes and dragged me to the back seat of their vehicle. The jostling ride had only triggered the pounding in my skull and now my stomach was two panicked breaths from emptying itself all over the rattling floorboards. I hadn’t the luxury of anxiety. Not when I needed to determine the best means of escape. My sense of time had been cruelly skewed. Had we been driving for thirty minutes? An hour?

  The automobile veered off the county road. In the weak headlamp’s glow, I could identify shadowed outlines of trees, their branches like skeletal fingers clawing the night sky. We entered the pit of a forest. A place where one could easily hide a villainous act. And bury it. Dread coiled around my chest and squeezed, constricting my breaths to agitated spurts. The brute who’d split Jack’s lip on the Louisville wharf was the driver. The other fellow, the one I’d clobbered with the crowbar, sat in an unsettling state beside the driver, his beady glare bouncing between me and the pistol he clutched.

  The car lurched to a stop. Before I had time to work the exit lever with my elbow, the back door burst open. I pushed off the seat with my feet, scrambling to the other side of the bench, the ropes burning tender flesh.

  Gun Man poked his head inside the car cabin. The dim moonlight twisted shadows across his face, but I clearly glimpsed his venomous snarl. “Out ya go, missy. And no funny tricks this time.”

  I pressed my shoulder blades against the other side of the car, thankful at least the goons had bound my hands in front rather than behind my back. But my temporary partition gave way as the door yanked wide. I fell backwards, smacking my head on the handle.

  The driver laughed, hovering over me like a sinister gargoyle. “It’s easier to get her out from this side.”

  “Yeah.” Gun Man’s fingers lazily walked up my leg. “But not half as fun.”

  I resisted the urge to thrust my knee into his throat and squirmed to a seated position. “What are you going to do?” The two ruffians sandwiched me, and I toggled my narrowed gaze between them.

  Neither answered. No. I shouldn’t expect a response. No matter how desperately I needed to know their intentions, this wasn’t a silent film where the villains revealed their evil plot with climactic music and title cards. But maybe I could take some hints from the silver screen. “I—I… please don’t hurt me.” I was never one for theatrics, but tonight I’d be Clara Bow, Greta Garbo, and Lillian Gish all squeezed into a dramatic heap. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything.”

  Gun Man’s lips peeled back in a vicious smile. “How ’bout we test that theory.” His hand slid up my leg.

  At his pursuit, I screamed like a banshee, then collapsed against the seat, forcing tension from my limbs.

  “She conked out.” The vulgar man sounded disappointed.

  “Probably for the best. Now she can’t put up a fight.”

  I prayed they wouldn’t take my pulse. No amount of pretending could keep my blood from pumping fast.

  Coarse fingers bit into the sensitive spot beneath my arms and pulled my limp body from the car. They dragged me over the rough forest floor. Twigs stabbed the backs of my legs, a rock scraped my ankle, shredding my stockings into ribbons. My jaw rattled with each jostle, causing my teeth to slash my tongue. Pain ravaged, but I couldn’t release the pressing cry. Darkness pushed in, but I envisioned the ice blue of Jack’s eyes. Those luring hues that gazed at me with aching affection. Would I ever see those eyes again?

  One of the men tripped and cussed.

  Were they planning on ending my life out in these woods? Or were they taking me to him? To my uncle?

  Dewy grass slimed the hem of my dress, the backs of my legs.

  “You got the lockpicks, Briggins?” the man clutching my right arm groused.

  The jingling sound of metal met my ears. “Got ’em. But I ain’t happy about being on Hatcher property. We can get ourselves in lots of trouble messin’ with the likes of that man.”

  Hatcher? As in Kenneth Hatcher, Duffy’s friend that owned lumber mills? If only I could find a way to get to him. But his land extended over a hundred acres. I doubted the goons would be anywhere close to the Hatcher mansion.

  “Alls I know is we can’t do anythin’ near Fairview’s place. It’ll look suspicious.” His tone dripped like poison from a serpent’s fangs. “Boss says make it look like an accident. Like all the others. So no puttin’ any bullets in her.”

  All the others? Did he mean my parents? And now he spoke so casually about my own death! Fear and fury battled for prominence. I cracked my eyelids, slightly craning my neck. The fleeting moonlight allowed me a glimpse of a wooden shack. Desperation clawed. I had to do something.

  They yanked me up two splintery steps. Briggins disappeared around the side of the shack, leaving me with the giant thug. He grabbed me beneath the shoulders, dragged me inside, then stomped out the door and locked it. His footsteps faded, and I struggled to sit up.

  My prison reeked of wet earth and mildew. Blackness smothered me, and I rapidly blinked my weary eyes into adjustment. There was a window, but it had been boarded shut. Maybe I could pry it free. But first I needed to cut my bindings.

  “Hurry up!” one of the cronies yelled to the other. “Douse it good.”

  Douse? The tang of kerosene singed my nose, igniting my panic. Within seconds, bright yellow flames glowed beneath the door, licking the wood with raging appetite.

  Chapter 30

  Devyn

  Devyn swirled her french fry in her milkshake and popped it in her mouth.

  “I’m going to ignore your doing that.” Chase feigned repulsion, but the crinkles framing those gorgeous grays totally gave him away.

  “You said finding those notes is a cause for celebration. Nothing says party like french fries dipped in chocolate ice cream.” For good measure, she did it again. “You didn’t cheat on our agreement, did you?” Brinston’s Hot Dog Shoppe was a local favorite. Unfortunately their service wasn’t as hot as their jalapeno crunch petals. So while Devyn waited in line through several bad nineties songs, she’d trusted Chase not to be googling the name Fairview. They’d made a deal—no internet searches unless they were together.

  He cracked a smile more delicious than her calorie fest. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She withdrew her tablet and tapped the screen, lighting the display. “Besides the promise of a mild case of heartburn, this place also offers lightning speed Wi-Fi.” She waved him closer. “Ready to find out who Hattie really is?”

  He scooted his chair next to hers. The warmth from his thigh melted into hers. “Did I ever tell you how much I like this adventure of ours? All this togetherness.” He gave her a quick kiss.

  Her phone buzzed on the table. She didn’t recognize the number, but then again, she’d given her contact info to all those steamboat museums. “This is Devyn Asbury.”

  “Devyn, what’s up? It’s Peirson.”

  She sat straighter. “Hey there. I was going to call you tomorrow and let you know all the details about—”

  “Sorry, Dev.” His normally smooth voice was rugged with apology. “I can’t sing for your event.”

  She fumbled her phone, nearly giving it a death by chocolate milkshake. “What? Why?”

  Chase’s brow crumpled with concern, and she forced a smile as plastic as the vine winding around the light fixture overhead. It would be all right. She could convince Peirson Brooks. She had to.

  “My agen
t put in my name to sing the national anthem at the World Series. I thought it was a no-go since we hadn’t heard anything, but we just got the call.” He tried—oh, he tried—to tame the excitement in his voice, but Devyn could read it just as clear as the Failure sign flashing in her mind.

  “That’s a great opportunity, Peirs.” And with a far better advancement for his career than singing on the Belle.

  “I’m sorry. I hate to cancel.”

  She bit her lip, sampling salt from her fries and the foretaste of future tears. “It’s all right. I’ll come up with something else.”

  “I’m in town again in December for the holidays with the fam. I’ll give you a call. Maybe I can do something for your boat then.”

  The Belle would be docked for the winter, but he could always perform on the Mary Miller—the smaller steamboat ran all year long. Steph would love that. But this wouldn’t help her situation now. “Thanks, Peirson.” She ended the call and the milkshake turned to molten lava in her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” Chase wrapped a protective arm around her, pulling her close.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “That was Peirson Brooks. He just canceled. He’s gonna sing the anthem for the World Series. I get it. I do. Why sing for a hundred people when you can sing for millions?”

  His exhale ruffled her hair, and he kissed the top of her head. “How can we fix this?”

  “I don’t know. The entertainment was going to be the highlight of the evening. How am I going to get a jaw-dropping entertainer in less than five days?” Good thing Devyn hadn’t listed Peirson on the invitations. She’d wanted it to be a surprise. To wow the judges. Now they’d be shocked by an empty stage. “I’ve exhausted all my connections.”

  Well, almost all of them. Travis had ties to celebrities, artists, probably even some royals. But asking him to pull strings for her would only be a tighter cord around her neck. She would not be indebted to him again.

  “Wish I could help you.” The rumble of Chase’s soft voice pulled her back to the moment.

  “Let’s get back to our girl.” Her high-pitched tone made her wince, but she pushed through. “Do you want to run the internet search or should I?”

  “We don’t have to. There’s no rush on this.”

  Devyn enjoyed his comforting embrace for a few calming seconds, then faced him. “Please? I need to have at least one thing go right today.”

  “We found the letters.” He caught one of her wayward locks between his fingers, swept his thumb over it in a reverent caress, then tucked it behind her ear. “That was a win for us.”

  “C’mon, wildcat. I need this.” She reawakened her tablet and typed Fairview 1920s into the search bar.

  They leaned forward to review the results. The top hit referenced Fairview Steel. She tapped it and the site popped up. “It’s a huge steel factory in Pittsburgh.”

  Chase’s brows pulled together, his gaze thoughtful. “Pittsburgh was a leader in the steel industry. And also where my great-grandpap was born. His family had a very successful law firm there.”

  “Think that’s a coincidence?”

  “Probably not. We know my family is tied somehow to Hattie.”

  She tapped one of the links, bringing up a page with several pictures of massive buildings. “Wow, looks like this place would take up half the city.” The paragraph underneath provided a quick summary of the plant. Established in 1860 by Douglas Fairview, the empire went to his oldest son Harold. Devyn raised a brow at the photo of a man with perfectly parted hair and a waxy moustache. “It’s nothing but a long-winded Wikipedia page.”

  “Wait.” Chase scanned the screen. “Look here. Scroll down.”

  She did as he asked and read aloud. “‘When Harold Fairview had a tragic accident, the steel kingdom went to his brother, Bradford Fairview.

  The younger of the siblings had control of the company, but another heir surfaced in 1927. Harold and Ruth Fairview had a daughter named Harriet.’”

  “Isn’t Hattie a nickname for Harriet?” Chase’s hand clasped hers.

  “Could be. And the date lines up with your picture.” Then realization sank in. “Was Hattie a steel factory heiress? Was that why she couldn’t marry my great-grandfather?” Had Hattie’s family disagreed with the match like something from an Austen novel? “But then, we can’t be sure this is the same woman.”

  “Oh yes, we can.” Chase zoomed in. “Read this. ‘The younger brother didn’t know about Harriet’s existence until she was an adult, because she’d been raised by a riverboat captain, living aboard the Idlewild.’”

  “It’s her! And no wonder this site didn’t come up on our searches. They spelled Idlewild with two ‘ll’s at the end.”

  Devyn exhaled a sigh as Chase kept scrolling. They’d found her. Harriet “Hattie” Fairview. “Now we can run a search on Harriet Fairview and get all the goods on her.”

  Chase shifted his gaze from the screen to her. “We may not want to.”

  “Why not? What’s a better ending than becoming an heiress, marrying someone like American royalty, and living happily ever after?”

  “But she didn’t.” Chase stared at her, eyes troubled. “Devyn…it says she died that same year.”

  Chapter 31

  Jack

  Jack bounded the stairs leading to the texas roof, his joints jarring on each step. His muscles screamed for relief, but he refused. He couldn’t rest until he found Hattie. Daylight teetered on the edge of the horizon, but the serene view was in direct contrast to his riotous soul. He knocked on her cabin door. No answer. He opened it. Miss Wendall was away visiting family, but it was Hattie’s bunk that stole his stare.

  Empty.

  She hadn’t returned. It wasn’t like he’d expected her to, but he had to make certain. He shut the door and checked his pocket watch. He had a little over an hour before the bus would leave for Pittsburgh.

  And he was going to be on it.

  Last night, when Hattie didn’t appear on the excursion, he knew immediately she’d fled. Without him. Blast it all if he hadn’t been hurt by her deception.

  The moment the Idlewild reached shore, he’d dashed off in search of her. His first stop was the terminal. A bus had departed for the steel city last evening. Not only was Hattie’s name absent from the passenger list, but the attendant said there hadn’t been any females on board.

  Where on earth had she gone? He’d scoured the streets for hours until dawn, achieving nothing but a heart full of worry and a body fraught with exhaustion.

  He strode toward the captain’s cabin and pounded on the door, uncaring if he blistered a knuckle or disturbed his superior.

  Duffy grunted and Jack all but tore off the brass knob entering the cabin. Duffy was seated at the small table, Bible opened in front of him.

  “I can’t find her, sir.” His voice cracked. A pathetic delivery, but he could do no better. His girl was missing.

  Duffy said nothing at first, just leaned back in his chair, studying him. “I’ve been waiting for you to return.” His casual address riled Jack’s temper.

  “Didn’t you hear me? Hattie’s gone.”

  “I know.” He motioned for Jack to sit, but Jack could barely stand still as it was. Realizing Jack wasn’t to be placated, Duffy sighed. “She left with Charles Jones. He took her to Pittsburgh. Jack, I’m sorry, but she’s getting married today.”

  No.

  He yanked his hat from his head, crushing it in his grip. “She can’t be.” Not after her heartfelt declaration only yesterday. How green her eyes had been when she’d sworn so faithfully that he held her heart. Her kiss had all the evidence of a woman in love.

  But was love enough?

  He knew all too well the lure wealth and grandeur possessed. He’d suffered at its powerful hand. Now it appeared the thief of prominence had stolen from him yet again. But this time, he may not recover.

  He met Duffy’s eyes. “Are you certain, sir?”

  He gave a solemn nod.


  Fire seethed his skin. “Then I’ll have to go and win her back.” He wasn’t about to lose her. Not without a fight for her affection. “If you’ll excuse me.” He slapped his hat back on his head. “I have a bus to catch.”

  “Don’t do it.” Duffy’s feeble protest stopped him midstride. “You can’t protect her.”

  Jack faced him, and he worked to keep his breaths even. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Duffy’s hand shook as he closed his Bible. “Her intended is the only one who can—”

  The door burst open. A young man stumbled in. His left eye was swollen shut. His lips bruised and puffy. Poor chap had been in a rumble and appeared to be on the losing end. “It’s all gone wrong.” The man whimpered. “Very wrong.”

  “Charles.” Duffy flinched. “What’s happened? Where’s Hattie?”

  The young man lowered his head, revealing an angry knot on his scalp. But nothing looked more painful than the anguish in his eyes.

  “They took her.”

  “Who took her?” Jack stepped toward Jones. “Where is she now?” Jones recoiled as if Jack would strike him. “I’m sorry. They found us.”

  Duffy’s jowls trembled. “What do you mean?”

  “Fairview’s men. They knocked me out cold and took her.”

  The words pierced Jack like a thousand harpoons. “Where’d they go?” He would find them. And if they’d harmed a single hair on her head, he’d tear them—

  “It happened on Hatcher land. The old grump ran me off his property, but not before I found this.” Jones dug in his pocket and retrieved what looked like a tarnished necklace.

  Jack snatched it from Jones’s trembling hand. It was Hattie’s. The helm pendent was half-melted. The links charred and molten together. He looked to Jones, horror slicing through him.

  “They burned the cabin to the ground with Hattie inside.”

  Jack’s heart collapsed. He thumped his chest, hard, refusing to forsake hope. “You’re wrong. She’s alive. I can feel it.”

  The young man’s busted lip quivered. “She’s gone.”