Trouble Boys (White Lightning Book 5)

by Debra Dunbar

  Vincent shrugged. “I thought I’d do something different tonight—something new for both of us.”

  She chuckled and took a sip of her wine. “You’re a bold man, Vincent Calendo.”

  “Truth be told, every meal I make is a gamble. It’s not like I had an Italian mother to teach me my way around the kitchen.”

  Vincent winked at Hattie to assure her he wasn’t taking a stroll down a dark alley of memories, though her face seemed to have wandered in that direction on its own.

  “Not like you had a Polish mother, either,” she replied softly.

  He laughed and gestured to the pot of boiling perogies. “True. So, I can’t vouch for any of this. It could be good. It could be terrible.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Sure you don’t want to go out?”

  “I’m sure. I want a nice quiet evening,” he said as he approached, “with a beautiful woman all to myself. That’s what I want.”

  He reached down and took her hand, lifting it to his mouth to kiss in what felt like an appropriate romantic gesture.

  Hattie smiled, eyes dropping to his lips as they lifted from her hand.

  “You’re a charmer,” she whispered. “And who says you have me all to yourself?” She ran a hand over Roscoe, who purred and blinked at Vincent with satisfaction.

  Vincent lifted a finger to the cat. “Paws off my girl, Roscoe.”

  The cat stared him down, and he laughed, returning to the kitchen to throw together what he assumed was an appropriate gravy for these perogies. It was hard to know, since the deli owner spoke very little English and his Polish was nonexistent.

  As dinner came together, Vincent set the table while Hattie refreshed their wine glasses. She fidgeted with her pocket as he dished the food onto their plates.

  “Well, here’s hoping I don’t poison us both,” he announced as he sat at the table.

  Hattie took a bite of a pierogi, then blinked.

  Vincent followed suit.

  They sat in silence for a moment, before Vincent muttered, “Well. This is different.”

  Hattie chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. It kind of reminds me of that knocki you made me last week.”

  “Gnocchi,” he corrected. “And no, this is not at all like gnocchi.”

  She looked down so quickly that he was sure she was hiding a smile. “Well, it’s certainly not colcannon, that I know.”

  He laughed and took another bite. “I’ve no idea what that is. Will you make it for me sometime?”

  She looked up under her lashes with that mischievous grin that always went straight to his heart. “Potatoes, cabbage, and leeks? Boy-o, expect it to be a weekly meal if you’re stepping out with an Irish lass.”

  The thought warmed him. Well, the thought of potatoes, cabbage, and leeks didn’t warm him, but the image of sharing meals with Hattie every evening, of going to sleep with her in his arms, of waking up next to her, of having her near him always. The box in his pocket felt heavy and he scraped his fork around the plate, undecided if this was the right moment or not. Probably not.

  “Not an ounce of meat in these things,” he commented instead

  She speared a pierogi and lifted it in the air. “What is this, anyway? Potatoes?”

  “I think so.”

  “Sounds like that gnocchi dish to me,” Hattie teased. “I’m not complaining though. We Irish love potatoes. More onions and less garlic, maybe, but we love potatoes.”

  “Sacrilege,” he countered with a smile. “Garlic is life.”

  They ate for a few more moments, then he broke the silence.

  “Things going well for your parents?” The corner of the ring box was digging into his leg from inside his trousers pocket, making him nearly shake from nervousness. “I haven’t seen them for a while.”

  “They’re well enough,” she replied.

  “Have you seen them yet today?” he asked, sweating a bit at the thought that they might have said something to her.

  “No. I came straight from the road.” She smiled. “Why do you ask? You’re quite the nosey one today.”

  He stared down at the pierogi, stabbing at one of them. “Just making conversation. I went to the hotel today. Everyone was a half-word from a fistfight.”

  “That’s your doing?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

  “I like to think so. I just wish…”

  “What?”

  He suddenly didn’t feel like eating any more. “I wish Lefty didn’t have to get swallowed up by all this.”

  She reached across the table for his hand. “Let’s not talk about Lefty. Let’s talk about us, instead.”

  “Agreed. I think the plan is working.”

  She released his hand with an odd look. “If you say so.”

  Vincent took another bite, eyeing Hattie as her mood darkened.

  “You want to push harder, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Don’t you?” she chased a pierogi around her plate. “This plan of ours may suit your speed, but at this rate Corbi will die of old age before we get anywhere.”

  “You’re not hearing what I’m hearing at the hotel. One of these days you should light pinch your way in and see how thin Vito’s wearing. We’re winning this. We’re wearing him down.”

  “I’d rather just put a gun to the man’s head,” she said with a sigh, dropping her fork onto her plate.

  Vincent eyed her. “You don’t really mean that.”

  “No, I suppose I don’t.” She ran a hand over her eyes, shoulders slumping.

  “When’s the last time you slept?” Vincent asked, his voice soft.

  “Been a while.”

  “Still have the marble on you?”

  She nodded.

  “Is that what you’ve been thumbing in your pocket all night?”

  She straightened in her chair and pulled her hand up from her lap. “No, I’m just… It’s been a long day. I’m happy to see you, though. And dinner is good. I like this Polish stuff.”

  He frowned. “I’m worried about you, Hattie. You need sleep.”

  “It’s just been a long day,” she repeated, gathering their empty plates and taking them to the sink. “Truly, I’m fine. Truly.”

  Vincent watched her for a moment, worried that she was far from fine. “There’s this Fritz Lang movie at the Odeon. It looks like a real noodle-bender. Let’s go see that this weekend.”

  “What’s it about?” she asked as she made her way to Vincent’s couch.

  “No idea. Looks like a fantasy, with buildings and machines.”

  “Sounds a bit like New York City.”

  Vincent went into the kitchen and rinsed the dishes. “Ever been?”

  “Hmm?”

  “To New York City?” He busied himself making coffee, staring out the window as he spoke, “I spent almost ten years there, mostly inside the walls of the school. I’d sit in the window and listen to the street sounds, and the smells. It seemed like the city was an entire world unto itself, like there could be nothing else outside the buildings and the sidewalks, and the carriages.”

  Vincent pawed at his pocket and the box within. “When I came here, it was difficult. I’m glad I did, though. I’m glad because otherwise I never would have met you,” he said as he took the box from his pocket. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, by the way. Maybe it’s not the most romantic moment I could’ve chosen, but I just can’t wait any longer, and I need to do this before I completely lose my nerve. Christ, I’m babbling like a fool again.”

  He turned, box in hand, to face Hattie.

  Who had fallen asleep on the couch, Roscoe purring on her chest.

  Vincent exhaled and shook his head. So much for the moment. “I guess it can wait.”

  Slipping the box into his pocket, he took a blanket from a chair to drape it over Hattie as Roscoe hopped off with a murr of protest. Then he made himself some coffee and sat back at the table, ring box in his hand. He fiddled with it for a while, convincing himself this wasn’t a ba
d sign. Hattie shifted on the couch, and he jerked the box under the table in reflex.

  No, this wasn’t a bad sign. This was good. Hattie had suffered from the effects of the demon trap in her pocket, wrecking her sleep and wearing her ragged. She needed sleep, and there was something oddly precious about her dozing off on his couch.

  Vincent sat with his coffee until it had grown cold. He tossed it into the sink and returned to Hattie on the couch, crouching to brush a lock of her red hair away from her eyes. Hattie’s face was eased, serene, no longer wrought with nightmares or dread. She was like a child slumbering in the safety of her bed. This was a blessing, but the hour was growing late. The bustling of his neighbors had subsided, and lights in the windows across the street had gone dark. The city was falling asleep, and Hattie had a ways to go before she got home.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder to wake her and she sighed in her sleep and turned toward him.

  No, there was no way he’d ruin this for her.

  He whispered, “Well, if you’re going to sleep here, we might as well do it right.”

  Reaching beneath her, Vincent scooped her off the couch. She rolled her face into his chest as he carried her to his bedroom, settling her on the bed with the blanket still covering her. Then he unlaced her boots and pulled them off, setting them beside the bed. As he reached to straighten the blanket over her, the fabric caught on something that crinkled as he pulled the blanket higher. Vincent eased the blanket back, looking her over to find the corner of an envelope sticking form the pocket of her overalls. He reached for the envelope, slipping it free of the pocket before settling the blanket up to her chin.

  Vincent lifted the envelope to the light streaming in from the kitchen. The paper sported an official seal. State of New York, Office of Vital Records. He set the envelope on the nightstand with a curious cock of his brow. What was Hattie doing snooping around New York state?

  Returning to the kitchen, he refreshed Roscoe’s water and did the dishes. It was past midnight when Vincent turned off the light and retired to his bedroom. Hattie had rolled onto her side with the blanket up to her chin. Still asleep. Still at peace.

  Vincent pulled off his shoes and suspenders, then settled onto the bed beside Hattie. He reached an arm over her shoulders. She gripped it through the blanket, muttering something unintelligible as she shifted back against his body.

  As Vincent thought about the moment that had come and gone, the moment to ask Hattie the question he wasn’t at all sure she would say yes to, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  And dreamed of a future with the woman he loved.

  Chapter 4

  Sunlight flooded Hattie’s eyelids, pulling her awake. She blinked several times as she stared at an unfamiliar wall. A thin blanket half-covered her. She shuffled it off as she rolled onto her back. An arm reached around her waist as she turned. Through the drowsy haze, Hattie remembered where she was.

  Vincent’s bed. And Vincent was lying asleep beside her.

  Her heart thumped as she stared at the ceiling. What had happened? She ran a hand down her body, half-relieved/half-disappointed to find her clothing still on. Glancing over she saw Vincent beside her in his shirt and trousers. They’d slept, and that was all.

  Hattie wiggled her toes, the joints popping as she wondered where her boots had gone. Indeed, where had the night gone? Here she was in the morning after a full night’s sleep. She’d had no nightmares—not even dreams, really, at least none that she could remember. How long had it been since she’d slept like that?

  Vincent stirred beside her, his eyes easing open.

  “Good morning,” she whispered.

  “Hmm.”

  Hattie smiled at his unintelligible response, then sat up to stretch. “Can’t believe I slept like that.”

  Vincent yawned, sitting up as well. “Yeah, you fell asleep on the couch. I figured you were too tired to drive home.”

  Hattie peered at him with a gentle glance. “You put me to bed. Slept beside me all night.”

  “I wasn’t going to leave you sleeping on the couch.” He rolled his shoulder loose.

  She watched him stretch, watched the way his wrinkled shirt pulled tight over the muscles of his back and arms. He was always so carefully put together with his suits, his shoes, every dark hair in place, but sitting beside her in his bed…this was a Vincent she was privileged to see. This was Vincent with rumpled clothing, sleep-heavy eyes, his face relaxed and open, his tousled hair like a little boy’s.

  “You’re impossibly sweet, you know that?”

  He looked away with that humble bashfulness that she’d once thought contrived, then stood up with a smile. “What time is it anyway?”

  She shrugged and he walked into the main room, returning with his jacket. With a grumble and a shake of his head, he checked his gold pocket watch. “Nearly nine o’clock.”

  Hattie’s eyes shot open. “Mother of Jesus, already?” She hopped out of bed, kicking the boots on the floor. “I’m expected at the Charge.”

  “Have time for a quick breakfast first?” he asked. “Some coffee at least?”

  Hattie pulled on her boots. Coffee. Yes, she definitely needed coffee, and from the hollow feeling in her stomach, a bit of food would be welcome. “If it’s fast, I can stay.”

  Despite her need to hurry, once the bacon hit the skillet, she knew she’d wait for it to be done. As well as the coffee. The two sat down and Hattie savored the smells and tastes as they ate.

  “Glad you finally got some decent shuteye,” Vincent commented.

  “Aye, I needed it. I always seem to sleep better when I’m near you.” She smiled, half teasing. “I think it’s because of this soul twin business.”

  “See, I’m good for something.” He saluted her with his coffee cup.

  “You’re good for lots of things. And I should sleep over here more often,” she commented.

  He smirked. “That can be arranged, you know.”

  His eyes shot open as he said it, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The adorably daft bastard thought he’d pushed too hard, been too forward. If only he’d be a little more forward, Hattie thought.

  She set her coffee down. “Well, that sounds like paradise to me. If only we could make that happen.”

  A frown knitted his brows together. Something was eating him, but she didn’t have time to pry it loose. Not this morning, anyway.

  “Right,” Hattie declared after finishing the last bit of toast. “I need to hurry, or I’ll be late. Thank you kindly for the hospitality both last night and tonight.”

  He smiled. “Give the others my regards.”

  “I will.” Hattie searched the main room for a second. “I didn’t bring a coat.”

  “A bit warm for a coat, huh?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Can’t shake the feeling I’m forgetting something.”

  He stood, glancing around the room. “Well, if I see anything, I run it down.”

  Then he approached, setting his cup atop a sideboard. “You be careful.”

  “You, too.” She reached for his shirt, pulling him in for a long kiss. What a warm, homey feeling this was, waking up beside this man she loved, sharing breakfast with him, kissing him goodbye as she left for work.

  Reluctantly she pulled away. “Should I pinch light to be invisible?”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”

  “What will the neighbors think if they see me leaving? They’ll know I’ve been here all night.”

  “Hang the neighbors.” He smirked.

  Well, if he didn’t care, then she wouldn’t either.

  Hattie crouched down to give Roscoe a quick scratch behind the ears. “And you, mister. You keep him in line, eh?” The cat lifted himself as high as he could as she ran a hand along his spine before stepping into the hallway.

  The drive in to the Charge was short from Vincent’s neighborhood. Far shorter than winding her way through downtown during the morning. The Charge hea
dquarters now sported an additional building off to the side, constructed out of half-rusted steel and tin panels. Hattie brought the car into the makeshift garage and pulled the sliding door shut.

  She stepped through the front door, noting the improvements since the last time she’d been in the building. New rugs covered the worn floorboards. The chairs along the anteroom and main seating area had been reupholstered, the wood tables were oiled and shining. Curtains hung over the blacked-out windows, offering at least a semblance of livability. The free pinchers of the Charge had made this old abandoned warehouse feel more like a home. Indeed, more people lived in this building now than passed through. That gave Hattie hope and worried her as well.

  Blake nodded at her from the kitchenette near the southeast corner of the first floor. “Hey, boss. You get those barrels to Pittsburgh okay?”

  “Aye, we’re all set,” she replied.

  Two young girls sprinted between Hattie and Blake, both regaled in Sunday dresses, giggling as both brandished sticks which passed as swords. A figure stepped out of the first bunk room, scooping one of the girls into her arms.

  “Rawrrr, I’ve got you now.” Maria laughed, then she snapped her jaw at the girl as if she were a monster.

  The other girl shouted and gave Maria a thwap on the thigh with her stick-sword. Maria lifted a foot and held off the swordswoman as she tickled the one in her arms. The girl squealed, sending a shrill noise throughout the warehouse.

  Charley bounded down the stairs. “Alright, you two. No shrieking.”

  Maria set the girl down and gave her bottom a tap as she sent them both off to play.

  Charley crossed his arms, ducking his head a little as Hattie joined him. “Sorry about that. They wanted to spend the day with me. I couldn’t say no.”

  “Nor should you,” Hattie said. “It’s fine. As long as they don’t make too much noise, that is.”

  Maria nodded to the door. “Been a while since the Crew came sniffing around.”

  “Aye, but we’re not about to take any chances.”

  Maria turned to Charley. “They’re probably hungry. Shall I…?”

  Charley smiled, “I think there’s bread and cheese in the kitchen. Blake can put something together.”