The Unknown Beloved(88)

She took several bites to please him and chased a dollop of jelly that wouldn’t stay on her knife. He took it from her, slathering her bread with quivering, purple sweetness, just to move her along.

“There,” he said, handing it to her. “Try that.”

“It’s good,” she said, licking her lips, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. He didn’t know where to look, and his own plate was empty. She took another happy bite.

“It’s delicious, in fact.”

“Yeah. It is. So get eating.” He took a pull of his coffee, too much, too deep, and burned his mouth.

“Don’t rush me, Michael. This is the most excitement I’ve had in ages. And I’m going to stuff myself. You’ll have to go get the car and come and fetch me. I won’t be able to move.”

He stared at her balefully, and she winked at him.

“You’re a funny bird, Dani Flanagan. You’ve just spent the evening combing over bloodstained clothing with none other than Eliot Ness, and Short Vincent ranks higher?”

“It’s more fun. That’s for sure. Do you see anyone famous?” she whispered after the waitress whisked their plates away and set new ones down, topping off their coffee.

“No,” he said, though he hadn’t been looking. He had a better view of the room than Dani did. It was a habit to put his back to the wall, and she kept craning her neck to check out the constant flow.

He cleared his second plate and dressed another piece of bread for Dani, though there was no way she was going to eat it at the rate she was going. Her brow was creased, a line of demarcation between blue and brown, and he tapped her plate with his sticky knife, bringing her attention back to her food.

“I thought I saw my uncle Darby,” she said, her gaze swinging back to his. “Isn’t that strange?”

With the ease of long practice, he tossed his napkin on the table and shifted in his seat like he was sitting back for a smoke. He scanned the room with disinterest, patting his pockets. Every table was full, and folks were standing outside the entrance, but nobody was looking at him or Dani, and nobody in the room resembled Darby O’Shea.

“No. Not here. Outside the window straight across from you, having a cigarette. He wore a cap like Darby always wore, pulled down low so I couldn’t see his eyes, but he had the same snub nose, and the same dimple in his chin. Isn’t that how life is? You don’t think of someone for eons, and as soon as you do, you start seeing them in random faces.”

“Was it him or not?” he pressed softly, searching the dark windows and the ruddy lights that reflected off the pavement. Shadows shifted and people passed, but he couldn’t see the man she’d described. Still, he was a fool for coming to a place like this, full of the same type of goons and gangsters he’d been spying on for most of his career. Full of people like Darby O’Shea.

“I haven’t seen him since I was ten years old, Michael. I’m not certain. And, if you haven’t noticed . . . I’m prone to seeing things that aren’t actually there.”

“You hadn’t seen me since you were ten years old either, and you knew me right away.”

“Well, that’s . . . true. But you were standing right in front of me with the same grumpy look on your face you’re wearing now. I just caught a glimpse of him.”

“Are you done?” he asked, rising. He put a dollar on the table and added a quarter for the speedy service.

She looked down at her plate, then up at him, and sighed. He held out his hand, a peace offering, and she took it.

“I’m full. Just not stuffed. So you owe me some jelly toast.”

“Done,” he said, tucking her behind him as he walked, and he made a beeline for the door. It wasn’t until they’d turned the corner at Bond’s clothing store, leaving Short Vincent behind, that he allowed himself to slow and look down at Dani.

She’d kept up, her heels clacking and her hand clasped tightly in his, but the groove between her ginger brows was more pronounced.

“Was it something I said?” she asked, a note of irritation underscoring the soft words.

“What?” He frowned. “We ate. You said you wanted to eat.”

“That wasn’t a meal. It was a hog and jog. An eat and run. A chow and plow.”

He chuckled quietly, in spite of himself. He hadn’t heard some of those.

“Yeah. Well. I was hungry.”

“Do I embarrass you, Michael?” she asked.

He stopped walking. “What?”

He thought he saw someone dart his head around the corner and pull it back. He shifted Dani to his other side, scanned the sidewalks and the shadows, and started walking again, his pace more measured and his ears peeled for footfalls behind them. It was late, and he just wanted to get Dani back to the car, doors locked, downtown Cleveland in his rearview.

She let him thread her hand through the crook of his arm, and tug her close to his side, but she was quiet for the rest of the way.

When they reached his car, it was the only vehicle still hugging the curb in front of city hall. A couple of coppers stood at the corner having a smoke and talking in comfortable tones, and a man dug through the trash about a block down. His breathing eased. The towering complex was dark against a moonlit sky, and the streetlamps burned faithfully, casting a mellow glow that reflected off his black shoes and the hood of his car. He dug out his keys and opened Dani’s door. She hesitated before climbing in and looked up into his face, mere inches away.