The Unknown Beloved(95)

“What about you? Anybody ever take your picture and talk about your heroic adventures?”

“No. And it’s a good thing. I wouldn’t be able to do my job otherwise. Eliot can hardly do his.”

“We’re hardest on our heroes, aren’t we?” she said.

“Eliot never took a bribe, and that made him a legend. He set an impossible standard for himself and made every other politician look bad in the process. They haven’t forgiven him for that.”

“It’s the reason people secretly adore villains. Villains make them feel better about themselves. It’s why the Butcher never gets caught,” she mused.

“Give the lady a big, gold star.”

“Well, really. The Butcher is no threat to the people in this room,” she said, warming to her subject. “If he were . . . he’d have been snagged long ago. The politicians use him to rouse the base and excite the crowd. But they aren’t concerned. Not really. He’s useful to them.”

“Ah, Dani. You’re starting to sound like me. I’m afraid I’ve been a very bad influence,” he murmured, spinning her out and drawing her back to him. They let the subject rest for the remainder of the song, swaying to a Bing Crosby number called “Sweet Leilani” that he didn’t even like. But damn did he like dancing with Dani.

He found himself changing the words. Sweet Daniela. Sweet Daniela. And though he felt like a fool, it stuck in his head.

The song ended and the nuns of St. Alexis began to file up onto the dais as the audience clapped for the orchestra. No more dancing tonight. At least not for him and Dani. The speeches and arm twisting were about to begin, and it was time to do a little snooping.



“Every year we gather in this hall, in this hospital, in this city, to support an institution built on the faith and fortitude of two good sisters who lived the commandment that we love our neighbors. At St. Alexis, no one was turned away. Everyone was a neighbor. Everyone had value. Everyone, regardless of their status in life, was cared for,” Congressman Sweeney intoned.

Michael had swiped two flutes of champagne from the table, and Dani had drunk it a little too fast. She liked the bubbles more than the taste, but all the dancing had made her thirsty.

“Members from my own family have served at this hospital . . . ,” Congressman Sweeney continued as they left the ballroom and headed for the coat check. Just as Michael had predicted, there was no one in sight.

A prim bell was centered on the counter in case someone wanted to duck out early, but Malone shoved it aside and hoisted himself up and over the counter in one smooth motion.

She gasped.

He reached over the counter, put his hands on her waist, and said, “Give a little jump on three.”

She jumped on three, and he plucked her off her feet and swung her over the counter like she was Ginger Rogers.

“What if they see us back here?” she said when he set her on her feet.

“Then we’ll pretend like we’re here for a tryst. I promise you, it won’t be the first time someone retired to the cloakroom at a Catholic fundraiser.”

A tryst?

“You have too much confidence in me, Michael,” she worried, following him to the first row. “There are too many. There have to be hundreds in here.” The champagne and dancing had left her delightfully soft around the edges. She didn’t think she could focus. Especially after he mentioned trysting. From the easy way Malone smiled, she didn’t know how steady he was either. She liked him this way, looser and more relaxed, his sad eyes a little less sad, his grim mouth a little less grim.

“It’s a long shot. No pressure,” he reassured her. “Don’t bother with the hats or the women’s coats. Just the men’s. Touch and go, Dani. Touch and go.”

“What am I looking for?”

“Dr. Frank.” Ah. There he was again. Grim Michael. She didn’t blame him. The thought sobered her up immediately.

She skimmed her hand across the shoulders instead of the lapels. Lapels might cover the heart, but the contact at the back was constant, and if she had to be quick, that was where to focus.

It felt like flipping through face cards and trying to spot the joker. Colors and names, fears and frustrations. Treatment plans, antiseptic, stitches, and sleep deprivation.

“You’re right. Most of these men are doctors,” she murmured.

“What’d I tell you?”

She kept going, in and out of the rows, Malone beside her, keeping watch on the counter as he kept track of her progress.

It wasn’t until she’d groped her way through four sections that she felt a frisson on her fingertips. She’d begun to let her touch bounce from one hanger to the next, trying to cover as much area as she could. It was nothing more than an icy pinprick, but she halted and stepped back, reaching for the overcoat again.

The bell began to ring, pling, pling, pling, pling.

“Time to go.” Malone tugged her behind a numbered partition, his arm around her waist. It was enough to hide them from the view of whomever stood waiting for service, but not enough to give them cover the moment a porter returned.

The ringing became strident. Whoever had arrived at the coat check was not pleased.

“Do you have my claim ticket, Marie?”

“No, Martin. I don’t. I told you to give it to me,” Marie reminded him, voice patient.