Anchor In The Storm Part 35

Something wound tight around her heart. He hadn't told her everything. She stroked his cheek, smooth and freshly shaven. "Are you all right?"

His cheek twitched under her touch. "I'll find out."

Whatever did he mean? She opened her mouth to ask.

His face crumpled. "Darling, I don't want anything to change." He gathered her in his arms and kissed her, the poignant and hungry sort of kiss seen in war movies when everyone knew the soldier was going to die in the next scene.

Her stomach in knots, she pushed away. "Arch, are you all right?"

His lips and eyes reached for her mouth, and then he looked her in the eye. In an instant, his expression cleared, composed once more. "I didn't mean to startle you. I-I just missed you."

"I missed you too."

He settled back, his arm around her shoulders. "So, Watson, what's new in the case?"

A smile flowed up. "I'm afraid Holmes has nothing to report."

"In four weeks?"

She shrugged. "More prescriptions, but for the same patients. And the Carruthers lead was a dead end. I called the doctor, and the prescription is legitimate. The bartender's brother has epilepsy."

"Oh. Nothing else? Nothing at all?"

Lillian fought back irritation. "What more can I do? The patients don't use their real names, and they aren't about to tell me."

"I suppose not." His brow furrowed.

Somehow she had to turn this evening around. She flashed a smile. "But I do have good news. Mr. Dixon changed his mind. Can you believe it? My improvements had increased sales, and sales dropped when he put things back to normal. So he ordered me to do anything I want."

"You're right. Good news."

"You have to see. Both windows are now clear of ads, and Quintessa helped me design the prettiest summer displays. Since Mr. Dixon had to close the soda fountain, Mrs. Connelly and I set up the cosmetics on the counter with little mirrors, and the ladies can sit on the stools while they shop. Mrs. Connelly has a way with makeup, and she's having a ball."

Arch's lips curved in a soft smile. "Very good."

"Sales are up, the customers are thrilled, and we even met our quota in the War Stamp Drive." She clasped her hands in front of her chest. "And yesterday, Mr. Dixon let me order signs to label the aisles. At last. He actually spent money."

The smile disappeared. "That makes you happy?"

What was wrong with him tonight? "Of course. You know how cheap he is, but I talked him into buying something. Don't you see? I've won him over. It's June, Arch. June. No new pharmacist. The job is mine."

The cabbie pulled to the curb. "We're here, sir."

"Thank you." Arch squeezed Lillian's shoulder. "You're here to stay. That's the best news of all."

But the squirming in her stomach increased as Arch ushered her in to the hotel. She felt as if they were sitting at a piano, playing the same piece of music in different keys.

Why? Had she said something wrong? So she'd mentioned money twice. Was that a great sin? She hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

She refused to sulk when surrounded by the Parker House's dark wood paneling, bronze doors, and opulent carpets. "Oh, Arch, it's beautiful. You're spoiling me rotten."

"Only the best for you." He spoke to the matre d'htel. "Vandenberg, party of two."

"Right this way, sir."

"Two?" Lillian whispered. "What about Jim and Mary?"

"I want some privacy." He motioned her forward. "I don't want to share you tonight."

The weight of his hand on the small of her back felt like lead. Gordon had liked privacy too. Gordon didn't like to share her with anyone else. Ever.

Her breath hitched, and she scanned the restaurant for her brother, her dear big brother. There he was, at a table with Mary, and he sent Lillian a grin and a wave.

She waved back, probably with too much enthusiasm. Nothing could happen when Jim was here.

Arch held out a chair at a table to the right side of the room.

"Thank you." She sat and rested her gloves and handbag in her lap. What was wrong with her? Why was she turning a romantic gesture into a sinister threat?

Arch slipped something out of his trouser pocket and took his seat. He set a rectangular box in front of her. "I brought you a gift from Key West."

"Oh, you didn't have to bring me anything." She stroked the black leather jewelry box with its gold lettering, and her throat tightened.

"I wanted to." His gaze stretched to her, earnest and vulnerable.

Everything felt right and good again. This sweet man thought of her even when off to war, and he looked to her as if pleading for her approval, her love. He already had it.

"Thank you." Her voice came out ragged, and she opened the box. A bracelet lay inside, glittering and bright. "How pretty. The flowers-is that coral? Why, it looks like it was made to go with this dress."

"Yes, that's coral."

She lifted it, appreciating the heft. "And the green jewels for leaves, and the sparkly little rhinestones. It's the prettiest-"

"Those are emeralds," he said. "And diamonds."

"Real . . ." She must have sounded like a hick. "My word."

Real emeralds. Real diamonds. So many of them. And the design was delicate and beautiful and feminine.

For her?

This was the kind of gift a man gave a woman he held precious, a woman he cherished.

"Would you like me to put it on for you?" He reached for her hand.

She nodded, her throat too clogged to allow words to pa.s.s.

Arch fastened the bracelet around her wrist, his fingers brushing her skin, his every move tender. Beyond all their loving words and sweet kisses, this moment meant even more to her, fulfilling a dream she'd shoved away, a dream she hadn't believed she'd deserved. To be seen as precious instead of shattered.

And if he'd spent that much on her-she hated to think how much he'd spent-he was serious about her.

Arch released her hand, his eyes awash with hope and fear and questions.

Was this why he was acting so strangely? Was he worried she wouldn't like the gift or the message behind it?

Lillian swallowed to clear her throat, and she drew her jeweled wrist close to her heart. "I can't tell you how much I love it. Thank you. Thank you so much. It's beautiful. I've never had anything this nice, this expensive-oh dear, I hate to think how much it cost. I can't even imagine. And you did it for me. You thought I was worthy-"

Arch raised one hand. "That's enough. You needn't gush."

"But I do. It means so much to me."

"Please don't be gauche." He glanced away, over the dance floor, his face impa.s.sive.

Lillian's jaw dangled, then closed, set like granite. "Gauche? Don't be a sn.o.b. Since when is it gauche to say thank you?"

"You said thank you. Now why don't we look at the menu? You must have the Boston cream pie. It was invented here at the Parker House." He opened his menu.

At that moment, she had no appet.i.te, even for Boston cream pie.

He didn't look up from the menu. "Shall I order for you?"

"Absolutely not." She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the menu. Gordon had insisted on ordering for her, controlling even the food that entered her mouth. She wouldn't let Arch do that.

By habit, she looked to the bottom of the menu, the most affordable items, but something cold and willful made her want to order prime rib and lobster and all the fixings. Maybe she'd chew with her mouth open. She'd show him gauche.

Arch laid his menu down. "We do have a break in the case."

The case? How could men do that? How could they change subjects without blinking? She kept her voice as impa.s.sive as his had been. "Oh? What is that?"

"Palonsky's scheduled to meet the leader of the ring tonight for the first time-the big fellow we saw at the bar. They call him Scar. Kramer says he has a large scar covering the right side of his face."

"That's more than we had before." Lillian rested her hands in her lap, shielding the bracelet with her fingers, as if its feelings had been hurt too, as if to tell the bracelet that, yes, it was worthy of gushing over.

"We're so close," Arch said.

"But we still don't have his name. We can't get anywhere without that."

"Not yet, but he works at the Navy Yard. Palonsky will get a good description tonight, and then we can track him down."

How many thousands of men worked there? "I hope it works."

"I hope so too. The other day Doc said he'd heard rumors about Palonsky taking pills. He's asking questions. I know he's involved. We need to finish this quickly."

The waiter approached the table. Lillian compromised and ordered a steak from the middle of the menu, and Arch ordered some fish thing with a French name from near the top.

After the waiter departed, Arch stood and offered his hand. "Shall we dance?"

She stared up at him. "You know I don't-"

"You danced with me at my parents' party. You went skating. This is a slow song, and you can do it. I'm not asking much of you."

Not asking much? That's how Gordon enticed her to the river. That's how Gordon talked her into removing her prosthesis. Lillian sat back in her chair. "I'd rather not."

His shoulders slumped, and his eyes softened. "Please, darling. This evening hasn't started well. I'd like to turn it around."

She slipped her hand into his and let him lead her to the dance floor. But why? Why was she letting him push her into doing something she didn't want to do? Perhaps she should remind him it was gauche for one-legged women to make spectacles of themselves.

Instead, she let him take her in his arms. Why couldn't she go home and go to sleep and forget about tonight and wake up to find the man she loved back to normal?

"Please don't give up on the case," he said. "I saw it in your eyes. You've done all you can do, and you think we're on a wild goose chase."

At the front of the room, the piano player plunked out "All or Nothing at All" in a low, steady rhythm. "I can't do anything more."

"I-I need you on my side." His grip on her waist intensified. "You know how much I need to solve this case, to make a name for myself in the Navy so I can make a career of it."

"So you don't have to work for your father."

"I couldn't handle that. I couldn't."

"Would it really be so bad?"

Arch pulled away, and his gaze bored into hers. "Why? Do you want me to?"

"I don't care either way. But you need to trust yourself more. I think you're strong enough to handle it."

He put on a strange smile, polite and flat and aimed all around the room. "Why don't we go to the hotel lobby? The air is rather stale in here."

Why? Because an argument was brewing and he didn't want to make a scene? Part of her wanted to make as big a scene as possible, but she didn't want to give him more reason to call her gauche.

She took his arm, as stiff as it was, and he led her out to the lobby, where the air felt no less stale.

He motioned to a plump chair and strode a few paces away.

Lillian stood. He couldn't tell her whether or not to sit.

Arch faced her in his dress whites, silhouetted against the dark oak paneling. "Tell me the truth. Do you want me to work for my father? Do you want me to be rich? If you only want me for my money, I need to know now."

How could he say such things after all they'd shared, all they'd gone through? Lillian's heart frosted over, coiled up to protect the loose ends from the pain. "I thought you knew me better than that."

He barked out a laugh. "Know you? I don't even recognize you. What happened to the girl who wore her graduation dress to the anniversary party so she wouldn't have to buy something new? That's the girl I fell in love with."

Her head spun, and she pressed a hand to her temple to right her world. "I haven't changed. What are you talking about?"

Arch flung a hand toward her. "Nonsense. Now that you have a rich boyfriend, you dress up like a model in Vogue magazine. That dress, that hat, your hair all done up, that . . ."

She waved her jeweled wrist. "What, Arch? That fancy bracelet you just gave me? You're going to fault me for that?"

His eyes narrowed. "You liked it too much, liked how expensive it was. Next you'll beg for the matching earrings and necklace."