Stealing Jake

CHAPTER Eight



Jake sat on his horse in the pine thicket, branches around him sagging beneath the weight of snow. The rumble of a locomotive straining up the steep incline reached his ears. If anybody jumped the train, he’d spot them as the brakeman slowed for the last bend before Chestnut.

The train huffed into view, and Jake pulled farther back into the trees. Black smoke marred the pristine whiteness of the snowy landscape; creaking cars shattered the stillness. Jake saw neither hide nor hair of any freeloaders bailing out, adult or otherwise.

The engine lumbered past, smoke belching, brakes squealing, slowing for the daily two o’clock stop. Jake eased out of the thicket, hat pulled low against the bitter wind. His mare plowed her way through the deep drifts, keeping to the trail she’d cut earlier.

He’d spent the last week combing the area, looking for signs of stowaways.

Nothing suspicious so far. But those kids were coming into town somehow, and the most likely transportation was the train. Chicago was too far away and the weather too fierce for them to attempt to walk the distance. The train had to be their ticket out of the city.

He rounded a bend, and the station came into view. The train was pulled onto a side track, engine idling as passengers got off and others prepared to board for the next leg of the journey. He crossed the tracks, dismounted, and looped his horse’s reins over a hitching rail.

Stomping the slush off his boots, he clomped up the steps and scrutinized the passengers as they hurried into the warmth of the tiny café built onto the side of the building. Most would grab a bite to eat, maybe buy a copy of the Chestnut Gazette, climb back aboard, and be on their way. Only a handful ever stayed, mostly locals returning after a short trip to Chicago or men looking for work in the mines. He saw two children, their hands clasped tightly in their mother’s gloved hands.

Jake nodded at a tall man with a mean-looking scar on his right check, probably a coal speculator, and strode the length of the train. Two men unhooked the caboose. A metal car with its door ajar caught his eye, and he peered inside. Empty. And no evidence of anyone being inside recently. He inspected the next and the next, found nothing, then watched as rail workers unhooked the last freighter.

“Afternoon, Deputy.”

Jake turned to find the conductor studying him. “Afternoon.”

“Can I help you?”

Pushing his hat back, Jake glanced at the empty railcar, then squinted at the man. “As a matter of fact, you can. We’re getting a lot of street kids out of Chicago. Have you had any trouble with stowaways?”

The conductor’s chest puffed out, the brass buttons on his blue coat threatening to pop off any minute now. “I do a thorough check before we leave Chicago and again at every stop along the way. No stowaways on my watch. No sir.”

“Glad to hear it. Since you’re checking anyway, I’ll follow along, just to set my mind at ease.”

The man’s face flushed. “That’s not necessary. Like I said, nobody’s in any of them—except the passenger cars, of course.”

Jake could take the man at his word, but those boys had come from somewhere. “I’d like to have a look myself, if you don’t mind.”

“All right. If you insist. Sounds like a lot of bother to me, though.” The conductor turned sharply and hurried toward the engine, stopping three car lengths up the line. He picked up the whistle around his neck, then gave four short bursts. Without missing a beat, he unlocked the padlock and slid the heavy door back. “Nothing in here.”

He unlocked the next one. A fancy carriage sat inside, gleaming in the faint sunlight streaming through the open door. “Some rancher over in St. Louis special-ordered that. It’s a beauty, ain’t it?”

“Sure is.” Jake climbed inside and made a thorough inspection of the storage space. “It’s clear.”

“Told you.” The conductor shrugged and heaved the door closed. The padlock clicked into place. “Hope you’re satisfied. I need to get the passengers loaded up.”

“Hold on.” He pointed to a freshly painted padlocked freighter. “Let’s check this one out.”

The conductor jerked his watch out of his vest pocket. “I’ve got a schedule to keep, and that’s been locked since we left Chicago.”

Jake stilled, his gaze steady on the conductor, trying to determine if the man might have something to hide or if he just didn’t like to have his authority brought into question. “And I’ve got a town to run. Mister, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll open that door and let me look inside.”

The man’s jaw tensed. After a moment’s hesitation, he stuffed the watch back in his pocket and crunched through the snow.

“Conductor.”

Jake turned to find a well-dressed man in his midforties striding toward them. He recognized Mr. Gibbons, the owner of the glove factory. “Afternoon, gentlemen.”

Jake nodded in reply.

Gibbons turned to the conductor. “I’m expecting a shipment of machinery today. Very expensive machinery. Has it arrived? No one came to inform me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gibbons.” The conductor threw Jake a flustered look. “I was detained. We’re unhooking your private freighter right now. We’ll leave it on the side track as usual.”

“Good. My men are on their way over to unload it.”

Jake stepped forward. “Sir, I’d like to take a look inside.”

Pale-gray eyes rested on the badge pinned to Jake’s coat before shifting to meet his gaze. A bemused expression blanketed Gibbons’s face. “What for, Deputy?”

Jake hesitated. How much did he want to share? The influx of homeless children on their streets wasn’t a secret, but he didn’t want one of the town’s newest and most influential citizens to get the wrong idea. “Looking for stowaways. We’re getting more than our fair share, it seems.”

“Well, I don’t think you have to worry about that with my private cars.” Mr. Gibbons’s gaze raked him from head to toe. “I’m sorry, Deputy; I didn’t catch your name.”

“Jake Russell.” Jake clenched his jaw. Gibbons hailed from Chicago, and word had it that he came from old money. The man couldn’t be more than ten years older than himself, but he looked at Jake like he’d smelled something unpleasant.

“Ah. Deputy Russell.” A slight smile played over the man’s face. “Like I said, my freighters are locked tight as a drum all the way from Chicago. No one can get inside. I’ve got a lot of money invested in that machinery, and I’d hate for vandals to have access to it.” He nodded. “Good day to you, Deputy.”

He turned away. Jake eyed the business owner’s retreating back. What did Gibbons have to hide? Seemed like he’d appreciate the local law looking out for his interests. Only one way to find out. “Conductor, open that door.”

“What did you say?” Gibbons whirled around, his eyes colder than the wind blowing out of the north.

Jake faced him, feet apart, legs braced. He jerked his head toward the lone car at the end of the line. “I told the conductor to open her up so I can have a look inside. If everything is as you say, you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?”

“It’s not me who has anything to worry about. It’ll be you if you keep on with this foolishness.” His gaze shifted, and Jake glanced around. Three burly men spread out behind him.

“Trouble, boss?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, boys.” Gibbons palmed a set of keys and moved closer to Jake. “Listen, Deputy, I’m going to let you have your look-see to prove there’s nothing in that shipment other than what I said. I’m a man of my word, and the sooner you get that through your thick head, the better off you’ll be.”

Gibbons turned the key with jerky motions, and one of his men slid the heavy door open, revealing two large crates. Other than that, the container stood empty.

“Satisfied?”

Jake searched the shadows of the car and found nothing, other than the crates. He stepped back and tipped his hat. “Just doing my job.”

He strode to his horse as the whistle blew. Mounted, he reined away, but not before he caught Gibbons’s hard-eyed gaze following his every move. Jake headed toward the jail. He’d just made an enemy out of one of the richest men in town, someone Chestnut’s founding fathers had wooed to help grow the city. With a few well-placed comments, Gibbons could have Jake’s tin star pinned to the nearest Christmas tree before he could say, “Merry Christmas.”



* * *





Victor glared at Jimmy Sharp and threw a set of keys on the desk, the clatter a pale imitation of the clamoring anger in his gut. “So my brother sent you in his place, huh?”

“He’s busy.” Sharp stared him down, his ice-blue gaze cutting in its intensity.

Scowling, Victor turned away and poured a shot of whiskey. Busy. Like he’d been for the past ten years. Their father had passed the reins on to his older brother and left Victor with nothing except the crumbs from his brother’s table.

Part of that inheritance should have been his. But his brother didn’t think he was capable of taking over any of the family businesses and always gave the jobs to people like Sharp. And their father agreed with him.

Sharp opened the door between the office and the factory floor, revealing a room crowded with sewing machines and small workers scurrying about. Doing their master’s bidding. Shouldn’t that count for something? Victor operated a tight ship, and the local law didn’t suspect a thing. His jaw tightened. At least they hadn’t until those boys had stirred up trouble.

“Nice little operation you’ve got going here.” Sharp’s scar stood out in stark relief.

Victor downed the shot of whiskey. Little?

Just like his father’s lawyer to dub his endeavor little.

“Your brother thinks you’re running a big risk setting up shop in a small town like this.”

“And my father?”

Sharp shrugged. “I’m sure he agrees.”

No matter what he did, he could never please any of them.

Unlike the rest of his family, Victor had moved out of the big city, out from under the watchful eye of the Chicago police. Here there were no cops to buy off. No bribes to pay. The Chestnut sheriff didn’t even know the meaning of the word, and his deputy couldn’t find his way out of a mine lit by a hundred lanterns with exit signs posted every three feet.

Doing business in Chestnut had turned out to be easier than expected. With the exception of the street kids honing in on his territory. But Butch and Grady would take care of them in short order.

Opening the locked drawer on his desk, he hefted a leather pouch filled with money. “Go back to Chicago and tell my brother that I’ll be running this town in a few months. Wait and see.”

Long after Sharp left, he sat at his desk, staring at nothing.

What would it take to prove himself worthy in his family’s eyes?



* * *





Livy slipped into the schoolhouse, hoping not to draw attention to herself. A meeting had been called to talk about the rash of robberies in the last week. It looked like half the town had turned out.

Jake spotted her, worry lines creasing his brow. He moved toward her. “What are you doing here? Things could get pretty nasty.”

“I’m here to see after the welfare of the children.”

Jake shook his head. “Livy, they’re thieves and robbers.”

“They’re innocent until proven guilty.” She crossed her arms, holding in the words that might exonerate the boys. The thief was too big, too well fed, and too well dressed to be one of the street kids.

Why didn’t she have the courage to tell Jake she’d been there that night?

Because she was a coward, plain and simple.

“All right, but if these men start a ruckus, promise me you’ll leave. A town meeting with a bunch of riled-up men is no place for a lady.”

“I promise.” She didn’t have any desire to be involved in a shouting match or a brawl, but she wanted to know if the town decided to do anything drastic about the homeless children. They weren’t responsible for the robberies, but none of the townspeople would believe her.

And how could she convince them without casting suspicion on herself?

She looked around. Mr. McIver’s wife and the elderly Huff sisters, who owned a millinery shop, sat on the end of a row. At least she wasn’t the only woman in attendance. She moved to stand next to the ladies. Miss Janie gave her a smile and a hug.

Mr. McIver stepped behind the teacher’s desk and brought the meeting to order. “We’re here because we’ve got a problem on our hands. Some young hoodlums have taken to stealing, and we’ve got to put a stop to it.”

Livy bit her lip to keep from refuting his claim. Without proof, she couldn’t clear the boys, just as the shop owners shouldn’t be able to lay blame on them without the same kind of proof.

But that wouldn’t stop them from doing that very thing.

An elderly man, the gunsmith, stood. “Those boys stole several expensive guns out of my shop, and I want to know what the sheriff and his deputy are doing about it.”

Shouts of agreement rose around the room. Livy took in each hard-faced man in the crowd, and her heart sank. These men were out for blood. They wouldn’t listen to reason, and they certainly wouldn’t listen to her.

Even if she could tell them the truth.

Sheriff Carter stepped forward, his stance commanding, his gaze steely. “We’re handling it to the best of our ability. So far, the perpetuators haven’t hurt anyone—”

“It’s just a matter of time,” someone called out.

The sheriff gave the man a withering stare. “Maybe, maybe not. Looks like they’re stealing for extra money. It’s stuff that can be sold off easily. I sent Jake over to Cooperstown yesterday to see if he could find out if any of the guns or stuff from Sam’s had shown up over there. I’ll let him tell you what he found out.”

All eyes turned to Jake. “The livery stable bought a couple of bridles off a man the day before, but the description of the man didn’t fit anyone I know. The same man offered the gunsmith two handguns, but he declined. We’ll keep an eye out. But their description of a tall, bearded cowboy who smelled like a whiskey distillery set in a pigpen is a far cry from the boys we’ve been suspecting around here.”

“Well, of course it is,” the gunsmith said. “Do you think those youngsters would be dumb enough to steal the stuff and then try to pawn it off in another town? They’ve got sense enough to pass it off to a stranger first. We need to round up all these kids off the street and put them in jail. Ship ’em back to Chicago, where they came from.”

Murmurs of agreement came from the crowd.

Livy clenched her fists, fighting the urge to wade into the fray. How could he say such things about a bunch of kids no one but her seemed to care about?

“Hold on now.” Jake’s eyes panned the room and, for the briefest of moments, lingered on Livy. “They’re just kids, like you said. They don’t have anything: no place to sleep, no food, not even warm clothes. They’re doing what they can to survive.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with the overheated room flooded through her. Jake had defended the boys in front of half the town. True, he hadn’t said they weren’t guilty, but he’d given these people something to think about. She prayed they’d listen to him.

Mr. McIver pounded his fist on the teacher’s desk. “Yeah, but stealing’s against the law no matter how hungry they are. If they’re hungry and cold, why don’t they go over to that orphanage Mrs. Brooks opened up?” He sought out Livy. “Right, Miss O’Brien? Mrs. Brooks would take them in, wouldn’t she?”

Her cheeks grew warm. She’d wanted to stay on the fringe of things, but with Mr. McIver’s question, everyone looked her way. And they expected an answer. “Yes, of course; we’d love for the children to come to us. But—” She glanced at the expectant crowd hanging on her every word as if they thought she could solve the problem of the street kids. The gunsmith’s gold watch fob caught and reflected the light. Sweat rolled off the man next to him as heat from the coal-burning stove ratcheted up the temperature in the crowded room.

These men were toasty warm, and children were freezing in the streets.

And that made her blood boil.

She clenched her jaw and plunged in. “But these children have been used and abused until they’re afraid to trust adults. They won’t come to the orphanage because they don’t know we won’t ship them back to Chicago to work in a sweatshop sixteen hours a day for a little bit of bread and water.” She paused, her gaze sweeping the crowd.

This might be her chance to open their eyes to the plight of the street children. But doing so might rip her heart from her chest. Still, she didn’t have a choice. She had to try. For the children. “They don’t dare trust anybody because they’ve never been able to trust anyone. Even the police in Chicago—”

“Well, little lady, let’s not be too hasty here.”

Livy blinked as Mr. Gibbons, the owner of the glove factory, stepped forward. She took a deep breath. She’d let the whole town have it with both barrels.

Not that they didn’t deserve it . . .

But how much would she have revealed if Mr. Gibbons hadn’t stopped her when he did?

Mr. Gibbons tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers and smiled at the crowd, his dark hair gleaming in the lamplight. “I’m not sure we have as big a problem as you men think we do. I realize I’m new around these parts, but I’ve seen precious little evidence of street urchins roaming around here.”

One is too many. Livy held her tongue.

“As far as who’s breaking in to our businesses, I imagine it’s one or two rogue youngsters with nothing better to do. Why, it might even be one of our own, not a homeless child at all.”

Angry murmurs rose from the crowd. These people didn’t want the truth. They wanted a scapegoat.

The children.

Mr. Gibbons lifted a placating hand, a smile still on his handsome face. “I know that seems far-fetched, but I just thought I’d mention it. We don’t want to cast all the blame on the street kids if they’re not guilty, you know.”

Sheriff Carter stepped forward. “All right, everyone has offered suggestions, and we still haven’t resolved matters. I don’t suppose we will until we catch the perpetrators. I suggest you men start keeping an eye on your businesses at night.” He looked toward the sisters who owned the millinery shop. “Jake and I will watch your store, ladies, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Ain’t no thief in his right mind gonna break into a hat shop,” someone called out from the back of the room. The men snickered, lightening the tense atmosphere.

Mr. McIver tried to hide his smile. “All right, if that’s all, then this meeting is adjourned. If you see anything, report it to Sheriff Carter or Deputy Russell immediately.”

The meeting broke up, and men started talking all at once. Livy eased to the side to stay out of the way. Mr. Gibbons stepped up to her. “Evening, ma’am.”

“Mr. Gibbons.”

“It’s Miss O’Brien, correct?” he asked, looking down his nose at her.

“Yes, that’s right.” Livy lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be intimidated.

“Your description of the street kids seemed a little overwrought. You can’t believe everything you hear, you know.” Cold eyes raked her, belying the well-meaning tone of his voice.

“Really?” What part of her speech did he think so out of bounds with the reality of the children’s lives? Did he know how they lived? Did he care?

“Yes, ma’am. You’d do better to stay over at the orphanage and take care of the poor little orphans who come your way than to try to get mixed up with these older boys from Chicago. I can assure you, they can take care of themselves.”

Some might say the smile he gave her was charming. But not Livy.

“They can be quite dangerous, and I would hate for a pretty little thing like you to get hurt. Good night, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and disappeared into the crowd.

Livy narrowed her gaze and stared after the man. On one side, he’d tried to convince the townspeople they had nothing to fear while at the same time warning her to stay away from the lads roaming the streets. Had he offered a friendly warning to keep her safe, or threatened her?

All her senses warned of the latter.

“Miss O’Brien.”

Livy turned to find the Huff sisters bearing down on her, Jake following in their wake. Miss Maisie and Miss Janie were dressed snugly in head-to-toe black cloaks and woolen scarves wrapped securely around their ears. In contrast to their all-black attire, Miss Maisie’s dazzling multicolored scarf rivaled Joseph’s coat of many colors.

“Good evening, ladies.”

“Good evening, dear. Jake has offered to escort us all home.” Miss Maisie smiled at him. “He’s such a gentleman.”

“And so handsome, don’t you think?” Miss Janie chimed in. She held out a gloved hand, palm level with the floor. “I remember him as a little fellow in knee britches. Cute as a button, even way back then.”

Jake met her gaze, a sheepish look on his face. “Ladies?”

A blast of cold buffeted them when he swung the door open. The sun hung low over the horizon, barely peeking through heavy clouds. Livy wrapped her woolen scarf around her ears and the lower part of her face, already longing for the warmth of the parlor at the orphanage. Instead of letting the children sleep in their bedrooms upstairs, she and Mrs. Brooks were bedding everyone down on the first floor. They’d continue to do so until this severe cold snap lifted. They couldn’t afford to heat the whole house in this kind of weather.

“Watch your step now, Miss Maisie.” Jake helped the sisters down the steps and across the street, his hat angled to keep the wind off his exposed face and neck. Livy clutched her scarf close to her face.

“I’ll be fine, dear. Make sure Janie doesn’t fall. She’s been feeling poorly lately.”

“Really? I’m sorry to hear that.”

Livy shuddered. How he could stand the wind biting against his face? What about his scarf? Or maybe he didn’t think he needed one. She shook her head. Men.

“Oh, it’s nothing really. Just a few aches and pains.”

Miss Janie did look frail. Being out in this weather couldn’t be good for her. The sisters weren’t in the best of health, and Jake took his time making sure they arrived home safely. Livy positioned herself close behind Miss Janie so she could keep an eye on her. The sisters should have stayed inside tonight. They could have found out all they needed to know later.

Other than those hurrying home from the meeting, the streets were deserted. She spotted only a few merchants closing up shop. Sane people, or at least those fortunate enough to have a home, knew to stay in the warmth of their homes when the temperature dropped.

They neared the millinery shop, where the sisters lived and worked, and Miss Maisie asked, “How’s your mother doing these days, Jake?”

“She’s fine.”

“The poor dear. I know she misses your father. How long has it been?”

How long since what? Livy strained to hear the conversation over the gusting wind.

“Two years, ma’am.”

“Such a shame to lose him so young.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

What had happened to Jake’s father? The question begged to be asked, but Livy held her tongue. Jake’s clipped response indicated he didn’t want to elaborate.

Jake stopped in front of the shop. “Here you go, ladies.”

Miss Maisie fiddled with the door. “Confounded locks. In the old days we didn’t have to worry with such contraptions. No one would dare break in and steal something from their neighbors.”

Jake reached for the key and unlocked the door. “It’s a different world we live in, Miss Maisie.”

“It sure is.”

The sisters gave Livy a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Get this poor girl home, young man, before she freezes to death.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jake offered Livy his arm, and they continued down the street at a much faster clip. He sidestepped a film of ice and held out his hand to help her across. “Be careful. It’s slippery.”

The wind picked up, and he hustled her the last few yards to the orphanage. Livy hurried around to the kitchen door to keep from tracking slush into the entryway. “Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s a long walk back to the jail.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Jake hung his hat on a peg, then warmed himself by the stove while she poured. After removing his gloves, Jake took the cup, his hands dwarfing it.

“I hope it’s not too strong.”

“It’s hot.” He closed his eyes and took a sip. “That’s good.”

She cradled hers, barely sipping the aromatic brew. “It’s awful, and you know it.”

He laughed. “It’s not that bad. You’ve never drunk Sheriff Carter’s.”

Livy shook her head, laughing. They sipped in silence for a moment. “Would you like some more?”

“Thank you.”

Jake held out his cup, and Livy’s fingers brushed against his as she took it. Her eyes flew up to his, and heat suffused her face. Livy jumped up and grabbed the coffeepot and poured. She slid the brew across the table, not wanting to risk touching him again.

“Do I make you nervous, Livy?”

“No.” She forced her voice to remain calm despite the pounding of her heart.

“Liar.”

Her gaze collided with his, filled with an amused glint.

He was teasing, flirting. Still, she didn’t want to be teased. The thought frightened her. She looked away and took a sip of her coffee, her heart fluttering like a caged bird against her rib cage.

Keep it light. Don’t let him know what his green eyes and crooked smile do to you.

“You shouldn’t say that. It’s not polite to call someone a liar. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

He laughed. “Yeah. All the time. Oh, I meant to tell you that my little brother met one of the boys from the orphanage at school. They’re best friends already.”

“Really. Who?”

“Georgie. My brother’s name is Tommy. They’re about the same age.”

Livy pounced on the topic of his family, relieved to have something safe to talk about. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“Four. One older sister who’s married, two younger sisters, and a brother. They’re a real handful for my mother since Pa died.”

“I heard Miss Maisie mention he’d died. I’m sure it’s been hard on all of you.” She kept her tone neutral even though she was dying to know everything about Jake Russell.

One corner of his lips turned up in a sad smile. “We’ll be all right. We’re making it fine—all of us except Ma, that is. She took his death hard, and now she worries about me. She worries about all of us, actually.”

“That’s what mothers do.”

At least that’s what she supposed a mother would do. The closest thing she’d ever had to a mother had been Katie—and now Mrs. Brooks. She couldn’t even remember her mother and father. Her earliest memories were of the streets.

And Katie.

“Livy?”

She started and looked at Jake.

“You all right?”

She smiled. “Yes. I’m sorry. Just thinking.”

Jake’s gaze lingered on her face a moment before he looked away. “Well, I’d better go. I need to make some rounds and check on things.”

“Be careful.” Why did his leaving do strange things to her?

“I will. Good night, Livy.” He jammed his hat on his head and tugged on his gloves. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome.”

He moved to the door, his boots loud on the hardwood floor.

She fingered the scarf around her neck. “Jake?”

He turned.

“It’s really cold out there.” Livy removed the muffler, glad it wasn’t as colorful as Miss Maisie’s. She held it out to him. “Take this.”



* * *





“Hurry up. Get them out and inside before someone comes along.”

Luke watched as Butch pried the lid off the crate. The boss’s horse pranced in the snow.

Butch lifted out two girls and a boy about Mark’s size. One of the girls held a smaller kid on her hip. They looked half-starved and didn’t have coats. The boy was barefoot. They stared at Butch without making a sound.

“Get rid of that one.” The boss jabbed a finger toward the toddler.

The girl’s eyes widened, and she tightened her frail grip on the child in her arms. “No. Please.” She shook her head and backed away, holding the child tight against her.

“Boss, maybe it could wait until morning?” Butch eyed the kid and rubbed his hands across his chest.

“See to it, Butch. Now. And keep the rest of them out of sight and quiet. The town’s all riled up as it is. The sheriff and that deputy of his are sniffing around all over the place.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boss reined his horse around and rode away. The swish, swish, swish of the horse’s hooves through the snow faded, and the girl’s harsh breathing was all that remained.

Butch plucked the child from the girl’s arms and held her under one arm like a sack of potatoes. Silent tears ran down the older girl’s cheeks. “Please, mister. Don’t take my sister. She won’t be any trouble—I promise.”

“Shut up, kid. I got my orders, see?”

Luke’s heart ached for her, but there was nothing he could do.

Grady herded the three children through the door into the factory, dragging the girl who’d given up her sister. Luke caught a final glimpse of her face, white as death. He swallowed the helplessness that rose in his throat. He knew the feeling of being separated from his only kin, of not knowing if Mark was dead or alive.

Grady left the door open.

A surge of hope coursed through Luke. He glanced toward Butch, but the hulking man’s attention stayed focused on the toddler he carried. He lumbered off, a scowl on his face.

Luke crouched in the bushes next to the building, torn between slipping inside the factory and following Butch. This might be his only chance to get inside. But what about the little girl? Would Butch kill her?

Tearing himself away from the building, he followed Butch, staying far enough behind not to get caught but close enough not to lose him.

For a big man, Butch moved awful fast. He looked back, and Luke ducked behind a broken-down wagon covered in snow. When he looked again, Butch and the child were nowhere to be seen.

Where had they gone? Taking a chance, Luke ran toward the street, heart pounding. He’d missed his chance at getting to Mark, and now he’d lost Butch and the little girl. He couldn’t do anything right.

He caught a glimpse of movement two blocks over. Butch? He darted down a parallel alley, then another, before he saw him again.

Empty-handed.

Butch hurried off into the night.

Luke stood still, gulping in air.

Horror crawled across his skin and down his throat, spread through his chest, and settled like a raging inferno in his belly. He wanted to walk away, run. Go to the small, safe place he and the others had carved out of a burned-out shack and pretend this had never happened. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her, even if Butch had killed her.

He moved forward, unable to feel his legs. He’d gone numb.

He found the small form tucked under a stack of crates in the alley. With shaking fingers, he reached out and touched her, only to find her alive and breathing. He took off his thin coat and wrapped her in it, hoping to bring warmth to the tiny child left to die in the freezing cold.

Tears he’d held back ever since he and his brother had found themselves alone on the streets of Chicago gathered in his eyes.

Clutching the small child to his chest, he wept.