“Well, thanks for trying, anyway,” Sam said.
Evie examined the file again. “Office B-130. But there’s no address. That office could be anywhere.”
“I know.” Sam sighed. “Every time we get one answer it leaves us with twelve new questions.”
“What about your creepy man?”
“Do you mean my contact?”
Evie waved his words away. “Contact, creepy man…”
“Last time I saw him, he told me he thought he was being watched.”
“By whom? Gangsters?”
“Don’t know. He just told me to stay away. But this is too important. I gotta try.”
“Sam, did you ever think of asking a reporter to look into this story?”
“Are you crackers? Bring one of those shiny-suit-wearing newshounds into this?”
“But why not? Put one of those dogs on the scent! They’ll find the goods soon enough.”
“Nothing doing. I work alone. With occasional company,” he acknowledged. “But no reporters. Got it?”
Evie put her hands up. “Forget I mentioned it. Oh,” she said, wincing. “What a skull-banger.”
She rested her throbbing head against the train window as the El rattled through city canyons. The last rays of sunlight brightened rooftops and glinted off office windows, reluctant to say good-bye. Down below, the afternoon gloom bathed the bustling city streets in deepening shadows of loneliness. Sam laced his fingers through Evie’s and held fast. It was a small gesture, but Evie felt it everywhere at once.
“You’re the elephant’s eyebrows, doll,” he said.
Evie’s face was suddenly too warm. “Someone has to look after you, Sam Lloyd.”
The train rattled to a stop.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to the station,” Sam said, offering his crooked arm. “Gotta put on a show for the adoring fans.”
“Right,” Evie said, threading her arm through his. “For the fans.”
On their walk to WGI, Sam and Evie were mobbed by New Yorkers who were happy to shake their hands and wish them well. They called Sam’s and Evie’s names as if the two of them were movie stars or royalty.
“Tell me the truth, Sam—isn’t that the best sound you ever heard? I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”
“Gee. You might have to keep me on, then,” Sam teased. The truth was, he was enjoying their cooked-up romance a little too much. Whenever Evie looked at him from across whatever room they were working, he got a feeling in his stomach like they were sharing the most delicious secret. It was fun and exciting—the two of them against the world. He dreaded the countdown to the end of it all. Was it too much to hope that he could change her mind along the way?
“Have a swell show, darling,” Sam said, playing his part. He kissed Evie’s hand and turned to the crowd. “Folks, you have no idea how soft this girl’s hand is. Oh, hold on a second—that’s her glove. Folks, you have no idea how soft this girl’s gloves are!”
Everybody laughed, including Evie, and Sam’s hopes rose anew. He gave her a you liked that? grin, and he could swear by the way she bit her lip and smiled that she did. He wanted nothing more than to come up with ways to keep her smiling.
“Good-bye, Sam,” Evie said, shaking her head.
As she pushed through WGI’s front doors, Evie glanced back at the scene on the street. The girls beamed at Sam as he charmed them, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. A twinge of jealousy bit at Evie. She’d had the urge to kiss Sam right there so that everyone would know he was indisputably hers. Except that he wasn’t. This was a game. A business arrangement. And falling for Sam Lloyd was the don’t-you-dare cherry on top of a worst-idea sundae.
“Stop it, Evie O’Neill,” she whispered to herself. “Stop it right this instant.”
Evie was startled to see Sarah Snow standing in the deep shadows cast by WGI’s grand gilded Art Deco clock.