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  The galley door swung open, and a waiter emerged with a tray of coffee cups. The galley. There would be people in there. And knives. She lunged for the door, throwing herself into the narrow, hot space. Four men were inside, all now staring at her with a mixture of surprise and fascination. She put a finger to her lips and sank down behind the door, out of sight.

  Then she watched the door and waited.

  Chapter Four

  Ted glanced up from his coffee and newspaper to see a familiar flash of red hair, only to have the vision disappear into the galley.

  Clara had . . . dashed into the kitchen? What in God’s name?

  He was striding down the aisle before his napkin landed on the table. It took a moment to reach the galley, as he had to dodge waiters and other passengers, and when he pushed open the swinging door, he nearly ran her over.

  “What are you doing huddled against the wall?”

  Fearful green eyes met his from her crouched position. “Keep your voice down!”

  The galley was small, crowded, and hot. Two waiters and the chef were not pleased with the intrusion, but said nothing and resumed their activities. A waiter brushed by him to get through the door, so Ted stepped to Clara’s other side. “From whom are you hiding? Me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be hiding from you?”

  “I have no idea. On this train, you only know me and the Webbers. Did they threaten to bore you with more insight into the brewery?”

  “No. I—” She clamped her lips shut, and he could tell she was working on a lie. She straightened and smoothed her skirts. “I was not hiding. I merely needed a moment to fix my boot.”

  “In the galley?”

  “Of course. Where else?”

  Ted resisted the urge to kick something. Had there ever been a more frustrating woman? “I know you don’t trust me—”

  “I trust you. I didn’t hesitate before drinking that vile concoction you left me. And I certainly wouldn’t spend the night in an unmarried man’s train car, alone, unless I trusted you.”

  Over her shoulder, the waiters were lined up because Ted and Clara were blocking a good portion of the door. He took her hand. “Come, let’s get out of their way.”

  She dug her heels in, so he faced her. “Clara, I don’t know what or who you saw, but I swear on my life, nothing bad will happen to you on this train. I won’t allow it.”

  The lines surrounding her mouth deepened and it became clear she didn’t believe him. Did she think him a businessman, too soft to defend her? Owning a bank wasn’t all pencils and ledgers; the fight for success in America was oftentimes no more than a backroom brawl. He may wear fancier suits now, but he still knew how to throw a punch.

  Stopping a waiter, he requested food be brought to his private car then led Clara toward the end of the train. The porter nodded at them before opening the door to his car. “Good morning, Mrs. Harper. Mr. Harper.”

  Ted stopped before they crossed into the vestibule. “Has anyone been through here? Anyone at all?”

  “No, Mr. Harper. I’ve been keeping an eye out.”

  “Thank you, Charles.” Ted pressed a large bill into his palm. “See that no one gets through except my wife and me. Also, I ordered some food that should be along shortly.”

  “Food?” Clara asked when they were alone.

  “You didn’t have breakfast. And while you’re eating, you can tell me what you saw.”

  She lifted her arms to remove her hat. The motion showed off her creamy skin and small breasts, distracting him for a brief moment. Then he recalled the terror on her face when he had found her in the galley, and a surge of protectiveness caused his muscles to clench. He did not like the idea of anything frightening her.

  He hadn’t trusted a woman in a long time, preferring instead to keep one lover for long stretches at a time, with a clear understanding before they ventured into the bedroom. And he never chose an innocent woman. His lovers were wealthy, experienced, and usually married. Women who did not want his money or to have his children and who would leave him alone when he preferred. Women who did not want more than he was prepared to give.

  Clara, on the other hand, was none of those things. And he should be running scared, wary of what something more with her might mean.

  Yet here he stood, unable to tear himself away.

  Oblivious to his inner turmoil, she gestured to the pile of boxes on the floor. “Thank you for this, by the way. I don’t know how you managed it, but I’m very grateful. I’ll find a way to repay you—”

  “Absolutely not. I won’t take your money. These things can’t even be considered gifts. After your brilliance with the Webbers last night, you deserve it.”

  “I can’t accept all this, Ted. It’s too much. I had dinner and talked to two lovely people. Hardly worth all this. It must have cost you a hundred dollars.”

  More like five hundred, but he didn’t tell her that. The store had opened in the wee hours, and a personal courier brought the boxes to the station in order to meet their train. Her pleasure at the gifts, however, made the effort entirely worthwhile. “You can kick all you want, Clara, but I’ll be offended if you refuse what I feel is fair or try to repay me.”

  “But—”

  He held up a hand. “In exchange, I want you to come to dinner with me tonight. In the dining car.”

  “I—I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  Now they were getting to the meat of it. A knock sounded before he could demand an explanation, so he went to the door and waved the waiter inside. “Set it on the table, will you?”

  An assortment of breakfast items was revealed, since he had no idea what she preferred. When the waiter finished, Ted closed the door and returned to find Clara already digging in. She ate with relish, he’d noticed at dinner last night, and he was pleased to see her attack this food with the same enthusiasm. “Now,” he said and dropped into a chair across from her. “Tell me who you saw on the train.”

  * * *

  Clara chewed carefully, though she hardly tasted the food. Ted deserved to know the truth, and yet she could not force herself to speak. The men who’d chased her through New York were dangerous. Rumor held that Edward Thompson, a New York State assemblyman, was more criminal than politician and he apparently had corrupt cops in his pocket. That he was like all the other big shots she read about in the papers, the businessmen who broke the law on the backs of their workers just to earn another dollar.

  Sweet Ted Harper, an overworked executive at a bank, hardly stood a chance.

  That is, if he believed her. He might think she’d gone over the bend. Or, worse, she’d tell him everything, ask him for help, and he would refuse to involve himself. If he kicked her out of the safety of his car, where would she go? “You promised you wouldn’t ask me.”

  “That was before I saw you as white as flour, ducking into the galley. Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

  She swallowed and wiped her mouth. The image of Mr. Ross on the ground, gasping for his life, flickered through her mind. That could very well be Ted, under Thompson’s hold, and her stomach cramped. The policeman had followed her onto the train, for heaven’s sake. How on earth could she drag Ted into this mess? To do so might get him hurt—or worse.

  She pushed away her plate. “As I’ve already told you, it’s not a matter of trust. And it’s certainly convenient that you break our bargain the instant you’ve secured your brewery.”

  “Are you protecting someone? A paramour, perhaps?”

  “There is no paramour.”

  A beat of silence passed, and he said, “And yet you don’t deny you’re protecting someone.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you didn’t deny it.”

  “Yes, it’s a paramour,” she lied. “His name is Billy and he’s the sweetest man. We’ve been seeing one another for eleven months, after he stopped at the perfume counter to purchase a bottle of Emerald Isle. He lives in a bachelor’s apartment
building near Washington Square and thinks I’m the most beautiful, smartest woman on earth.”

  She paused for a breath and noticed Ted’s fingers drumming on the armrest. “Are you finished?” he asked.

  “No. I’m able to expound on Billy’s charms all day, if need be.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaled, and then rose. “I’ll return shortly. Stay here.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “To the main cars. See if I can’t learn what had you so scared.” He spun on his heel and headed for the exit.

  She closed her eyes, indecision and panic rising like the Mississippi after the spring rains. He had no idea what he faced out there. What if the policeman knew of Ted’s involvement with her and caught him unaware?

  “You can’t go,” she blurted out. “He might be looking for you, too.”

  Ted stopped and slowly turned. “Is that so?”

  When he retook his seat, he waited for Clara to continue. Nerves assailed her, her stomach jumping. She did not want to drag this man into whatever mess she’d stumbled upon, but perhaps a partial truth would not hurt.

  She threaded her hands together and set them in her lap. “There is a man on the train, one I remember from Grand Central. I believe he wishes to do me harm.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But he chased me through the depot.”

  “A man chased you through the depot, which is why you attached yourself to my side on the platform?” She nodded. “And you have no idea why he was chasing you?”

  “Because he wanted to catch me?”

  Ted’s face showed no reaction, his expression flat, yet she knew he was not amused.

  “Clara, do not try and talk me in circles. This is serious.”

  Oh, she knew that. Edward Thompson had appeared quite serious when choking the life out of her manager.

  “What does the man look like?”

  “If I tell you, do you promise not to go searching the train for him?”

  “Is that important to you, that I stay here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. I promise not to search the train for him.”

  She relaxed at the sincere declaration. Still, the less he knew, the better. “He is tall. Brown hair. He’s wearing a green and brown plaid suit instead of the usual uniform. Crooked nose.”

  “Crooked nose?”

  “Yes, like it was broken and not set properly. He’s quite unattractive. And he’s a policeman.” She winced. Dratted runaway tongue.

  Ted’s brows slammed together. “A policeman? Just what are you involved in?”

  “Nothing! He’s obviously mistaken me for someone else.”

  He stroked his chin, and the intense scrutiny of his sharp blue gaze caused her to squirm on the sofa. “You’re lying,” he finally said, then heaved a breath. “Is there any chance you’ll tell me the whole story, the truth this time?”

  “That’s all there is to the story.” Another fib, but she wouldn’t fill in the details. The less he knew, the better.

  He shot out of his chair, his long strides taking him toward the door. “Where are you going?” she called to his back. “You promised to stay here.”

  “That’s true, I did. But since you’ve lied to me a time or three, I feel no obligation to honor that promise.”

  * * *

  His mood considerably darker, Ted re-entered the vestibule adjoining his car. Cold air prickled over his skin, a reminder of the reality beyond the enclosed walls of the train. He’d suspected Clara was a fraud from the start, yet hadn’t given the initial impression much thought. Now that impression had taken root and was sprouting rapidly.

  Especially since a man as she’d described hadn’t been found on the train.

  There were few hiding places in the tight cars. Regardless, for more than two hours he’d searched for the supposed policeman that had scared Clara, but such a man had not revealed himself.

  The situation added up to one of two obvious conclusions: Either she’d lied about the policeman, or the policeman was trying hard not to be found. Neither of those thoughts comforted him. A woman did not get followed by a policeman across the country unless she was up to her neck in something illegal.

  He found her pacing inside the car. She whirled and leveled a finger in his direction. “You lied to me!”

  Had she been seething the entire time he’d been gone? He placed his derby on the table. “I apologize. I should probably tell you that I do not always play fair.” If he did, he certainly wouldn’t own one of the most powerful banks in the country.

  “I’m beginning to understand that. So what happened? Did you see him? Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” He thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned against the sideboard. “A man such as you described could not be found on the train.”

  “I don’t know whether to be relieved you’re unharmed or terrified the man wasn’t caught.” She sagged onto the sofa, her skirts rustling. “I had imagined all sorts of awful things happening to you, and then the porter refused to let me out into the main part of the train. He said you told him to keep me here.”

  “Yes, I did. I knew you would try and follow me. Tell me, was there really a policeman on the train? Because if the answer is yes, I have no choice but to believe you are knee-deep in some sort of illegal activity.”

  Her mouth fell open, then quickly snapped shut as she shot to her feet. “So I’m either a liar or a criminal? You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?”

  “It is common sense, Clara. Policemen do not chase innocent women about the city and follow them onto a train halfway across the country.”

  “Well, this one did!”

  Sighing, he transferred his gaze to his boots. He really did not have the time or patience for this. There were telegrams to prepare, reports to review, contracts to sign.... This had gone on too long, this preoccupation with her. He had piles of work awaiting him, important business that deserved his attention. “Fine. If that’s the story you’re selling, then I can’t help you.”

  He strode to where his satchel rested and began gathering up his things. Disappointment weighted down his chest as he shoved ledgers and stacks of paper inside. He’d wanted to be wrong about her. He’d wanted . . . Well, never mind what he wanted.

  He tucked the satchel under his arm and faced her. “We pull into St. Louis in the morning. Until then, I have a mountain of work to get through. I’ll go to the smoking salon and leave you the car.”

  She jerked as if struck, and he hardened himself to the hurt he saw flash over her face. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry. You can stay here until we pull into the station.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You can’t leave. That man is somewhere on the train. Not to mention this is your car—well, your employer’s car, anyway.”

  He didn’t bother correcting her. It was clear she’d known his identity all along, targeting him on the platform. “I think it’s for the best, Clara. I’ll have a porter come for my things in the morning.” With a decisive nod, he headed for the door.

  “Wait!” The rustle of skirts caught his attention a second before her small hand clutched his arm. “Ted, wait.”

  “Clara, I don’t—”

  “I saw my boss murdered.”

  She’d blurted the statement out and he needed a second to process the meaning. “You saw someone murdered?”

  Lips pressed tightly, she dipped her chin. “Yes. Mr. Ross, my manager.”

  He exhaled and debated hearing her out. There was a slim chance she told the truth, and he supposed his pile of work could withstand fifteen more minutes.

  “I think we’d better sit down.” He led her across the floor to the sofa, where they both lowered to the cushions. “I want the story from the beginning.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve been holding back, not telling you the truth, because this could be very dangerous for you. We hardly know one another, and
I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

  “You let me worry about that, all right? Just tell me what happened.”

  “But what if—”

  “Out with it, Clara.”

  Folding her hands in her lap, she closed her eyes briefly. “A delivery arrived at the counter for Mr. Ross. It was the end of my shift, so I volunteered to take it upstairs to his office. I went up the three flights, got my coat, and knocked on his door. Told him a package had been delivered for him. That’s when I heard noises, like a whimper and then a thud. I thought he’d fallen or hurt himself, so I peeked inside. There was a man there, crouched over Mr. Ross. His hands were wrapped around Mr. Ross’s neck and Mr. Ross’s face had turned blue. He couldn’t breathe.”

  “Did he see you?” he asked when she paused.

  “Not at first. But another man was there, a policeman. He was leaning against the wall, watching, you know? I must have made a noise because they both saw me. Then the guy told the policeman to get me. That’s when I ran.”

  “Isn’t Hoyt’s in Union Square? Are you saying you ran all the way to Grand Central?”

  “No. I caught a passing streetcar and thought I was safe. But after riding a few blocks I noticed a police wagon following us. The policeman from Mr. Ross’s office sat in front with two other men.”

  “Crooked nose?”

  “Yes, he was one of them.”

  “Was he wearing a blue uniform then?”

  “No, come to think of it. He was dressed in regular clothes, like you. But why would he be in the police wagon if he wasn’t a policeman?”

  Ted had no idea. Not much of this story made sense, but he could tell she believed what she was saying. The question became, did he believe her? Police in New York were notoriously corrupt. Hell, they pretty much wrote the rule book on taking bribes. But chase a woman half across the country because she saw her manager getting roughed up? Doubtful.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Clara studied him, her shrewd emerald gaze reading him perfectly.

  He held up his palms. “I want to believe you, but the story does sound a bit dramatic.”