He didn’t grab her. She didn’t even see him move. She had no warning at all before he was just there, his hands encircling her waist, his fingers tensing and drawing her against him. Flush against him. Fitting them together. He felt solid and strong, an ensuring and durable presence, safe except for the quickening in her center that he incited and the unchecked recognition with which her body responded.

His breath was damp and warm against her neck as he sighed her name, the one she had forbidden him to use but which sounded so sweet now as he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “Stay away from Lefty’s.”

She couldn’t believe she’d heard right. She jerked her head back. “What?”

“Keep away from there, Laurel. It isn’t safe.”

She tried to escape his hands, but he held her fast. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you listen. Don’t go out there again.”

“You’re overstepping, Mr. Hutton.” She pried his hands from her waist, but before she could move away, he cupped them around her face, bringing it up and close to his own.

“You’re right, I am, and I’ll tell you why. Chester Landry claimed that last night was his first time to go to Lefty’s, but I don’t believe that for a second.”

She turned her head aside and was about to shout at him how little she cared, but he talked over her.

“He told me he went to Lefty’s today to recover a pocket watch he’d lost during the raid. He’s the flashiest dresser I’ve ever come across, but I’ve never once seen him sporting a pocket watch.”

It finally sank in that he hadn’t insulted her carelessly or maliciously. He’d wanted to secure her attention because what he was telling her held importance, at least to him.

She placed her hands over his where they still pressed against her cheeks. “Why are you preoccupied with this man you obviously dislike, and how does it relate to me?”

He withdrew his hands gradually, as though fearing that as soon as he released her she might sprint into the house. Which she probably should do. And bar the door. But when he said, “Just hear me out,” she stayed where she was and gave a small nod.

“Landry palled around with a young man in the boardinghouse. A show-off. Obnoxious. Named Randy. One night, he up and moved out without notice, without telling anybody.”

“So?”

He raised a shoulder. “Maybe nothing, but…” He raked his fingers through his hair again. “Landry made light of it. Shrugged it off. But I got the impression he knew exactly what had happened to Randy.”

“If they were friends, maybe Randy had asked him to cover his trail.”

“Maybe,” he said, but it lacked backbone. “He claims to be a shoe salesman. He boasts of a wide territory he covers on a routine basis, but he’s rarely away from the boardinghouse for more than a couple of days at a time.”

“Men often exaggerate their success.”

“True, but I think Landry downplays his. I think he’s very successful, but not at selling women’s shoes. He’s dealing in something else.”

“Like what?”

“Liquor. He’s bootlegging.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but when he paused to give her time to comment, she didn’t say anything.

“There’s money to be made,” he said, “and a lot of it, but it’s a dangerous occupation. There are few game rules and no such thing as honor among thieves. Double-crossers, poachers, and loudmouths—like Randy—usually wind up dead.”

He paused and focused even more sharply on her. “If I’m right about Landry, he wouldn’t want to be seen at a well-known speakeasy the night after a raid when it was closed to business. But he was seen. By you.”

She took all that in and thought how closely it correlated to what Irv had told her about the hazards of the illegal liquor trade. But she couldn’t tell Thatcher she’d heard it all before in cautionary sermons from her father-in-law. She carefully weighed how she would respond.

“The only two people I saw were Lefty and Gert. Not even a sign of the girls. On my way out, before I got to the highway, a car passed me on the road. I didn’t see the driver. Even if I had, and had recognized Mr. Landry, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought because I don’t know him, and how he earns his living makes no difference whatsoever to me. So even assuming you’re right and his business dealings are illegal, he has absolutely nothing to fear from me.”

“But see, Laurel, you may have a lot to fear from him.”

Thirty-Eight

Gert knew that eyes had been on her since she’d turned off the highway. From the crevices of boulders, from behind foliage, from underneath the collapsed roof of a disused barn, she was being watched, probably through the sights of deer rifles.

Tags: Sandra Brown Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net