Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (14 page)

Marta and Whitney’s apartments shared a common wall. Marta pulled the extender for the handle of her luggage. “Don’t worry about emergencies. The car is yours to use while I’m on vacation.” The forty-year-old single woman glanced down at her chirping phone. “That’s my cab.”

“Have a good time.” Whitney spun to lock her door and ran into Nate.

His soft laugh washed over her. “Whoa, there.”

Slipping her key into the lock, she secured the door then looked over at Nate. Ripped jeans, a t-shirt under an open button down, a backpack looped over one shoulder, and hair looking like he’d walked through a windstorm.

Whitney smiled. “I didn’t expect you here so early.”

He shrugged and they walked side by side down the stairs. “After these last couple weeks and all the information we’ve tracked down, I’m looking forward to meeting your grandma.”

“You really don’t have to spend your day off like this.”

Nate held the front door for her and started for his beat-up Camry.

“We don’t have to take your car.” Whitney jiggled her neighbor’s car keys. “Marta lets me use her car in exchange for feeding her cat when she travels.”

“Yes.” Nate clamped his hand around the keys. “But I also heard you promise to use it only in an emergency, and this isn’t one. So come on, I’ll drive.” Hand still holding hers, Nate led Whitney to his car, took her bag, and opened the door.

Used to the lack of his car radio by now, Whitney settled into the worn seat, happy to notice the absence of the pile of candy wrappers.

Nate thumped the steering wheel to unheard music then launched into a story from his work. “Okay, so Susan—my boss—tells me to stop what I’m doing and make a coffee run for her. She claimed she’d die if I didn’t come back with a caramel macchiato in under seven minutes. Now, remember, I’m editing the piece on keeping Christmas trees alive longer and I have a half-hour deadline—”

Bright Eyes
blared from Whitney’s tartan purse. She fished the cell out and glanced at the caller ID:
Owen
. She held up a finger to Nate.

Flipping the phone open, she took a breath. “Hello?”

“Hey, beautiful. I haven’t heard from you in a couple days. What have you been up to?” Whitney pictured him in the leather-back chair at his campaign headquarters. Feet up on his desk, cocoa stubble handsome across his chin, and a pressed suit coat tossed over the nearest chair. Confidence oozing from every pore.

“Sorry.” She leaned her elbow where the door and window met. “I’ve been busy with this Lewis Ingram stuff.”

“Well, forget about all that. It’s a waste of time.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, but you were right. Did you see the flub Raleigh said at his press conference yesterday?” Owen laughed. “People can’t even write stuff like that.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“What? They played the sound bite a couple times on every news report last night.” He stopped, his voice changed. “Whitney, you haven’t been moping around and not doing anything because we’ve been on hold, have you? I don’t want you weepy in that apartment eating your way through gallons of ice-cream. I need you to keep yourself together. They could snap pictures of you at any time. You of all people should understand how the media can twist the simplest thing.”

She didn’t realize her legs were jiggling until Nate laid a hand on her knee. Whitney glanced over at him, and he raised one eyebrow.

“Nothing like that. I’ve been using every spare minute to track down information about my ancestors. We’re right in the middle of finding out about Ellen—”

“We’re?”

She glanced at Nate. He still had his hand on her knee. “People from the Historical Foundation.”

“Well, you can stop because that stuff doesn’t matter anymore. I want you at my side tonight at the Shedd. My biggest supporters will be there and I want you to meet them.”

Whitney worked her jaw back and forth as she looked out the window. Pedestrians hustled down the sidewalks—the colors they worse began to mesh together as tears gathered in her eyes. She rubbed her nose. What was wrong with her? She wanted Owen. Wanted time with him. Right? But fear worked its way into her heart because she didn’t want to give up on the fun she was having unraveling the mystery surrounding her ancestors. It had been so long since she’d really dug in and researched anything. Wasn’t that why she went into journalism to begin with?

She took a breath. “What time?”

“Event’s at seven.”

She worked the calculation in her head—Chicago rush hour traffic into the Loop and all the way to the lakefront, finding parking at the Shedd Aquarium on a free day, plus a shower and everything that went with getting ready for an fundraiser with the City’s high rollers. Her day at Gran’s would have to be short. “Will you pick me up?”

“No babe, I have appointments all day at this end of the city so I’ll put your name on the list, and they’ll let you in. Don’t worry about finding me. I’ll be at the center of the event.”

“I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Can’t wait.” The line went dead.

She slid the phone back into her purse as Nate parallel parked near Gran’s house. “I’m sorry, Nate, finish your story.”

He unclipped his seatbelt and swung open the door. “It really wasn’t worth telling.”

Nate walked in front of her and held Gran’s gate open. His smile from before was gone. Whitney didn’t like his change of mood. During the last few weeks she’d grown to expect his ready smile, soft laugh, and gentle teasing.

She grabbed his hand before he pinged the doorbell. “Hey, I don’t know why you’re suddenly a grump, but don’t carry it into my grandma’s house.”

“You’re right.” He breathed. His phone started to ring, some over-digital sound that must have come free with his cell.

“You need to get that?”

Nate pulled out his phone and dropped it back in his pocket like a hot coal. “No, I’ll call them back later.”

“If it’s urgent….”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe in telling lies so yes, it’s a serious call. But no, I don’t want to take it right now. Let’s leave it at that.”

Roscoe bellowed on the other side of the door and Gran hugged Nate as if he might be her long-lost son. She kept her hands on his shoulders when he stepped back. “Well, now, look at you young man. You’ve got a touch of the Seacrest cuteness about you.”

“Don’t listen to her, Nate, Gran’s in love with Ryan Seacrest.”

“Then I’m honored.” Nate winked at Gran.

Whitney dropped her backpack, and they all laughed as they entered the kitchen. The counter were cluttered with dirty dishes, and the kitchen table was full of stacks of entertainment magazines.

Gran started to boil water, but Nate urged her to take a seat.

“I make a mean hot chocolate.” He grinned.

“Oh, all right then.” Gran giggled like an eighth-grader with a crush.

Whitney launched into the information she’d discovered about Ellen, Lewis, and James. Gran gasped at all the right moments. After banging around in Gran’s cupboards for the right ingredients, Nate set two steaming mugs on the table, then he rolled up his sleeves and started scrubbing Gran’s dishes. She shooed at him to join them at the table, but he said he would when the dishes were done. While they were talking, his phone rang again. He ignored it.

Gran leaned close to Whitney. “He’s a good catch. And he makes a fine cup of cocoa. See what the Lord does? You were so sad to lose that no-account Owen and God brings Nate.”

Whitney downed the last of her drink. She’d regret the scalded tongue later. “We’re not together, Gran. I’m still with Owen. I’m meeting him at a fundraiser tonight.”

Nate cleared his throat. “We were wondering if you remembered any more about Lewis or if a group called the Cygnus Brotherhood means anything to you.”

“You know.” Gran dabbed at her mouth. “I have thought on it since Whitney showed me that horrid newspaper.”

Whitney reached across the table to cup her grandma’s hand. “And?”

“And if I remember correctly, I donated a heap of Grandpa Ingram’s belongings to some historical group in Wheaton. The Ingrams considered that town home, and the curator there kept calling and I didn’t want any reminders of the past. So I gave them everything, save the one picture to remember my grandfather by.”

“I should have thought of that.” Nate tapped the table.

“Does the Chicago Historical Foundation have any pull with Wheaton?” Whitney pushed up from her seat and collected everyone’s mugs.

“Not pull per se, but I’ll track down the location and call the curator. They’ll let us look through whatever they have.” His phone started to ring again.

“Someone really wants your attention. Maybe you should take the call,” Gran teased Nate.

“The people I’m face to face with right now are more important. Whoever that is can leave a message.” He patted his coat pocket then reached down to scratch Roscoe on the rump. The dog gave a moan and kicked his back leg in doggy bliss.

Gran scooted magazines together in an attempt to tidy her table. “So have you always lived in Chicago, Nate?”

“Yeah, sweet home Chicago. Although I grew up on the Southside and now live in Greektown. But I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“Do you have family? Perhaps a girlfriend?” Gran prodded.

“Gran!” Whitney spun around from rinsing the mugs.

“It’s okay.” Nate lifted his hands in surrender. “I have an older brother. He’s married and lives in Arizona. My mom passed away in seventh grade and my dad remarried. I have two half-sisters who are still in elementary school. Dad calls me to babysit most weekends and Hannah and Kayla do their best to break my back hanging all over me. And—” he helped Gran stack some newspapers—“no girlfriend. I dated someone a while ago but she bailed when I went through a rough time.”

“I’m sorry about your mom.” Whitney’s voice came out quieter than she wanted.

“Breast cancer’s horrible. She was a remarkable woman though.” Nate’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Whitney hugged Gran good-bye. Nate stepped forward and kissed Gran on the cheek, she kissed him back.

Capturing his face in her weathered hands, she spoke a benediction over him. “May the Lord bless and keep you Nate Holland. And may my granddaughter wake up and see your worth.” She winked.

Seconds later Nate pulled his car back into the afternoon traffic.

Whitney clipped her seatbelt. What had Gran been thinking? She’d went and made things awkward for Nate. “Sorry about her. I love her to pieces but I don’t ever bring friends around. Her talk can be so brash sometimes, but since my mom’s always off on a new adventure, Gran’s the only true family I’ve got.” She felt heat rising up her neck as memories of the couple times Owen had been subjected to Gran’s company flooded her mind.

Nate shook his head. “Never apologize for the people you love. I’m humbled you introduced me to your grandma, she’s strong and still full of life, and she loves you.”

It took twenty minutes hunting through Solider Field parking garage before Whitney found an open spot big enough to accommodate Marta’s Honda Pilot. Yes, she’d driven her friend’s SUV through the heart of the Loop and through bumper-to-bumper exhaust clouds on Lake Shore Drive. But by the time Nate dropped her back at the apartment and she’d showered and attempted to control her curls, Whitney discovered she had nothing suitable to wear.

Under normal circumstances, she would have worn one of the two dresses he purchased as gifts when they first started dating. But both needed dry cleaning. And the red number she’d danced in at her college roommate’s wedding a month ago boasted an impressive shrimp dip stain. In desperation she’d yanked out a long sleeved baby-doll dress that would have to work. Her co-workers showered her with complements the first time she wore the black, white, and gray striped dress to the office. Whitney stared at her reflection, biting her lip. Retro and Owen probably wouldn’t mix.

After the ordeal of getting dressed, trying to rub the scuffs out of her only serviceable pair of black heels, and switching purses, Whitney considered her trip to the Shedd an emergency and drove Marta’s Pilot. Now she wondered if public transit this time of day would have been faster.

Clipping along the concrete, she checked her watch. Seven forty. Hopefully Owen would be too busy to notice her absence. She charged up what felt like fifty steps, puffing at the top before she fixed her hair and strolled under the large banners depicting impish dolphins.

A Suit stopped her near the door. “Aquarium’s not open. We’ve got a private event tonight.”

“But I’m on the list. I’m a friend of Owen Taylor.”

He eyed her, then checked for her name. With a nod he allowed her to continue. Notes from an orchestra became her roadmap. The sound led her to the huge room she remembered from childhood field trips as the Caribbean Reef. The high ceilings and Greek-style architecture added to the opulent feel. Circle tables with crisp linen, china, and towering rose centerpieces completed the look. Whitney rubbed her arms. Party-goers gathered together, chatting with champagne flutes in their hands, the men in formal suits or tuxedos, women in floor-length gowns.

It would have been a setting perfect for the Queen of England, if not for the warm, fishy smell that forever lingered in the aquarium.

She scanned the room for Owen but didn’t see him or his mother. Queasiness slapped her stomach. What was wrong with her? Big group situations didn’t cause normal people to break out in hives and start sweating. Everyone seemed to know each other so Whitney continued on into the Oceanarium to watch the white-sided Pacific dolphins play while in the next tank creamy white beluga whales broke the water’s surface.

“There you are.” Owen’s mother joined her as she leaned on the glass half-wall near the tanks. Mrs. Taylor’s deep blue gown was tailored to perfection, making her already tiny frame look supermodel trim. No hair out of place, and makeup that looked professionally done.

Next to her, Whitney felt like a cow in a suburban backyard—entirely out of place. “It’s nice to see you, Mrs. Taylor. You look great.”

“You—” His mother pursed her lips. “Should have worn something different. You won’t be able to sit at the head table in that.” The woman could have made Attila the Hun cry, all the while wearing a smile.