Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) (8 page)

She toyed with the salt shaker. “You’re preaching to the choir. I just wish I still had my copy. When I went to college, my oh-so-helpful mother packed up all the books I left and sold them, two dollars a boxful.” During one of Mom’s many moves she’d done away with most of Whitney’s belongs. “When I found out it felt like I’d lost a best friend.”

Nate winced. “That’s tragic, but we can fix it. There’s a book store close to the Foundation. We should stop by there before it closes tomorrow.”

“Maybe.” Whitney reached for the check, but Nate beat her to it. She slapped at his hand. “You should let me pay, you paid all week. It’s my turn.”

He leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. His floppy hair fell forward. “No worries. I’ve got it.”

Outside, Nate insisted on driving her home instead of letting her catch the CTA.

“That’s really not necessary.” Whitney started to walk away, but he called her back.

“I know that, but you’ll waste forty-five minutes taking the bus when I can have you home in fifteen.” He eased the backpack off her shoulder and slung it over his own.

Whitney trailed him to an old model Camry sporting three inches of rust around each wheel well. “Chicago’s huge. You don’t even know if I live nearby.”

He unlocked the passenger side and held it open. “You wouldn’t be here each day after work if you lived that far away.” With a bang, Nate closed the door. He rounded the car with his unrushed stride, popped open the door then tossed her book bag into the backseat. “Besides, I looked at your address when I photocopied your driver’s license the other day.” He held up his hands. “Foundation policy on that, I really did have to copy your card if you were going to go into the back archive room.”

“Drive, creeper.” She clicked her seatbelt.

His quiet laugh filled the cabin.

With minimal traffic at this time of night he pulled out onto the street with ease. Veering the Camry toward Halsted, the street she lived on.

When he stopped at a red light Whitney tried to turn the radio on.

“It broke years ago,” he offered. The fast tick of his blinker became their only music.

Whitney glanced down at the mound of candy bar wrappers on the floor. “I’ll fill the silence then. I have a creeper confession of my own.”

Nate glanced her way, the right side of his mouth tipping up. “That sounds intriguing.”

After retying the yellow scarf around her neck, Whitney sighed. “You’re always at the Historical Foundation, so I asked Rita how long you’ve worked there, but she said you’re a volunteer and that you have a fulltime job on top of the work you do there.”

“Okay. What’s the question?” He straightened in his seat, grabbing the steering wheel at ten and two.

“What would possess a young, attractive man to spend every night of the week and Saturday afternoons volunteering his time at a place like that?”

Eyes forward, he shifted. “Rita’s a good friend of my family’s. I know her from the church I used to attend. Besides, I like helping out.”

“I’d believe that if you gave time once or twice a week, but not all the time. Well, unless you’re a history teacher or something.”

“Naw, I work as the office gopher for a gardening magazine.” He shrugged. “It pays the bills, but it’s not my dream job, in case you were wondering.” He pulled into her apartment building’s parking lot and chose the spot open nearest to the doors.

Whitney unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him. “What is?”

Looking out the front window, he scratched his head. “I used to work at this youth counseling center. I loved it.”

Shifting, Whiney pulled her legs to sit crossed-legged in the seat. “Then why don’t you work there anymore?”

He looped his arms over the wheel. “So, you think I’m attractive?”

“Only in a so-not-my-type kinda way.” Reaching for her backpack she had to lean close to him. A mixture of fabric softener with a citrus undertone rushed over her senses.

“Ouch.” Nate crossed his arms and hunkered into his green, army style coat. “What’s you’re type then?”

“For starters, I’m not a fan of male piercings.” She yanked the straps on her shoulders and sat hunched forward like an overprotected turtle.

A satisfied smirk crossed his expression. “Do you know the original use for piercings?”

Whitney shook her head.

“It worked the same way as cattle branding, really. It marked what slaves belonged to which master.” He touched the barbell on his eyebrow.

“You mean they…?”

“Yeah, they forced their slaves to be pierced in different places. Isn’t it odd that we consider it fashion now?”

She reached for the door handle, then pulled her hand back. “If you’re against it then why do you have one? You’re not a slave.”

“I got it in college when I became a Christian. It’s my reminder that I’ve chosen to be a slave to Christ. That I work for Him and promote His Kingdom with my life no matter what the cost, because He owns my life.”

“Okay, I can’t fault you anymore. That’s the coolest—”

Someone rapped on the window, and Whitney screamed. She latched onto Nate’s hand and squeezed. Shaken, she turned and let out a deep breath. “It’s Owen. I have to go. Thanks for the ride.”

Ducking out of the car, she gave Nate a wave.

“Who is that?” Owen bent to catch a glimpse of Nate as he backed out of the parking lot.

Whitney faced Owen, and her breath caught. Beams from the streetlamp glimmered off his black dress shoes. The dark-wash jeans, untucked button-down, and dark sports coat he wore gave off a man-about-town vibe as he caught her elbows. The strength in his hands reminded her of his recent past spent in the baseball minor leagues.

“A guy from the historical place who’s been helping me research. It got late so he drove me home.”

“I’ve missed you.” His head dipped for a quick kiss. Mesmerizing blue eyes raked over her face.

She leaned away. “I haven’t heard a word from you all week. Didn’t you supposedly break up with me?”

Owen tugged her against his chest. She buried her nose into his neck, breathing in his Acqua Di Gio cologne, the spicy Mediterranean notes familiar after a year of dating. His arms entwined at the small of her back, under the book bag. Prickles from his well-trimmed bread itched her forehead.

Her hands rose and fell under his deep breath.

“I said
on hold
.” Still embracing her he allowed some space between them. “The office hasn’t stopped being bombarded with calls about your great-great-grandfather. Mom doesn’t think it’s wise for you to show your face yet.”

“Is that what you want?” Whitney’s hands dropped to her side.

“What I want doesn’t matter. I’m not going against my mother on this. She’s a fierce campaign manager and I’m not about to cross the only family I’ve got left.”

It wasn’t worth pushing when it came to his mother. She’d learned that on only their second date.

“You’re right.” She grabbed the straps of her bag.

“Hey.” He pulled her into a quick bear hug again. “I want you around. This is hard on me, too.”

Whitney shrugged out of his hold. “Well, I’m going to head up to my place then.”

Owen glanced back at her apartment. “I can’t stand that you live in this rundown building.”

“Well, it’s what I can afford.” She scuffed her shoe against the pavement.

He looped his hands in his jean pockets and headed toward his car. When she reached the front doors to the complex, he called out, “someday we’ll change that.”

After pawing through the twelfth box of the day and coming up void, Whitney pulled herself off the cement floor of the archive area and stretched.

Nate lifted the box back onto the shelving unit, making sure the label faced the correct way. “So? Owen Taylor.” He whistled.

She dusted off her hands by clapping them together. “It was so dark out last night, how’d you recognize him?”

“I followed his minor league career with the Kane County Cougars. The man’s throwing arm is killer. He’s hard to miss.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the watch-baseball type.”

Nate shrugged. “Besides the guy’s been on the cover of every Chicago magazine in the past three months. He’ll most likely be the next mayor, going down in the history books as the youngest to take the position. I don’t even know how it’s legal for him to run.”

Whitney snapped up. “Legal? What are you implying?”

Nate tossed his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Don’t send for the firing squad. I just meant that I don’t know the laws but he seems a bit young for the position. Aren’t most mayors in their fifties?”

“Owen’s legit.” She yanked down the next box with a thud.

Nate grimaced. “Just because he’s famous—”

Whitney stopped thumbing through the box. “Famous has nothing to do with it. In the City of Chicago the rules are you have to be eighteen years old, a registered voter, a resident of the City, without any unpaid debt in Chicago, and you can’t have a felony conviction. Besides that, once a candidate gets the 12,500 signatures, they just file with the Board of Election Commissioners and they’re on the ballot.”

“It’s that simple, huh?” He braced his hand on the metal shelf.

“Yes. Even you could run.”

“No, I couldn’t” Turning back to the archives he hunkered down beside her.

“What did you say?”

He pulled out a stack of papers. “I couldn’t run.”

She poked him in the arm. “Let me guess, you haven’t registered to vote?”

“No, but I’m afraid there’s an unpaid parking ticket or two lost in the recesses of my glove box.” Nate replaced the papers and stood.

“You could just pay them then run.”

“And give Owen a tight race? Naw.” Turning his back to her he scanned the boxes remaining in the row they were working in. He cleared his throat. “But he’s still older, isn’t he? I mean, older than you?”

“He’s thirty-four, only seven years older than me.”

“And he’s your boyfriend?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“I work as a reporter for
Life in Chicago
, I interviewed him for a column called
Friendly Faces
. We talked an hour longer than scheduled. The article ran and his numbers skyrocketed. He called the office and asked me out, and we’ve been seeing each other ever since.” She pulled down the next box. “Actually, I wasn’t honest with you when you asked why I’m so interested in finding out about Lewis. Owen’s my real reason. He dumped me when the story ran and we can only get back together if I find information that exonerates my great-great-grandfather.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Whitney yanked the cover off the paper box and thumbed through the files. “It’s life. People don’t want to date people with baggage. I have to do this to win him back.”

“But everyone’s got baggage.”

“Not Owen.”

“Except for the fact that his father was murdered when he served the city as mayor and Owen’s most likely trying to fill his place. Let’s face it besides his status, money, the whole pro-athlete appeal, and good looks—I don’t judge that kind of thing mind you, but
Chicago Bachelor
named him their number one guy this year so there’s that—what makes him so special?”

“He’s stable. A life with him would be secure.”

“Funny. I expected you to say he’s your true love or something along those lines.”

“Please. True love? That doesn’t exist.”

“It exists. Believe me. I saw it with my parents.”

She fanned out black and white photos of a nameless family. There were five kids in the picture. What would it have been like to have siblings or a father who stayed around after she was born for that matter? Her only family had been her scatterbrained, childlike, date-a-holic mother. “Owen’s a decent guy on a good track and he, for some reason, wants to be with me.”

She’d never understand why Owen wanted her, but she wasn’t about to let go of a stable future. Not when the power was in her hands to keep it.

Nate ceased combing through a box to make eye contact. “Stable, decent, secure. Sounds
boring
.”

“I’d rather have bland and predictable than the opposite.”

“But that’s not love. Love’s daring and dangerous—you decide to take a chance on another imperfect person. Why would you settle for something else?”

Whitney crossed her arms. She didn’t have to answer him, but Nate’s gaze looked sincere. He was interested, not judging.

“I want someone I can count on to always be there. You know, I’ve never found out who my father is. My mom is one of those spontaneous people you think is so fun. Well, she
spontaneously
moved from man to man my entire life. I stopped keeping track of their names when I turned nine years old because I knew they wouldn’t be around long enough to get attached to. I once asked her who my dad was and she went and got this old photograph of this man in a sailor’s outfit, the little white cap and everything. She told me that was my dad. I used that picture as a bookmark for years. ”

Whitney leaned and jammed the lid back onto the box. “She found that picture one day and laughed at me. Said she gave me that photo of a random guy to shut me up when I was bothering her. She has no clue who my dad was.”

Nate crouched down to be on eye level. “You don’t have to tell me this stuff if you don’t want to.”

But she was so far into the story already, she might as well finish. “I told my mom I hated her and I took off running. I hauled it to this wooded area at the end of our block. I hid there all day and my mom never came looking for me. I wasn’t worth the effort for her to find me. I promised myself then and there that I’d live a different life then her. I’d have a stable job and marriage one day. I’d surround myself with people who would come looking for me if I went missing.”

Nate cupped the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry, Whitney, I shouldn’t have badgered you. For what it’s worth, if you went missing I’d stop everything to find you. I’ll help if you ever need me. Sorry about your mom.”

“She’s just a piece of work, you know? My whole life, she’s been forgetting to pay our bills or spending the money on something she wanted instead. We were evicted every six months or so. I got used to losing most of my belongings each time.”