He briefly closed his eyes and then faced Mrs. West. Even in the overcast afternoon, her red curls glistened in a way that made him want to run his fingers through them. “You’re late.”
There was that eye twitch again. “I just got the assignment.”
The unexpected opportunity to spend a few hours in her company overrode any temptation to request another stenographer. He would concentrate on the job instead of the life-altering fact that she wasn’t married, not to mention a widow who had completed her mourning period and was therefore very much on the market. If only his cock could accept that she was still his employee and, unbeknownst to her, his adversary. It was cumbersome walking around semi-aroused.
She propped a hand on her hip. “Surely we can overcome our differences for one afternoon?”
“I can if you can.”
“I can.”
“Good.” Mack tore his gaze from hers and peered down Second Avenue. Reminded of what he’d witnessed, he glanced around, but the strange man was gone. He sighed. “There’s the streetcar. We better hurry.”
Once they were aboard the crowded streetcar, he planted his feet beside her to provide a barrier against the other passengers. As they rocked down the street, he dipped his head forward and subtly inhaled her scent, a light bouquet of citrus with whispers of vanilla.Winnie, her friend had called her that day in the Square. The name suited her, and the desire to use it—at least in his imagination—was strong. Just then, she tilted her head toward him, and he blinked at the proximity of her lips.
“Where are we going? I didn’t get the particulars before we left.”
He focused on the bridge of her nose and the light dusting of freckles he hadn’t noticed before. “We received a call that the Flyer Button Factory is on fire.”
“How dreadful. Hundreds of people must work there.”
“Last I heard, they were evacuating the building and the fire department was already containing the flames.”
“That’s a relief. And what will our role be?”
“I want to question the fire marshal and catch some of the factory workers before they leave the scene. They might have something to say about what happened. That’s where you come in.”
Her face lit up. “I get to interview them?”
“Er…not quite. I meant you would take shorthand notes while I interview them.”
Her shoulders drooped infinitesimally, and his gut soured in response. What could he say? He was the reporter on duty, and she was the stenographer, plain and simple.
When she spoke, her tone was mild, even a bit guarded. “Of course. I shall take copious notes.”
They arrived at their stop, and he was saved from further conversation. They disembarked and rushed toward the Flyer Button Factory, already roped off by the Seattle Fire Department. Water wagons pumped water from large steamers in an effort to quench the flames that had taken over one side of the brick building. Acrid smoke blanketed the sky in a thick black cloud, tickling the back of Mack’s throat.
He pushed through the throngs of people clogging the street, keeping one eye on Winnie. She stayed with him, dogging his heels. He briefly worried whether the chaos would be too much for her, but she studied the scene with curiosity and concern. Somehow he wasn’t surprised she could keep a cool head.
“Captain Mulligan,” he called when he reached the barricade. The assistant chief of the fire department raised a hand in acknowledgement and made his way over to them.
“I wondered if I’d see you here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Everyone get out in time?”
“They did, or I would not be standing here so calmly.”
“I won’t keep you long. What can you tell me?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Many of my men are still in there, but this gentleman here is the foreman.” Captain Mulligan gestured to a nearby man with sallow skin and unkempt hair, his trousers stained and hat missing. “Maybe he can give you a comment. Mr. Ralph Jenkins, Mack Donnelly is the assistant editor and reporter atThe Puget Sound Post.”
Flames burst through the fourth story windows, shattering glass and wrenching screams from the crowd.
“Mr. Donnelly, I’ll find you later,” Captain Mulligan tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared into the fray.
Mack didn’t miss the instant of panic that crossed the foreman’s angular face, and he pounced.
“Mr. Jenkins, the building completed construction last year. Can you confirm everything is up to code?”
