URGENT: Dirt needed on our common foe.
The word dirt stuck in his craw. Wingate had officially crossed the line from gathering discreet, legal intelligence to demanding something darker. What kind of dirt? A mistress tucked away? A pistol-waving pet monkey in his attic? Whatever it was, subtlety was gone. But nothing riled him up more than admitting he’d been so eager for Wingate’s favor that he’d already gone after an innocent man.
He shoved the note aside and bent over the plat map of the wharves again. His pencil marks charted changes over the past year, tracing Gunn’s buying pattern. The truth was plain enough: Harvey Gunn was ruthless, yes, but lawful.
The Scotsman always started with some overlooked, shabby lot already cut off from prime water access or crippled by disrepair. That was his wedge. From there, he bought the neighbor. Then the neighbor’s neighbor. Piece by piece, he strangled the lone holdout in the middle. What was interesting was that the technique never varied. It was almost as if Gunn wanted his prey to know he was coming. Once their trade dried up and repairs stalled, Gunn swooped in with a paltry offer. And inevitably, they took it.
It was a brilliant, if dishonorable, strategy that had garnered Gunn few friends. Emil doubted he cared. The only associate Emil could link him to was Hire Kobayashi. They’d both appeared in Seattle about the same time five years ago, but beyond that, the nature of their relationship remained a mystery.
Still, Gunn’s method was the perfect way to gut an enemy. Especially one who held just as much land. Emil ran a finger down his notes, nodding. Gunn was moving in on Wingate. Two properties had already fallen in the last year, and a third was under siege. No wonder Wingate was panicked.
What had the old man done to draw Gunn’s ire? The two couldn’t be more different. Wingate embodied respectability: his wealth came from a long line of ambitious forefathers, his public image was untarnished, and he was welcome at the most important tables. Gunn was new money: a disruptor who refused to follow the unspoken rules, a recent arrival who made others so uneasy that he’d sequestered himself in his mansion in Queen Anne. But those differences couldn’t be enough to cause a standoff.
So, what else had Wingate exaggerated or lied about outright? Olive’s note that morning—he must commend her timing—had brought attention to the man’s presence at the auto procession. Welcoming an anti-suffrage preacher to town wouldn’t impress his fiancée, nor endear him to reformers. But as Emil had learned in the past year, there were plenty of powerful men who viewed the movement as a threat. So was he friend or foe?
It was time to take a closer look at his employer. He already had half the paperwork. He’d comb through it again, backward this time. Shake out a new clue. Peel back the layers until he figured out why Wingate and Gunn were at each other’s throats. Above all, he would find a way to keep Olive safe from all of it.
Rubbing his hands together, he bent back over the map.
Chapter 17
Olive scanned Emil’s latest note one more time, assured herself she was making the right decision, and knocked on the door to the floating house. It was easier than the first time she’d visited. The day was warmer, the wind less biting, and the man inside far less intimidating. Oh, some days he was still too good-looking and self-absorbed for her tastes, but he'd proven he wasn't all flash. A caring, patient man was hiding beneath the swagger.
And for whatever reason, he liked her.
She’d spent the three days since the accident analyzing their every interaction. Somehow, during their game of cat and mouse, they’d become friends. More than friends, really, but she didn’t have the experience or the courage to put a name to it. Besides, wasn’t that why she was there? To see what else they could be?
She hesitated, then knocked again. She was early. Emil wouldn’t know her last lesson had been cut short. Was she being a bother? She glanced around the quiet boardwalk, biting her lip, her confidence rapidly fraying. No. She wouldn’t leave. He’d invited her. She had every right to be there. She would simply wait outside until he showed up at the appointed time. Although…hadn’t she once glimpsed a couple of chairs on the front deck through the boxy bay window?
Before she could change her mind, she rounded the corner of the house and strode down the narrow perimeter deck. Trailing her good hand on the wooden railing, she peered into the shallow water and admired the abundance of ferns and trees. It would be beautiful here in summer—not that she would be there to see it, of course, but still. It wasn’t hard to imagine sun-soaked days, carefree splashing, and lazy naps. She sighed and shook her head. It would be foolish to get ahead of herself. To believe that life could be for her. She would focus on the here and now, where she stood a chance to experience something she never had before.
Then, on the far side of the house, she heard a faint, rhythmic plunk, like something dipping into the water. She rounded the corner to the front deck and came to a halt.
Out in the lake, Emil sat low in a long, narrow boat, rowing toward her in steady, powerful strokes. His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to the hard lines of his shoulders and arms. She stared, dry-mouthed, as the sleek boat glided alongside the dock with one final pull. He tossed the oars aside and hopped onto the deck with a fluid, practiced grace. Then he reached up, his muscles bunching and shifting, to run a hand through his glistening black hair. Her palms began to sweat, her mouth went dry, and desire pooled between her thighs.
She wanted him. She wanted him badly.
“Hi,” she croaked.
He yelped, then whirled to stare at her in astonishment. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.”
“Thought I’d turn the tables.”
His mouth twisted into that lovely lopsided grin, and they stood for an interminable amount of time, smiling at each other like simpletons.
“I thought?—”
“I’m early?—”
They both stopped, then laughed.
“You first,” he said.
“I’m early.” She lifted one shoulder. “That’s it. Now you.”
“I thought I had time for a quick row.” His smile turned wolfish. “Wanted to work off a bit of excess energy before you arrived.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
