A Love Surrendered

  Steven glanced at the clock on the wall, aware Lee Raby would be rounding them up before long. He inked more specifics onto his report. “Saturday night when I drove her home.”

  Joe’s jaw dropped. “Hey, you told me you were spending time with Gabe.”

  “I did, Joe, honest, but she was there too—at my house.” Steven tunneled through his hair, cheeks warming at how adamantly he’d denied his interest in Annie. He’d given Joe his word there was nothing between them nor ever would be. But somehow that kiss they’d shared when he’d driven her home had him tossing and turning all night long and befuddled all the next day. Thoughts of her had been relentless—laughing in his kitchen, sitting at his table, mixing with his family—haunting him every waking hour until he finally realized that, seventeen or no, he wanted to see Annie Martin again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. No, make that Kennedy. He glanced up at Joe and gave him a sheepish smile. “Turns out she’s cozy with her catechism teacher, who just happens to be my sister, which she claims she didn’t know.”

  Joe blinked, mouth in a sag. “Well, who the devil is she? Steven, you’re killing me here!”

  Steven tossed the pen on the desk and leaned back. “You’re not gonna believe it.”

  “Try me.” Chin raised, Joe dared him with a curious smile.

  Exhaling loudly, Steven peered up, a slow grin traveling his lips. “Annie Martin.”

  It was a contest as to which faded first—Joe’s color or his smile. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  A frown ridged Steven’s brow. “Come on, Joe, I know I said I had no intention of fooling with the kid, and I meant it at the time, I swear.” The seeds of a headache pulsed in his temple and he kneaded it with his fingers. “But she spent the evening with my family and we laughed and had a good time and I took her home and . . .” He swallowed hard, realizing how fickle he must sound, bent on avoiding the kid one minute, dating her the next. Heat climbed his neck. “The truth is . . . I kissed her, and now I can’t get her out of my mind.”

  “No?” Joe said with a sharp hike of his brow. “Well, I can.”

  Steven’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His headache began to throb. “You said it yourself—the kid would be good for me.”

  “That was before I knew who she was.”

  “What are you talking about, Walsh?” Annoyance threaded his tone as he leaned in, forearms flat on the desk. “You got something to say?”

  Joe studied him for several seconds before he answered, a wariness in his eyes. “Yeah, Steven, I do, and I can tell you right now—you’re not going to like it.”

  “O’Connor, Walsh, Luepke, Hanson, and Lewellen.” Raby inclined his head to the door. “On the dock, five minutes.”

  Steven glanced up, every muscle in his body as stiff as the nod he gave Raby. He stood to his feet, double-checked his Smith & Wesson Model 10, and slipped it back into his shoulder holster before grilling Joe with a glare. “You better spit it out, Joe, or so help me . . .”

  “Her name’s not Martin, it’s Kennedy.”

  “Yeah? Well, she already told me that, so what?” Steven snatched his time sheet.

  The hesitation in Joe’s manner prickled the back of Steven’s neck before his partner finally exhaled and stood to his feet, eyes locked with his in a show of sympathy. “So she’s Maggie’s little sister, Steven—Susannah Grace Kennedy.”

  Steven blinked, body numb as if Joe had just cold-cocked him with his own Smith & Wesson. Gracie Sue . . . He swallowed hard, struggling for air, but all he could muster were shallow breaths through a throat as dry as the paper in his hand. “How do you know?” he said, his voice a croak as his gaze dropped and drifted into a vacant stare.

  “Peggy let it slip last week at the Pier while she and I were dancing. Joanie gave her too much giggle water and the kid got plastered, tongue as loose as a hooker on Ann Street.” He sighed. “Begged me not to tell anybody, so I promised I wouldn’t, but your interest in Annie changes everything. I figured you had a right to know.”

  Dazed, Steven nodded. He pushed in his chair. “We better go. Raby’ll have our hides.”

  Joe scrawled his name at the top of his time sheet and nabbed it before following Steven to the door. “What are you going to do?” he asked quietly, his concern clear in his tone.

  “Nothing.” Steven tossed his time sheet into the bin and stopped to pop his head into Hackett’s office. “Boss, I’m in for both Friday and Saturday nights.”

  Hackett looked up from his paperwork, a half smile, half scowl on his face. “I knew I could count on you, O’Connor, but honestly, don’t you have a life?”

  Heat crawled up Steven’s neck. He gave the director a thin smile. “Apparently not, sir.” Ducking out, he shoved through the double doors, striding for the back exit, eyes straight ahead.

  “Steven, wait—” Tossing his sheet in the basket, Joe hustled after him, slowing his pace with a hand to his arm. “So, you gonna start seeing her anyway?”

  A nerve pulsed in Steven’s jaw, a nice complement to the throbbing pain in his head. “Nope.” He slammed through a door on the way to the dock, cracking it against the wall.

  “Look, Steven, she’s a nice kid. Maybe she didn’t know about you and Maggie.”

  “She knew.” He fairly spit it out, jaw compressed at the memory of her words in the car. “There’s something I need to tell you, but I’m not quite ready.” Fisting the knob of the steel door to the dock, Steven hurled it open, and a blast of summer heat slammed him in the face, as hard and hot as the temper boiling inside.

  “Steven, I’m sorry.”

  Striding to where the other agents waited, Steven was in the perfect mood for a raid, itching to take somebody down. “Yeah, Joe,” he said, lips pinched in a thin line. “Me too.”

  “Come on, Annie Lou, it’s your birthday—live a little!” Peggy ducked to peer into Annie’s vanity mirror, a plea in her tone and eyebrow pencil in hand. “Just a little makeup, please?” Her lower lip bulged in a pout, and Annie laughed.

  “You are nothing but a little girl, Peggy Pankow, you know that?” Annie shook her head. “One who never got over playing with dolls.”

  Two pencil-drawn brows did a Groucho Marx as Peggy gave her an imp of a smile. “Especially the male kind,” she said, tilting copper curls against Annie’s shoulder-length waves. “Come on, Annie, please? You’re just so much fun to doll up with those big green eyes and that strawberry-blonde hair. Besides, you’re finally eighteen—don’t you want to look it for once?”

  The satin bodice of the lavender dress Peggy talked her into shimmered when Annie huffed out a sigh. “Oh, all right. But just this once because dressing like this makes me feel so . . . so . . .” She squinted in the mirror, not completely comfortable with the seductive sway of blonde hair over one eye that Peggy had fixed in the latest Garbo style.

  “Wicked?” A blue eyelid winked as Peggy bumped a hip to Annie’s. “Move over.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Annie faced her friend with eyes closed so shadow could be applied. “And a little dangerous too, if you know what I mean.” She drew in an uneasy breath, not completely comfortable going to dinner with the gang. She sighed, grateful she’d drawn the line at going to the Pier after, especially the way she looked tonight. “A little too much like a woman,” she muttered. “The kind who gives men the wrong idea.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean, but it’s okay to give men the wrong idea just once, as long as you don’t give ’em anything else.” Peg bent to line Annie’s shadowed lids, then applied the finishing touch with Pink Passion lipstick. She straightened. “Perfect!”

  Annie looked in the mirror, and a soft rush of rose added to the dusting of rouge Peggy applied over ivory powder that diminished all freckles. Her green eyes went wide. “Mercy me, how can a little shadow, powder, and liner make such a difference?”

  “You’re just a natural, Annie Lou, one of those faces that can go either way.” She shook her head,
assessing the finished product. “From innocent to vamp in the snap of a finger.”

  Annie sighed. “Not if ‘vamp’ isn’t what I want. A touch of lipstick suits me just fine.”

  “Oh pooh, you’re just not used to dolling up in small-town Iowa, but you’re a city girl now. You have to look the part, at least on your birthday.” She reached in her purse for something that put a devious smile on her lips. “And look what I have,” she said in a sing-song voice, waving a long tube in the air. “The latest movie star craze—Max Factor’s X-Rated Lip Gloss, guaranteed kissable lips the next time you tangle with the law . . .”

  Annie’s rouge had nothing on the blood in her cheeks. “Peggy Pankow—stop! I have no intention of ‘tangling’ with the law, kissable lips or no.”

  Glossing her own lips and then Annie’s, Peggy gave her a wink. “Yeah, and if Steven O’Connor tries to kiss you again, you’re going to shoo him away, right?”

  Annie stared in the mirror at lips that were shiny and wet—lips caressed by Steven O’Connor, not once but twice. She blinked, fully aware that she wanted him to do it again . . .

  “I thought so,” Peggy said with a smirk, tossing her makeup into her purse. “Face it, Annie, good girl or no, you’re a goner when it comes to Steven O’Connor, and I’m pretttttty certain if he wanted a taste of your lip gloss, you’re not going to tell him no.” She hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and go with us to the Pier after dinner? Because you-know-who might be there . . .”

  Chin firm, Annie tucked her clutch under her arm on her way to the door. “Nope, I already told you, Peg, I’m steering clear of the Pier.” She glanced at her watch. “We better run.”

  Skittering down the staircase with Peg on her heels, Annie hurried to the library to tell her aunt and sister goodbye. She smiled at the sight of Aunt Eleanor on the floor with Glory, playing Old Maid. Nose in the air, she sashayed in and took a spin. “So . . . how do I look?”

  “Holy-moly, Annie, you look like a movie star!” Glory’s blue eyes bugged wide, her rosebud lips curling into a grin. “Boys are gonna think you’re gorgeous!”

  Annie chewed the edge of her lip when her eyes lighted on her aunt’s shocked face. “What do you think, Aunt Eleanor?” she asked shyly, pushing the hair from her eyes as she peeked at her aunt through lashes thick with Peggy’s mascara. She fingered one of the loose curls grazing her shoulders, giving it a nervous tug. “Is it too much?”

  Rising to her feet, Aunt Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, a sheen of tears glazed her eyes while shaky fingers fluttered to her throat.

  “Aunt Eleanor?” Annie took a step forward, placing a hand to her aunt’s arm.

  With a short shake of her head, her aunt clutched Annie’s hand, finally giving it a maternal pat. “Forgive me, dear,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she awkwardly swiped at her eyes, “but I don’t think I ever fully realized how much you look like my sister . . .”

  Annie’s throat constricted, and with a short little heave, she gave her a tight hug. “Oh, Aunt Eleanor, you couldn’t have given a finer compliment. I adored my mother.”

  A pitiful sob choked into a chuckle as Aunt Eleanor gripped her niece tightly, her blonde hair tucked against Annie’s. “I did too, Annie,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know how much until you girls came.” Giving her a final squeeze, she pulled away, hands braced to Annie’s arms as she studied her face. “It’s more makeup than I like you to wear and certainly more than you need, but you do look beautiful.” With a hike of her chin, she brushed the tears from her eyes and dipped in her pocket for a wad of bills she pressed into Annie’s palm, gently fisting it closed. “This is to celebrate your birthday with your friends.” She kissed Annie’s cheek. “Happy birthday, dear—I’m so very grateful you were born.”

  “Oh, Aunt Eleanor.” Annie embraced her again, hardly believing this was the woman she disdained not six months ago. She slipped the money in her purse. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “You look very pretty too, Peggy,” Aunt Eleanor said, noting Peggy hovering at the door.

  “Thank you, Miss Martin. We’re taking Annie to Lorenzo’s in the Italian Quarter.”

  Aunt Eleanor nodded. “The North End’s not too far, but I don’t believe I’ve heard of Lorenzo’s. Do you need Frailey to give you a ride?”

  “It’s new,” Peggy said with a smile, “or at least that’s what my sister says. It was her idea. And thanks for the offer of a ride, but we’ll walk, then my sister’s friend will bring us home.”

  “Have a good time, then, but not too late, Annie, all right?” Aunt Eleanor released a sigh, eyeing Glory on the floor. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable at the table, dear?”

  Annie bussed Glory’s cheek. “Let’s try the table,” Annie whispered. “Shall we?”

  “Okay, but you’ll kiss me when you come home, right? Even if I’m asleep?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Annie blew a kiss on her way out the door. “Good night, all.”

  Strolling down the sidewalk with Peggy, she breathed in the heady scent of honeysuckle as excitement bubbled in her veins. “Oh, what a beautiful night—balmy temperatures, the scent of flowers, and Italian food.” Annie sighed, quite certain this was the perfect night for a birthday dinner. “And as if that isn’t enough, I’m finally eighteen.” She giggled, hurrying past the tiny city park outside Louisburg Square where jazz floated in the air from a concert on the lawn. “I’ll tell you what, Peg, it doesn’t get much better than this.”

  “Sure it does, Annie Lou,” Peggy said with a mischievous gleam. “Who knows, if you go to the Pier tonight, you may just meet some tall-dark-and-handsome with a gun and a badge.”

  Annie paused at the red light, almost tempted. A group of boys on bicycles flew past on the street, earning honks from passing cars while little girls played hopscotch on the sidewalk. She sighed. “Sorry, Peg—can’t. Even if I wanted to, I can’t lie to Aunt Eleanor. Besides, I already told Steven I wasn’t going to the Pier anymore, and if he saw me there . . .”

  The light changed, and Peggy tugged her across. “He might be glad, you know, especially after that kiss last week when he drove you home. Sounds like he’s warming up to you.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” she said softly, praying she’d run into Steven at his house next time she was there. The thought put an extra bounce in her step.

  When they arrived, Peggy opened the door of a charming brick building on Hanover Street, and the spicy smell of basil and oregano merged with exhaust fumes from the street and the tang of sea air just a few blocks away. Lush flower boxes of red and white petunias flanked either side of the red, white, and green striped awning where two old-fashioned streetlamps lent a cozy glow. “See? Isn’t this nice? Aren’t you glad I talked you into dinner with the gang?”

  “I suppose,” Annie said, still gun-shy about spending time with Joanie and her friends. Inside, the aroma of Italian spices rumbled Annie’s stomach as she blinked to adjust to the dim atmosphere where candles flickered in wine bottles on white-linen tables. Waiters in ties and white aprons bustled through a maze of crowded diners like bees in a hive, delivering platters of food that watered Annie’s mouth. The room was filled with smoke and people, laughing and dining to the lively tune of a string quartet. Following on Peggy’s heels, Annie scanned the restaurant for any sign of her sister and friends. “I don’t see them,” she said with a squint, “so maybe we better put our name in for a table.”

  “Nope.” Peggy grabbed Annie’s hand to lead her toward the back of the restaurant to a long hall with a rear door. “They reserved a table downstairs, Annie, in honor of your birthday.”

  “But this is so nice up here . . .” She shot a look of longing as Peggy dragged her through the cozy restaurant where waiters hurried by with sizzling steaks and steaming bowls of pasta.

  “Yeah, but downstairs is extra special.” She eased the doo
r open and led Annie down creaky stairs to another ornate wooden door with a small leaded-glass window. The walls pulsed with the sound of jazz, and Annie’s heart thudded when Peggy knocked on the door. The little window wheeled open with a gravelly voice that gave Annie the shivers. “Password?”

  “Al Jolson,” Peggy whispered on tiptoe with a hand to her mouth.

  The voice on the other side grunted and opened the door, ushering Annie into a world that effectively took her breath away. Eyes spanning wide, she was Alice in Wonderland, mouth ajar as she stumbled along behind Peggy, who wove through the crowd in search of her sister. A haze of smoke hung in the room so thick with people, she could only stare as they passed an endless burlwood bar where patrons perched on red leather stools. The room throbbed with life—Lindy Hoppers whirling and kicking on a circular dance floor in the center of a room while musicians gleamed with sweat, lost in the rhythm of jazz and swing.

  “Over there!” Peggy shouted over the noise. Annie followed, ignoring men’s glances and whistles as she wound her way through the mob to where Joanie waved from a booth at the back.

  “Happy birthday, kiddo—you look like a million bucks.” Joanie scooted over.

  “Yeah, kid, happy birthday.” Erica raised a toast with a glass of what looked like 7UP. “Here’s to the best birthday ever, and a night you’ll never forget.”

  “Here, here!” Ashley and Joanie clinked drinks on the table twice, then took a swig.

  Annie leaned close to Peg, panic in her tone. “Is this . . . a . . . ,” she gulped, “speakeasy?”

  “Yep, isn’t it the bee’s knees? Joanie’s been to lots of them, but this is my very first one.” She patted Annie’s hand. “Don’t worry, just get Dr Pepper like you always do, okay?”

  Annie nodded dumbly. She sagged against the booth, a buzz in her brain without ever taking a drink. I am SO stupid!

  “So, what’ll it be?” Erica said with a smile. “Joanie, Ashley, and I are buying your first drink—Annie’s for her birthday and Peg’s, just because.”