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Chapter Six
It took Cole and seven detectives six months to find Kathryn and Jeremy. And by the time he did find her, he knew more about her life than he did about his own. It was amazing how many Irish people who were in the United States now had once worked for the O'Connors. And each person was willing to tell all that he knew—or thought he knew.
Cole found Jeremy first, and immediately, his stomach lurched, for the boy, already too thin, had lost weight. And the usually fastidious child was dirty, his clothes nearly worn through. The worst was that in his eyes was a look of hopelessness.
When Jeremy looked up from his shoeshine kit and saw Cole, he didn't say a word, but walked away from his rich customer and stared up at Cole, his eyes filled with questions. Cole opened his arms, and Jeremy fell into them, his body shaking from emotion. When Cole lifted the boy and carried him to the waiting carriage as though he were a baby, Jeremy didn't protest, but put his head against Cole's strong shoulder and buried his face, as though he no longer wanted to see what was around him.
Cole had rented a two-bedroom suite in San Francisco's finest hotel, so he took Jeremy there and ordered half the menu brought upstairs. As Jeremy sat at the table and ate as though he were starving, which he was, Cole said, "Where is she?"
"She won't
want to see you," Jeremy said, mouth full, his usually impeccable table manners forgotten. "She says you'll be killed if you take on my father."
Cole didn't allow the boy to see his wince at the thought of someone else being Jeremy's father. Instead, Cole stood by the door and looked at Jeremy.
The boy got the message, for a moment later he gave Cole the name and address of a soup kitchen. "She waits in line there for free soup. Wait!" he called when Cole bolted out of the room. "She's—" Breaking off, Jeremy looked down at his plate, his face red.
"I'll take her whatever she is," Cole said, not bothering to wait to hear if Jeremy had any more to say.
When Cole at last made his way through the back streets of San Francisco to the soup kitchen and scanned the long line of people, at first he didn't recognize Kathryn, for she was heavy with child. His child, he thought, as several emotions went through him at once. First there was anger that she'd not told him, then there was more anger because she had taken something away that belonged to him. But then Kathryn turned and saw him, and when he looked into her eyes he didn't seem to remember what he had ever been angry about.
For a moment all he could do was stand there, on the other side of the street from her, and grin. But when he saw her put her hand to her forehead and start to faint, he ran in front of carriages, freight wagons, and over pedestrians as he made his way to her.
He caught her before she hit the ground, swept her into his arms, then carried her to the carriage.
"I can't stay here," Kathryn was saying as Cole put more shampoo on her filthy hair. "And you have no right to do this. We have no right. We shouldn't—"
She broke off because Cole had dunked her head under water in the bathtub. Kathryn came up sputtering.
"If you're about to tell me that we're not married, and I have no right to strip your clothes off and bathe you, I think that belly of yours is evidence that I have every right."
"It's not your child," she said, chin up as he used a rough cloth to scrub her back. "I have been to bed with so many men that—Ow! That hurts."
"Oh?" he said. "Maybe if you stopped lying and—"
"What makes you think I'm lying? I had to support my son and myself so what better way than prostitution? Jeremy and I—"
He was now using the cloth to soap her face so she couldn't finish the sentence. "First of all," he said, "you would die before you sold your body."
"But I—"
"Second of all, you're so beautiful that if you went into prostitution, you wouldn't be in the starved condition you're in now."
"Oh?" Kathryn said, looking up at him. She should, of course, be too embarrassed to speak, since she was in a bathtub naked and he was washing her as though she were a child. But somehow being with Cole seemed almost natural.
"You have to listen to me," she said with urgency. "There are things going on that you don't know about. I am a hunted woman. There is a reward for me. I—"
"You ready to get out?" he asked, holding out a thick Turkish towel.
Kathryn grimaced. She had to get through to him, had to make him understand how dangerous being around her was. "Turn your head."
"Not on your life," he said without a smile, then when she didn't move, he said, "You can stay in there all night if you want, but when you do come out I'm going to be here holding the towel for you."
"You're a very stubborn man," she said, then, with her eyes on his, she stepped from the tub into the waiting towel.
"I'm trying to match you," he said as he wrapped the towel around her and began to dry her. Then he carried her into the bedroom and set her on the edge of the bed while he picked up a hairbrush from the dresser. "And just where do you think you're going?" he said when she started to rise.
