Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
EVELYN
Iwake to the rhythmic sway of the train and the morning sun creeping into the sleeper car. For a moment, I don’t remember where I am.
Then the day before comes back to me.
I’m not Evelyn Whitmore anymore.
I’m Evie Taylor.
A runaway bride sharing a sleeper compartment with a bootlegger I find too interesting.
Jake isn’t in the room when I climb down from the upper berth, which gives me a moment to collect myself. I straighten Margaret’s coat, my only clothing.
I pull my compact from my purse to glance at my reflection in the small mirror. My hastily hacked bob looks less disastrous in the morning light. My lipstick has faded, but there’s something new in my eyes. Steel, perhaps. Madness more likely.
The bathroom door opens and Jake strolls in, shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck and a toothbrush tucked behind one ear like a pencil.
“Morning, wife.”
I scowl, though it comes out more smile than sneer. “You’re indecent.”
“Don’t pretend it bothers you.”
It does. Very much. I won’t admit it.
He grabs a shirt from his case and mercifully or disappointedly, I can’t decide which, he slips it on.
He reaches under the berth again, and when he rises, he has a brown paper parcel tied with string.
“For you.” He tosses the package to me. “Lang tracked down something you can wear over that slip of yours.”
My fingers fumble with the string. Inside, I find a simple cotton day dress in a soft blue, a pair of underthings, and—bless Lang’s soul—a fresh pair of stockings and a garter.
“I…” Emotion tightens in my chest unexpectedly as I realize Jake had to have asked Lang for these yesterday. The man finds me a nuisance but thought of me enough to ask Lang to find me clothes. “Thank you.”
Jake shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Figured it’s hard to disappear when you look like you fell out of a wedding cake.”
I laugh, and the tension I’ve been feeling loosens. Nothing has changed. I’m still on the run from my family and have no prospects in San Francisco. Yet, with Jake, I can’t help but feel everything will turn out alright.
I slip past him into the bathroom. I wash up and then dress, sighing at the feel of clean clothes. I comb my hair and glide on lipstick. I study myself and for the first time in a long time I don’t see the woman my family has worked so hard to mold me into. I see…Evie.
I step out from the bathroom. Jake is sitting on the bottom berth, his gaze out the window. He turns his attention to me as I enter the room, eyes dragging over me with a look that sends heat skittering up my spine.
“You clean up nice,” he says, voice low.
“So do you, when you remember your shirt.”
He flashes a grin. “Hungry? I picked up some grub when I went out for a smoke.”
Why does the idea that he’s left the room to smoke because I don’t like it make me feel all soft inside?
“I could eat.”
“I hope you don’t mind it’s sandwiches again. I’m sure there are eggs benedict or something—”
“Sandwiches are fine.”
After we eat, I’m not sure what to do with myself. What does one do on a train all day to entertain themselves?
“Do you play cards? Or is that too gauche?” Jake pulls the deck from his coat pocket with a smirk.
“I’ll have you know that I’m an expert at Gin Poker.”
“Is that so?” He fans the cards between his fingers like he’s the dealer in a speakeasy.
“My uncle Leo from New York taught me. He’s the black sheep of the family.”
Jake arches a brow. “He’s your favorite relative, isn’t he?”
“Maybe,” I say coyly.
He laughs, low and knowing. “Face it, Evie, you’re a regular hellion in pearls.”
Evelyn Whitmore would be offended by that comment. Evie Taylor wears it proudly.
He deals ten cards to each of us. “Ready to lose, Mrs. Taylor?”
“Hardly.”
We play cards, bantering as the world passes by outside.
“Gin.” I lay down my hand with two melds of the same card, and one four-card run.
“You’re cheating,” he accuses pointing a dramatic finger at me.
I clutch my pearls, figuratively, of course. “How dare you. I’d never.”
“You blink twice every time you draw a good hand.”
“You’re making that up.”
“You also smile like a Cheshire Cat.”
I smirk. “And you’re pouting like a man who’s been beaten at his own game.”
He slumps in his seat with theatrical misery. “I demand a rematch.”
“It’s your money…we are playing for money, right?”
He eyes me from beneath lowered lashes. “You’re ruthless.”
I shrug.
“Maybe I let you win,” he says, shuffling the cards.
I raise an eyebrow. “Liar. I told you, I’m an expert.”
His grin is lazy, wicked. “Prove it.”
“Already did.”
He laughs as he deals the cards again. “I’ve married a card shark.”
I try to laugh, surprised a how easy this is. My life is on the cusp of turmoil and yet, I don’t feel it. I’m relaxed. Being myself. And enjoying Jake’s company way more than I should.
“Double or nothing?” he asks.
“Absolutely. I need the money until I find a job.”
“If it doesn’t work out, you can be a card shark.”
I smile. “I think you’re right. Gin.” I lay down my hand.
The day passes quickly. As the sun sets, Jake rises and stretches. “I’m hungry. How about we eat in the dining car? You can pay since I have no money left.”
I hesitate. What if someone recognizes me?
He frowns. “Or I’ll pay—”
“It’s not that. You are broke now, after all,” I say trying to maintain the light atmosphere. “I just…what if someone sees me?”
“Lots of people will see you. They’ll see you as Evie Taylor.”
I’m not so sure.
“Hey, we fooled the feds. We’ll fool the others. No sweat.” He smiles, and that seals the deal. There’s a lure in his smile that ought to come with a warning.
“Alright.”
After freshening up, I stroll with him into the dining car. He’s taken my hand like we’ve held hands a million times before.
The ma?tre d’ gestures us to a table covered with white linen and a full set of utensils.
Jake pulls out my chair like a gentleman and I slide into it, trying to hide my nerves. This feels like a date, but I know it’s not. Jake isn’t courting me. We’re pretending to be married.
Jake makes some crack about our wedding night. I gasp, scandalized, and swat his arm. “You’re incorrigible.”
“How can I not be with a lush card shark for a wife?”
I smirk at him. “You should be so lucky.”
Then I see the man in the overcoat. Back of the car. Fedora low. One glance up, nothing more. But it feels deliberate. Like he’s watching.
I lean in, letting my fingers brush Jake’s across the table. My smile stays pinned in place. “I think I’m being watched.”
Jake’s eyes don’t shift. He doesn’t look back. Just takes a slow sip of his water like we’re discussing the weather.
“Are you enjoying your honeymoon, Mrs. Taylor?” he asks loudly enough for the back of the car to hear.
I smile wide hoping it doesn’t look like a grimace. “It’s everything I never imagined.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, gives it a kiss. Then he stands. “You’re too far away.” He moves around the table to sit next to me and only then does he glance at the man. He leans in next to me. “Not a Fed.” He kisses my cheek, and for a moment, my thoughts scatter. “But could be private.”
I clear my throat and turn my head to look at him. Big mistake. We’re nearly nose to nose.
Jake’s jaw flexes, and then he closes the gap between us.
His mouth claims mine. Solid. Thorough. I melt against him and his hand comes to the back of my neck, as if he wants to make sure I don’t break the kiss until he’s had his fill.
Little does he know, I don’t know that I’ll ever have my fill.
To be honest, I’d never thought much of kissing.
Charles’ kisses were pleasant enough but this…
Good heavens, this is nothing like I expected.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless. Dizzy. Drunk even though I haven’t had a drop of alcohol.
Jake’s eyes hold mine and there’s something in them that makes me pause. As if he’s confused.
I start to turn away.
“Don’t. He’s still watching,” Jake murmurs.
I stare at him, hoping I look like a besotted wife. “If he is following me, what do I do when I reach San Francisco?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“We’ll figure it out.”
We’ll? As in both of us?