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  “Brought me some whisky as well,” Alton chimed in. “The good stuff, too. I like that boy. Yes, I like that boy a lot.”

  So do I. When she’d turned and saw Vincent there in the market, she’d nearly exploded with joy. For a hot second she actually thought she might faint like one of those silly women in the movies. Not that he ever needed to know about that.

  He’d brought flowers for her mother and whisky for her father. Hattie shook her head and smiled. “Did you tell him where to find me?” she asked her mother.

  “No.”

  Hattie lifted a brow.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Well, he found me. Thank you for that.”

  Branna sniffed again, then slipped on her reading glasses and reached for a book that she likely had no intention of reading.

  Hattie slipped out of the kitchen and into her room, closing the door behind her. As she removed her hat and ran fingers through the strands of hair that had been tangled by this brisk, early winter, she tried to put her giddy feelings of happiness aside and considered the proposition put before her.

  Hattie knew precisely three things about Betty Sharp from what Vincent had told her. One, she had been the wife of the air pincher she and Vincent had destroyed back in May. Two, the woman was a glass pincher, someone who could form glass into any shape according to her whim.

  And three, the woman was completely off her nut.

  What possible reason would Hattie have to help Vincent bring a pincher, even one as dangerous as Betty, unto the hands of his masters? Wasn’t that precisely what Sadie and the Charge were risking their lives every day to prevent? The question really became, was Betty a free pincher at all? Or was she so thoroughly engrained in the system that she could never live as a free person?

  If that was so, was it not also true of Vincent?

  Hattie changed into more comfortable clothes and lay on her bed to stare at the irregular cracks in the ceiling plaster. It was so good seeing Vincent again. It was like everything in the world was brighter, clearer when he was around. Three and a half months though…she shouldn’t be so quick to forgive him that.

  But she’d already forgiven him. They’d quickly fallen into that rapport they’d once had, slipped easily into the familiar teasing and flirting. He’d sought her out. He’d been jealous over DeBarre. He’d been worried about her side bootlegging. And he’d confided in her as he’d done before, sharing his hopes and fears, speaking with her as an equal, a trusted confidant.

  Seeing him…it was as if someone had poured champagne into her veins. And as angry and hurt as she’d been with him, she missed him far too much to hold back her forgiveness.

  She more than missed him.

  His letter had galled Hattie to the core. She’d been enraged. Then she’d been worried. But by wintertime, the letter she carried in her pocket only made her feel sad. Now he strolled right back into her life with that cocky grin and a tip of his hat, and she was supposed to forget it all happened? She should be spitting nails.

  Instead, she was ecstatic.

  It didn’t take until the next morning for Hattie to make her decision, but she slept on it anyway.

  * * *

  The address Vincent had given her led to Federal Hill, a neighborhood in the city just south of the harbor, near a fragrant cigar and tobacco factory. Several gentlemen in black coats passed her by without making eye contact. At last, she found the building Vincent called home. Rather than a single residence, she found the bottom floor to be a sort of sublet. A woman with white hair indicated she should try the second floor for “that quiet young man”.

  After a flight of stairs, Hattie drew up to the only door in the hall and knocked.

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard something crash inside, followed by a sharp profanity. Hattie cocked her head to take in the muffled noises behind the door, slapping a hand over her grin as she imagined a comedy of errors that could never be as amusing in real life as they were inside her head.

  Finally, the door opened to reveal Vincent, breathless from his exertions. He wore a simple white shirt open at the neck and wool trousers held high with dark leather suspenders. No jacket. No hat. His broad chest led down to a slender waist she never really had the opportunity to see before, buried beneath layers of vests and jackets as it had always been. His black hair fell to the side in a boyish, freshly-washed disregard. There wasn’t the slightest hint of a whisker on his jawline.

  Vincent cleared his throat twice, then held the door open. “You’re…here.”

  “What, you thought I’d miss the fun?” She stepped through the doorway and into the unexpectedly Spartan abode of Vincent Calendo. The main room held a couch at the right-hand wall as well as a table with two chairs closer to the door. Visible through an open doorway and a wide pass-through was a small galley kitchen. Opposite her, she could see into a bedroom with piles of clothing, sheets and towels hurriedly tossed on top of a dark colored comforter. To the left was a door to a closet of a bathroom, and beside that a short bookcase stuffed full of books.

  Hattie drew a long breath as she realized that this meant something. Her being here was just as much of a marker of their relationship as anything Vincent had ever said to her. He was letting her see the real him, the man he was underneath the gangster, underneath the time pincher.

  She took a few steps into the room, then paused, turning toward Vincent, whom she saw standing with an arm outstretched. At last, she realized he was asking for her coat.

  “Oh,” She shrugged out of the heavy coat and watched him hang it carefully on a hook by the door. It seemed an oddly formal gesture, and she found herself standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, suddenly unsure of herself.

  He snatched a mug from the tabletop. “Do you…would you like some coffee?”

  “Thank you, no.” She fidgeted a bit, picking at the hem of her shirt with her fingers.

  He nodded a few times. “You’ve thought it over then?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He took a long sip of coffee, eyeing her over the rim.

  Hattie took a breath. What was this? Should she say something? Do something? Why was he taking so long to respond?

  “Thanks, Hattie,” he said once he’d finished his sip. “I can’t do this without you.”

  A rush flooded her chest, but she tamped it down with the realization of the enormity of the task before them. “Well, we have a good full day ahead of us, if you want to push on. I sent a message to Raymond, hoping you’d be willing to head out early.”

  “I am.”

  She motioned to his shirt and pants. “Are you ready for a day on the water then? You’re not exactly dressed for travel.”

  He ran a hand distractedly over his shirt. “Well, I’m not wearing my best, but I think I can manage to be quick about it.”

  She took a seat at his table as he wandered into the bedroom, pulling a necktie from the top of a dresser. As he popped his collar up, he walked out of the bedroom and began weaving the length of silk around his neck. Hattie found herself leaning forward as she watched. She caught a glimpse of his face as he looked into the mirror to tie his necktie, steadfast and forward, driven in its focus.

  Vincent spied her as he cinched the knot and pulled his collar down. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You, uh…sure you don’t want some coffee?”

  She sucked in a quick breath, taken with the intimacy of watching a man finish dressing, then replied, “No. Just… We have a long day.”

  He shrugged into a vest then the leather holster that held his gun, then pulled a jacket from his closet. Hattie sat fingering the edge of the table as he buttoned the last button. Then she glanced down at his feet.

  “You’re not going out on the Bay in those shoes, are you?”

  He looked down at the footwear. “You’re not expecting me to wear fisherman’s waders with this suit, are
you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve come to terms with you wearing a fancy suit whether you’re joining the Pope for dinner or digging up carrots in a field, but those shoes look like they cost more than a month’s rent. And remember what happened last time?”

  He set his jaw. “I like these shoes. Unless there’s three feet of snow outside that door, I’m not wearing boots.”

  She shrugged. “Could be three feet of mud outside the boat, boy-o. You might want to reconsider your footwear choice is all I’m sayin’.”

  His eyes met hers, steady and determined as he reached for a hat. “So, is Raymond on board, or are we gonna have to talk him into it?”

  Hattie hid a smile and stood up, pushing the chair beneath the table, amused at this side of Vincent. “We’ll see how it goes with Raymond when we get there. I’m hoping to talk him into staying behind. No sense in risking his neck on this, but it’s his boat. Can’t exactly take it without his permission.”

  “I hope it doesn’t take long. Think we can trim that to five minutes?”

  “Depends on how you carry yourself, boy-o.”

  Once Vincent had gathered his coat and helped Hattie with hers, they descended to the street and made their way to the car. He paused as he held the passenger door open for Hattie.

  “Where do we begin?”

  “Winnow’s Slip, of course.”

  “Not Curtis Creek?”

  Hattie smiled. “You’re a sharp one. No, the boat’s stored at Winnow’s because of the warehouse space for offloading. Plus it isn’t wise bringing product in right next to Raymond’s home.”

  He nodded and closed the door behind her. She settled as he rounded the vehicle, ruminating on his force of memory. Precious little escaped that man’s notice. She’d have to remember that.

  They drove south of Baltimore, edging along unpaved roads that snaked alongside the fingers of the Patapsco River as it spilled onward toward the Chesapeake. The tattered clapboard warehouses of Winnow’s Slip still sported caps of snow on their weathered roof planks. The slow swell of water ambled past the piers, unimpaired by ice. Vincent parked the car and wound around to open Hattie’s door. She beat him to the punch, stepping out onto the slush of the parking pad. Hattie marched with intent through the dirty mush as Vincent took delicate steps behind her. She glanced at him, biting back another grin at his shoes. Fine leather things, they were. Nothing like her work boots. Silly man.

  The enormous figure of Raymond Bowles straightened before them as he tossed an armful of line onto the deck of his boat. He stretched his back with a yawning groan before his eyes met Hattie’s.

  “Top of the morning, Raymond,” she chimed.

  He smiled as she wrapped an arm around his waist. That smile vanished when he caught a glimpse of Vincent.

  “Well, now…what the hell is he doin’ here?” Raymond grumbled.

  “Oh, he’s the surprise I messaged you about.”

  Raymond squinted at Vincent, his lip curling in displeasure. “I thought maybe Lizzie was sendin’ us to Naptown or somethin’. Figured we’d be home by lunch.”

  “No,” Hattie declared. “We’ll be lucky to be home for supper. We’re heading south into Richmond. Let me take the boat out this time. You go home and stay with your family. No sense in you risking your neck when there’s no product to move.”

  “I’m not letting you go out alone with that gangster,” Raymond said, stepping around Hattie to bar Vincent’s approach.

  Vincent lifted his chin, and with an even, charming tone replied, “I promise you that I’ll be a complete gentleman.”

  Raymond’s eyes narrowed. “This ain’t fittin’. And gentleman or no, trouble follows you like a storm cloud. Don’t want to see you dragging Hattie into any of it.”

  “Too late,” she chuckled. “Come with us, or stay snug and home and let me borrow the boat. Your choice.”

  “What’re you up to, girl?” Raymond frowned at her. “Ain’t he caused enough trouble for you?”

  “Apparently not,” she replied. “There’s no payday today. No hooch, no resales. I’m helping a friend as a favor here.”

  “Well,” Raymond muttered, “he ain’t no friend of mine. And if there’s no payday in it, how’r you supposed to fuel her up?”

  Vincent fished a fin from his pocket. “I’m more than happy to front expenses.”

  Raymond growled as he shook his head. “Damn him, and damn you for putting yourself in this mess again, Hattie Malloy.”

  Hattie patted the front of Raymond’s overalls. “You know I can manage the boat.”

  “Oh, I know you can handle her. Just don’t feel right leavin’ you alone with the likes of him.”

  She gestured for Raymond to crouch low enough for a private whisper. “I trust him. That man put himself in a bad place to save my life, and the lives of my parents. And in a manner, he saved you, too. But I’m not asking for you to wax all friendly, so just head on back to your baby boy. I’ll bring the boat back safe and sound and full of fuel. I can keep him at arm’s length.” Hattie wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Unless I don’t want him at arm’s length, that is.”

  The hulking figure bowed up a second, then released a loud, thunderous laugh.

  Hattie turned to find Vincent’s brows tied into a knot of confusion.

  “You sure?” Raymond asked, catching his breath.

  She replied making full eye contact with Vincent, “Oh, if he touches anything I don’t want him to touch, he’ll be swimming back to Baltimore.”

  Raymond nodded, and gave Hattie a firm hug. He then marched off up the pier, passing Vincent without looking at him.

  Hattie had the boat ready for travel in ten minutes. Vincent climbed aboard and settled behind the helm next to her.

  The sun was shrouded by heavy clouds. The wind whipping off the water sliced through the warmth of Hattie’s coat, but she was used to these dead-of-winter runs. Vincent, on the other hand, hugged himself in misery beside her.

  “Go stand next to the engine house,” she told him. “It’s warmer and blocks the wind.”

  Vincent nodded, but didn’t move. Seemed he’d rather eschew a little comfort in the name of being manly. Hattie shook her head and gave the throttle a little goose. Shaving off minutes would be desirable for several reasons. Getting back to land meant less time both of them would spend shivering on the Bay. But there was also an extra stop she wanted to fit in.

  Hattie began humming a tune as the waves lapped the side of the boat. The engine drowned out most of the sound, but Vincent seemed to hear enough.

  “What’s that?” he asked, still huddled up.

  “Nothing.” She added after a moment, “When it’s Raymond and me out here, we like to sing to spend the hours.”

  “Right. I remember you being a real songbird back at the Fontainebleau. Well…don’t let me stop you.”

  “You going to join along, then?”

  He scowled. “No one wants to hear me sing. Just…just trust me on that.”

  She snickered, then resumed her song. “Wither sailed those ships all three, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day…”

  Vincent watched her as she sang, his eyes looking beyond her, turning inward to some dark memory that latched a hold of his attention and pulled him away.

  “Oh they sailed into Bethlehem, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day. They sailed into Bethlehem, On Christmas Day in the morning…” She cocked her head at Vincent. “Eh. Where’d you go?”

  He shook his head. “Not much on Christmas songs, is all.”

  She winced, remembering he probably had a good reason not to enjoy the season. Not wanting to rub salt in the wound, she kept quiet, letting the sound of the engine fill the silence.

  “Tell me your favorite Christmas memory.” He turned to face her, his expression tentative, as if he were steeling himself to touch a hot stove.

  Hattie took a breath and thought. “I usually got clothing or shoes or a coat for Christmas. Ma’s handy with a ne
edle, so she’d take the used dresses we could afford and fix them up to fit me, sewing on some ribbon or fancy trim to make them special. One year I desperately needed a coat, so I was pretty sure that was what I was going to get. It was the most beautiful coat I’d ever seen. Ma said they’d picked it up a few months early and it was in good condition except for all these stains on the wool. After I would go to bed, she’d stay up long into the night embroidering over the stains. She got a bit carried away and the entire coat was a tapestry of scenes—flowers and animals and people. I loved that coat. I cried when I finally outgrew it and had to give it away.” She smiled fondly. “I hope some other girl loved it as much as I did.”

  She peeked up at him and saw him watching her, a look of such longing on his face that it made her heart ache. “What…what about you?”

  He frowned.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer that,” she added hastily. “I understand.”

  “No, it’s just Christmas isn’t something they bothered with where I grew up. The church would buy the normal kids some small presents, and they’d open them up Christmas Eve before mass. Had ham most Christmas mornings, if I can recall. I remember looking forward to the ham.”

  Ham. That was his fondest Christmas memory? Hattie took a breath, feeling as if she were about to tread somewhere no one else had been allowed. “You said the priests bought the other kids presents, but not you?”

  Vincent stood taller and forced a smile onto his face. “Oh, they weren’t allowed to. The families didn’t see any sense in it. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  It seemed a big deal to her. A horrible, horrible deal.

  “So, you were surrounded by other children who got to celebrate Christmas while you were intentionally left out?” She winced. “No wonder you hate carols.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t like the other kids had a luxurious Christmas. I got to eat ham. There were usually a few pieces of ribbon candy by my plate. We had a bowl of nuts in our room on Christmas morning, and some years we’d each get an orange. Wasn’t like those other presents were all that special anyway.”