"Yes, sir." He knelt and opened the locker.

Arch peered around the group.

Kramer scooped stuff onto the deck. "Binoculars. A jewelry box-look familiar, Carey?"

"Hey, that's mine!"

Hobie ran his hands through his dark hair, his eyes wild. "I ain't seen none of that before. None of it . . . sir."

Buckner picked up a silver cigarette case. "It's engraved with my name, you numbskull. What on earth made you think you could get away with this?"

"I ain't done nothing, sir. Nothing."

"The evidence shows otherwise."

Hobie pawed through the locker's contents. "Hey, where's my . . . ?" His face stretched long, and he stared up at Kramer.

The c.o.xswain raised a triumphant smile. "Thieves pay."

Arch held his breath. The meaning of that interaction ran deeper than words alone indicated. He resisted looking to Palonsky for a translation. He'd find out later. If the men suspected Palonsky was ratting on them to an officer, the case would be ruined-and Palonsky could be in danger.

"Good work, Kramer." Buckner slipped his cigarette case into his breast pocket. "You and I will escort this slimy piece of seaweed to the brig on sh.o.r.e. You-Carey-load up everything from his locker as evidence."

Arch followed the group up to the main deck. Hobie would be court-martialed. If he was found guilty-and he certainly would be-he'd serve two to four years in the penitentiary and then receive a dishonorable discharge.

Tomorrow Arch would debrief Palonsky, but he suspected Hobie had broken some rule or defied Kramer in some way. And he'd paid.

The sun went into hiding behind the city skyline, and the sky grew dimmer. How much power did this ring have? What had Arch dragged Palonsky into?

And Lillian. His face went cold. Had he put her in danger?

24.

Boston

Sat.u.r.day, April 18, 1942

"Why'd I agree to do this?" Lillian wrung her hands, then stopped herself.

Mary squeezed Lillian's shoulders. "You're just introducing Arch to Mrs. Harrison and going out to lunch."

"But we always do things in a group. This is . . . pairing off."

"He's a good man. That's a rare thing." Quintessa crossed her arms over her stomach. She'd lost too much weight in the past few weeks. "You should s.n.a.t.c.h him up."

"But I don't want a boyfriend."

Quintessa's blonde eyebrows lifted, as if she'd never imagined such a thing.

The doorbell rang. Too late now. She put on a smile and opened the door. "Ready to meet my Boston grandmother?"

"In a minute." Arch stepped inside and closed the door. "I have news."

Why did he have to stand so close and look so handsome and smell so good? Like her father's shaving soap, but better. Lillian swallowed. "News?"

He leaned his shoulder against the wall. "Hobie's in the brig, in the hospital, actually, going through withdrawal."

"Oh my goodness. What happened?"

"He crossed Earl Kramer. Hobie served as Kramer's apprentice in the ring. He wanted Kramer's job, so he spread rumors about him. But the big shot on board saw right through. He and Kramer stole items from around the ship, planted them in Hobie's locker, and alerted the captain."

"They framed him." Lillian pressed her fingertips to her lips. What would they do to Arch or Palonsky if they found out what they were doing?

"Kramer needs a new apprentice. He picked Palonsky."

"Oh dear."

"No, it's good. The apprentice is connected to the big shot in case anything happens to Kramer. The big shot is Fish."

"Fish?"

"Sorry." He cracked a sliver of a smile. "Fish is a nickname for a torpedo-and for Torpedoman's Mate Gifford Payne. He's our source on board."

Lillian gasped. "You did it!"

Arch held up one hand. "We still need to find the connection on sh.o.r.e. His name isn't on your list."

"But it's a big step."

"Yes, it is." He gestured to the door. "Now, may I meet the famous Mrs. Harrison?"

"Oh yes. You'll love her." Lillian called out her good-byes to her roommates, grabbed her purse, and led Arch upstairs. "By the way, thank you for sending that Bible verse."

"I'm glad you liked it."

Liked it? If he only knew how much. She'd set the card on her dresser so she could read it twice each day and absorb the wisdom. And to admire Arch's signature and its powerful A. Not a pointy A, but an appropriately arched one, with the center line aimed high like an arrow. Clever yet subtle.

"I read it the morning after the baseball game and thought of you."

"I memorized it." Lillian paused outside Mrs. Harrison's door. "'And he said unto me, my grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.'"

On the threshold, Arch removed his cover. "Only the Lord could make truth out of such nonsense."

Lillian twiddled her purse strap so she wouldn't smooth the blond curl that poked up on top of his head. "And it's true. All my life I've tried to be strong on my own. But lately, the weaker I let myself be, the more G.o.d strengthens me."

"Good." Something in his long soft gaze told her he wouldn't use that against her.

Lillian rapped on the door. Even if she could trust him didn't mean she wanted to.

"Oh, Lillian." Mrs. Harrison clasped her hands in front of her chest. "I'm glad you brought your young man."

"He's not-"

"I'm just a friend." Arch offered his hand. "Ensign Archer Vandenberg."

"I'm Opal Harrison." She gripped his hand in both of hers. "Any friend of Lillian's is welcome in my home."

"Thank you." Arch entered the apartment and gazed around. "A lovely home it is. How long have you lived here?"

"Five years now, since Mr. Harrison pa.s.sed away. But we lived in Charlestown all our married years. Our youngest daughter lives here too, though she scarcely visits." Mrs. Harrison motioned Arch to an armchair and offered a plate of cookies.

Lillian set her purse on the cabinet by the door and perched on the piano bench, smiling at Arch's easy way with a stranger.

"Your youngest daughter." Arch picked out a cookie. "Do you have other children?"

"Yes, another daughter in Worcester and a son in Salem. They don't visit often either. That's why I'm glad I have my new young friend." She held out the plate to Lillian.

"Thank you." The compliment tasted even better than the cookie.

"But you, young lady." Mrs. Harrison circled one finger in the direction of the piano. "It's time for your lesson. 'To a Wild Rose.'"

Lillian sent her neighbor a beseeching glance. "Not in front of Arch."

"Too hard?" he asked.

"Too easy."

He frowned.

Mrs. Harrison settled into her armchair. "We're working on it. She has to learn to pour her heart into it."

Arch winked. "A recurring theme."

She gave him the same wrinkled-nose glare she gave Jim when he teased, and she popped the last of the cookie in her mouth. Then she faced the keys and her nemesis. As always, the nemesis won.

"You played the song perfectly," Arch said. "Every note in place."

"That's why it's bad." Lillian grimaced at the sheet music.

"Mm-hmm." Arch walked up behind her and set his hands on her shoulders.

She stiffened and sucked in her breath. Why was he touching her? Hadn't he seen her flinch every time he came near?

"Stop it. Relax." He kneaded her shoulders. "In fact, slouch."

"Slouch?" The word came out too high. How could she speak with his fingers ma.s.saging her? "A-a pianist never slouches."

"Excellent idea," Mrs. Harrison said. "Slouch and close your eyes."

Had they both gone mad? "Close my eyes?"

"You've memorized it." Arch pressed one hand to the back of her head. "Slouch, put your head down, and close your eyes."

"You'll never leave me alone until I prove you wrong."

"So prove me wrong."

"Fine." Lillian shrugged away his hands, smoothed her hair, and adopted the ridiculous posture, groping for the keys.

Arch sat beside her. Why did the bench have to be so narrow? His shoulder and hip pressed against her. How was she supposed to concentrate?

"Here it goes." She launched in, but she had to feel around for the chords, and she missed a note. She started over.

"No, don't start over," Mrs. Harrison said. "Let yourself make mistakes. Don't focus on the notes, but on the song. What does the song say to you?"

"You don't want to know."

Arch nudged her. "Play it over and over. Don't stop."

With her eyes shut, she could only sense the cool keys under her fingers and Arch's warm body next to her. And the music. She played as commanded. It sounded as awful as ever, but with the added glory of botched notes.

Over and over she played the short piece, until a strange sense of relaxation settled on her. Why? From the lazy posture? From Arch's strength? Or from the song seeping inside?

"That was nice. Right there," Arch said.

"Was it?" She sneaked a glance at him, and he nodded. She turned to Mrs. Harrison's armchair, but it was empty. "Mrs. Harrison?"

"She went into her bedroom a few minutes ago."

"What? I didn't hear her."

"She's wearing slippers."