Amerikan Eagle

The marshal’s wife—a tiny woman with gray hair tied back in a bun and a pinched expression—stood up on her toes and whispered something in her husband’s ear, then ducked back into the movie theater. When they reached him, Hanson held out his hand to Sarah and said, “Dear, so nice to see you out tonight.”

Sarah said properly, “And so nice for me to have him for a night. Without being called out on a case. Or going to a Party meeting. Or something else.”

Hanson seemed taken aback. Then he nodded. “Well, yes, we all have duties and obligations to perform, including the Party. Sam, I wanted to thank you for your cooperation today with the FBI and his German friend. They said they got everything they needed.”

Sam said, “Did they tell you who the dead man was?”

“No, they didn’t. And it’s not our case anymore, so let it be. They promised to inform us if they have anything we need to know.”

“I’m sure,” Sam said, and Sarah squeezed his arm again. She could sense the sarcasm in his voice, but Hanson didn’t seem to pick up on it, for his expression lightened and he said, “If you excuse me, Doris said she had to go powder her nose, and you know how long that can take.”

“Good night,” Sam said, and Hanson smiled down at Sarah and went into the theater.

“Sam, what was that all about?” Sarah asked him.

“I’m being warned off.”

“Warned off what?”

“That dead man by the tracks. The case supposedly isn’t mine. And I think the marshal saw me tonight and decided to remind me of that.”

She stopped, making him stop as well, in front of a Rexall drugstore. “What do you mean,” she demanded, “supposedly? Are you off the case or not?”

“Officially, yes. Unofficially, Sarah, it’s my first murder case. I’m not going to just give it up.”

She looked up at him, and there was something going on with her eyes. He couldn’t decipher her expression. Then she seemed to make a decision. “All right, Sam. Do you what you have to do. You’re still on probation… and well, I don’t think either of us can stand it if you get bumped down back to sergeant. Just be careful.”

“I will.”

She surprised him by kissing him on the lips. “That Harold Hanson… if he and the rest of them only knew how lucky they were to have you, Sam Miller.”

He put his arm around her, squeezed her tight, and kissed her. “As lucky as I am to have you.”

And then her mood lifted, as if changing a frock, and she chattered on about the musical they had just seen, but he was distracted as they walked up to the Packard. He always prided himself on being able to gauge Sarah’s moods. But back there, when she was asking about his case, it was as if he were looking at a blank wall.

What was going on with Sarah? That had always been part of her allure, that at one moment she could joke about dragging him up to the balcony for some loving and then be hard as stone when it came to running the Underground Railroad station. A lover and a fighter, all mixed in one pretty, exasperating package.

Sam knew he should ask her, but now her mood was cheerful, upbeat, and he wanted it to last. He also wanted to stop thinking of Donna and that sweet, uncomplicated smile.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When they got home, Walter tottered back upstairs, declaring Toby had been a peach of a boy. Sarah went to check on their son as Sam hung up their coats. When Sarah came back, he walked to the cellar door. “Going to the basement for a second.”

“All right. And it’s the last one. Promise. And be nice to him, whoever he is.”

“I’ll be nice,” he replied, trying to keep his voice even. “And you’re the one telling me to be careful, my little revolutionary.”

He was rewarded with a smile. “When you come back up, sweetie, I’ll show you just how dangerous I can be.”

As he turned the knob, the doorbell rang. Sarah stopped, shocked. He said more sharply than he intended, “Any chance there’s been a foul-up? That your passenger thought he had to come to the front door?”

Sarah had paled. “No, impossible. They all know the routine.”

The doorbell rang again, followed by a pounding at the door and muffled voices. To his wife, in a low and determined tone, Sam said, “No argument, Sarah. No discussion. Go to Toby’s room now. If you hear me shouting, grab him. Climb out the window. Go to one of the neighbors and call your dad. Do you understand?”

Lips pursed, she left the room. Sam went to the vestibule, looked at the upper shelf, where his service revolver rested.

“Just a sec,” he called out. He switched on the porch light and opened the door.

Before him stood two Long’s Legionnaires.

He took a breath. “Something I can do for you?”

He’d never seen these two before. They looked so alike that they could have been brothers. But the one on the left was taller and carried a clipboard, and the other one was shorter, squatter, and had his arms crossed across his uniform jacket, as though he was impatient about everything.