Free Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) by Kathleen Bittner Roth

him.
    Old feelings burst to the surface in a blur of red rage. An urgency to rush the conversation, and garner all the information he could, grated at him. He shot a nervous glance at Thompson, whose demeanor appeared guarded.
    Wolf turned his attention back on Mrs. Malone. “Tell me about your experience.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke quietly. “I can’t comprehend risking a trip across the sea with you in a tender state. Whatever prompted such an action, if I may be so bold?”
    Malone answered for her, his chest puffed. “We wanted our child born in America, we did. And that was our Alanna here. Born on baby Jesus’s birthday, she was. Well, on the eve of it. That’s why we named her Mary.”
    Wolf’s eyes shot up from his glass, straight to Alanna’s. His mind screamed. That was the night before his mother was murdered!
    He fought his churning gut. He swallowed his sherry, forced himself to breathe deeply and gain a modicum of control. He turned directly to his adversary. “I’m sorry if I appear rude, Mrs. Malone. As I said, your sailing the Atlantic in such a delicate condition and in the middle of winter . . . well, I’m astonished. Did you know anyone in Boston to help you get settled, help you with your newborn?” Damn it, did you know my parents?
    “Oh, getting help was no problem. There were so many out there who needed work. But no, Mr. Wolf, we knew no one. And didn’t for a long while, because of what happened. I would have given my right arm to move back to Ireland then and there. But Mr. Malone refused.”
    A chill snaked down Wolf’s spine. “What do you mean? What happened?”
    Malone rapped his knuckles on the table and scowled at his wife. “Oh, now you’ll be leaving that morose stuff alone for once. We were enjoying ourselves, we were.”
    “Well, he asked .” Mrs. Malone’s volume, as well as her back, went up. “It would be rude of me to ignore him.”
    Wolf was too close to learning something—he couldn’t allow her to stop chattering. He switched from sherry to whiskey. The burn of it down his throat seemed somehow more comforting. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Tell you what, why don’t you finish your story, and afterward, we’ll turn your husband loose on the telescope again.”
    Mrs. Malone tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “We had barely moved our things into a home we’d purchased sight unseen, when our Alanna came into the world. The very next night—Christmas, mind you—a woman was horribly murdered.” Her eyes widened and her voice grew secretive. “Not two hundred yards from our front door.”
    The rush of blood to Wolf’s head nearly deafened him. He willed his body and mind into silence. “Was she murdered in the street, then?”
    “No, no.” Mrs. Malone waved her hand about. “She was murdered right in her own home.” There was no stopping the woman now. She rattled on like a train without a brakeman.
    The long-familiar story that had stalked the corridors of Wolf’s lonely heart prowled once more. The band of pain encircling his chest nearly defeated his calm, but he had to get whatever information he could. “What of the woman’s husband?”
    “Oh, poor thing.” Mrs. Malone pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the corner of one eye. “We moved to another home soon after, but I’m told he returned to Boston a couple of months later. To nothing. Ab-so-lute-ly nothing. Can you imagine? Well, I wanted to leave America, I tell you. I was so young, and I was lonely for my family back in Ireland. Not to mention I was so very frightened. Why, Mr. Malone wouldn’t allow me out the front door for the longest time. He hired men to guard our home.”
    “As did every other husband who could afford to do so,” Malone put in.
    His wife waved her hand again, her breath coming in great heaves. “He was afraid whoever took the boy would come after our baby. I tell you, there wasn’t a house with a small