bushes next to the building, torn between slipping inside the factory and following Butch. This might be his only chance to get inside. But what about the little girl? Would Butch kill her?
Tearing himself away from the building, he followed Butch, staying far enough behind not to get caught but close enough not to lose him.
For a big man, Butch moved awful fast. He looked back, and Luke ducked behind a broken-down wagon covered in snow. When he looked again, Butch and the child were nowhere to be seen.
Where had they gone? Taking a chance, Luke ran toward the street, heart pounding. He’d missed his chance at getting to Mark, and now he’d lost Butch and the little girl. He couldn’t do anything right.
He caught a glimpse of movement two blocks over. Butch? He darted down a parallel alley, then another, before he saw him again.
Empty-handed.
Butch hurried off into the night.
Luke stood still, gulping in air.
Horror crawled across his skin and down his throat, spread through his chest, and settled like a raging inferno in his belly. He wanted to walk away, run. Go to the small, safe place he and the others had carved out of a burned-out shack and pretend this had never happened. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her, even if Butch had killed her.
He moved forward, unable to feel his legs. He’d gone numb.
He found the small form tucked under a stack of crates in the alley. With shaking fingers, he reached out and touched her, only to find her alive and breathing. He took off his thin coat and wrapped her in it, hoping to bring warmth to the tiny child left to die in the freezing cold.
Tears he’d held back ever since he and his brother had found themselves alone on the streets of Chicago gathered in his eyes.
Clutching the small child to his chest, he wept.
Chapter Nine
What now?
Livy clutched the slip of paper in her gloved hand and hurried across town. Miss MacKinnion’s scrawled note requested a meeting with her as soon as school let out. She’d left Seth and Georgie at the orphanage, one with a split lip, the other sporting a black eye.
Seth had looked scared to death when he’d handed her the note. But try as she might, she couldn’t get a word out of either of them. And when tears welled up in Georgie’s eyes and spilled over, she’d simply hugged him. Livy quickened her steps, anxious to find out what the boys had done but afraid at the same time.
She stepped inside the church that doubled as a schoolhouse and paused to peel off her gloves. Miss MacKinnion stood at her desk, flanked by Mrs. Johansen and another woman.
Livy started to back out. “I’m sorry, Miss MacKinnion. I’ll come back later.”
“No, that’s all right, Miss O’Brien.” Miss MacKinnion stepped toward her, expression solemn. “You’ve met my sister, Martha Johansen, and Mrs. Benson, haven’t you? They’re here to talk about what happened today as well.”
“Mrs. Johansen. Mrs. Benson.” Livy hadn’t talked much with Mrs. Benson, but she recognized the woman from church. She focused on Miss MacKinnion. “May I ask what this is all about?”
“Of course.” Miss MacKinnion looked down her nose, her hawkish expression and somber manner giving her the appearance of a vulture.
Mrs. Johansen moved forward, her tall, sparse form a slightly older version of her sister’s. “I’ll tell you what happened. Those two little hoodlums attacked my Billy today. They aren’t fit to associate with decent children.”
Livy went on the defensive, hackles rising. “Georgie and Seth are not hoodlums, ma’am, and I’m sure they didn’t attack anyone.”
The color in Mrs. Benson’s plump cheeks rose. “Now, Martha, don’t you think attacked is too harsh a word to use?”
Mrs. Johansen shot her friend a sharp glance. “No, I don’t. That’s exactly what happened.”
Hogwash.
Five or six years older than Seth, Billy could pound the smaller boy into the ground if he wanted to. He’d make two of Seth any day. Mrs. Johansen had an ax to grind, but for the life of her, Livy couldn’t figure out what the woman was after. “I can’t imagine a five-year-old and an eight-year-old getting the best of Billy.”
“That’s neither here nor there, Miss O’Brien. The fact remains that they bloodied his nose and that littlest one, what’s his name? George? He bit Billy!”
Georgie wouldn’t have latched his teeth onto the older boy without a good reason. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johansen, I’ll see what I can do to keep Georgie from biting