Stealing Jake - By Pam Hillman Page 0,90
I arrived in Chestnut, but Gibbons said they weren’t hiring. He must have been using child labor the whole time.”
Quickly they searched the office, finding precious little about employees but plenty of orders and invoices detailing the various buyers the factory dealt with.
“Funny that Gibbons would have such good records of his customers but nothing on his employees,” Jake said.
They moved on to the factory floor. Other than the office, the building consisted of one huge room filled to the brim with machines and stacks of leather goods piled high. Row after row of sewing machines, packed close together, didn’t leave much room to maneuver. The stench of unwashed bodies and refuse permeated the place.
Jake’s stomach churned. He didn’t like the looks of this, not one bit. They rummaged around some more. Livy moved away, and Jake raised the lantern, trying to see what had caught her attention.
“Give me a little more light. Nobody knows we’re here anyway.”
Jake turned the lantern higher and followed Livy. Haphazard piles of foul-smelling blankets ran the length of the rear wall. He spotted small boxes and crates here and there, separating the pallets.
Livy’s gaze shimmered in the lantern light. “Looks like the kids were living in here.”
“Where are they now, then?” Jake wanted to punch someone, namely, Victor Gibbons. If Bobby had worked in this dump, then Gibbons didn’t care a fig about what happened to any of his workers, no matter what he said.
“I don’t know.” She riffled through a box and held up a wooden horse, missing two legs. Another box revealed a small sliver of a mirror and a tattered children’s book.
Jake picked up a shirt, small and threadbare. “What do you think?”
“Definitely a child’s.” Livy frowned.
“But without the children, there’s not any proof.”
“There’s Bobby.”
Jake laughed, a harsh sound in the cavernous building. “One street kid’s word against a man like Victor Gibbons? It’ll never fly.”
“It might if people saw the condition of this place.”
They headed toward the front door, Jake holding the lantern high so they wouldn’t trip over anything.
Livy grabbed his arm. “What’s that smell?”
Jake sniffed. Dread snaked through him. “Smoke.” He grabbed Livy’s hand. “Come on.”
He wouldn’t have thought twice about the smell of burning coal since the scent hung over Chestnut most of the year. But woodsmoke? They hurried toward the front door. Jake tried it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“It’s stuck,” Livy said.
Jake shook the knob again. “No, it’s locked. Someone’s locked us in from the outside.”
His gaze caught and held Livy’s in the flickering light of the lantern. “They’re going to torch the building.”
* * *
Livy froze. She’d seen what fire could do to a building, reducing it to ashes in minutes. The fear of fire had hovered over the slums of Chicago like a dark cloud, striking terror into the hearts of all.
Lord, please help us.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Jake lifted the shades on the lantern all the way and exposed the darkest corners.
Livy’s frantic gaze swept the factory: the high, barred windows, the padlocked doors. Jake ran to the rear of the building, his shadow dancing against the walls. He checked the back door, but like the front, it must have been locked from the outside. The light bobbed as he raced back to her side. Livy clutched her stomach and focused on his tense face, illuminated by the lantern and the light from the fire.
Oh, Lord, help us. Please, Lord, get us out of here. I don’t want to die. Please.
“Come on.” Jake pulled her through the doorway separating the office from the sweatshop and slammed the door behind them. “That’ll buy us a little time.”
Livy’s gaze darted around the office before she broke free of Jake’s hold and raced to the locked door. She pounded against the wood. “Help! Somebody, help! Please get us out of here!”
Jake wrapped his arms around her from behind, capturing her fluttering hands against her waist. She stilled, willing her pounding heart to slow.
“Save your breath. There’s nobody close enough to hear,” he whispered.
She closed her eyes and shuddered against him, trying not to scream, trying not to run to the corner and huddle in a ball against the onslaught of fire that would surely come.
“We’re going to make it. Okay?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. He sounded so sure, so confident. She could almost believe he was right.
He kissed the top of her head and let her go. Shoving a desk chair underneath the window, he climbed onto the chair, grabbed the