Two months ago …

Unrepentant criminals did not deserve a second—or, in this case, a fourth—chance. Yet here she stood, cocooned within the deepening shadows of Lower Wacker Drive. The growing population of homeless who camped here churned her spirit. She, Caroline Wagoneer of the Di Stasio Giornaliste Agency, wanted to do something. Instead, she was forced to wait for her lowlife informant.

She spotted the man slipping toward her. Stringy hair. Missing teeth. A stench that drove even the rats away. She wouldn’t have minded any of that, except he was a rumrunner who exploited the down-on-their-luck people who took refuge here. Men who drank to erase what the economy took from them. Women who drank to forget the abuse they suffered. Children—

Lord, help me shed Your light in these dark places.

“Hey, doll.” Ploughshare—that’s the name he provided—looked from her black hat down her black dress to her black shoes.

She pinned her lips shut, knowing he couldn’t see any definition thanks to the darkness, especially since she’d defied the heat by wearing long sleeves and black gloves to stay better concealed.

“I ain’t doing this no more.” Ploughshare crossed his arms. Was he trying to look tough? Carrie wasn’t that tall, but she still had two inches on him. “Unless you show some gams, this is my last snitch.”

“You have provided me no new information, Ploughshare.” Just confirmation that her suspicions were correct. His boss’s organization had at least one cop on the take. Probably more. “I’m the one who should cut you loose.”

“If yous weren’t pretty, I wouldn’t give ya this.” He unwound one arm to flutter a bill from grimy fingers.

“Really?” She battled her voice back to a whisper. “I won’t be bribed.”

“It ain’t a bribe, doll.” He wagged it. “Look.”

Gingerly, she slipped it from his pinchers, watching his expression in the flickering light of a barrel fire. No glee or anticipation flashed. This wasn’t a trap. She rolled out the bill, holding each end, and turned it toward the firelight. “A one-dollar bill?”

“See anything wrong with it?”

She studied it, recalling the lessons her ex-fiancé had taught her. “It’s too dark. But counterfeiting ones isn’t worth it.”

“It ain’t more’n a test case. Pass along enough of these, then add a zero or two.” He grinned. “Or three.”

Carrie rubbed her temple. “Ploughshare, you need to get out while you can. When the G-men find out, you’ll go to prison.”

“It’s good money, doll. And if the boss finds out I snitched, I’m a dead man. No matter where I live.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You won’t tell nobody ‘bout me?”

“I never reveal my sources.”

“Then this is goodbye.” Ploughshare backed up a step, hesitated. “Watch your back. If he finds out, he’ll silence you.”

“I’m not scared of a bully.” Carrie squared her shoulders. “The truth matters.”

“You say that now. You won’t once he gets his claws into you. Goodbye, C. C. Wagner.”

Carrie held her position, a tad shaken that Ploughshare had used her byline. She made sure her person and her nom de plume were never connected. Plus, there’d been a threat in his tone that she’d never heard before. It wouldn’t deter her, though. No sirree. She studied the dollar bill one last time before pocketing it.

She was on the right trail. Excitement coursed through her. This was the closest she’d gotten yet to finding out the real reason Buck Wilson left her a month before their wedding.