An Agent for Esme

The Pinkerton Matchmaker Book 41

by Amelia C. Adams

With thanks to my beta readers—Barbara, Dorothy, Joseph, Mary, Robin, Suzy, and Teresa.

Cover design by Virginia McKevitt

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Table of Contents:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter One

Esmerelda Carter hefted her carpet bag, trying to make it feel lighter, but of course, that was against the laws of physics. The weight of the bag hadn’t changed, but her muscles were becoming fatigued. Thankfully, her destination was just ahead. If she’d realized the walk from the train station would have been so taxing, she would have hired a buggy.

The Pinkerton office of Denver, Colorado, was a decently impressive edifice, she decided as she approached. She was not, however, impressed by the two men leaning up against the columns, one on either side of the door. They were coatless, with their shirtsleeves rolled up to their elbows.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, giving them a nod as she reached out for the doorknob. They each straightened, a poor attempt at redeeming their sloppy first impressions.

“May I take that for you?” one of them offered, reaching for her bag.

She looked him up and down. “That all depends. Are you one of the agents, or one of the ne’er-do-wells the agency has been hired to apprehend?”

The man’s lips twitched, but his friend burst into outright laughter.

“I suppose we don’t look very respectable, ma’am,” the first man said. “We’ve just completed a case that required us to stay up all night, and we haven’t freshened up yet. I’m Agent Jonah Hays, and this is Agent Jake Hunter.”

Agent Hunter stopped snickering long enough to greet her more cordially.

“I’m Esmerelda Carter, and I’m here to meet with your supervisor. That would be Archibald Gordon, I believe?”

The two men glanced at each other. “That’s right,” Agent Hunter replied. “Is he expecting you?”

“I hope so. A telegram was sent, but I have no way of knowing if it was received.” She raised an eyebrow. “What is it? You’re acting as though something’s wrong.”

“Everything’s fine,” Agent Hays said quickly. “Archie’s just been a little . . . Well, I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“You’re repeating yourself. And you call your supervisor ‘Archie’? That seems rather disrespectful to me.”

“Well, maybe it is, ma’am. I haven’t really considered it. It’s just that when you’ve known someone for a long time . . .” Agent Hays looked uncomfortable. As well he should. Archie, indeed.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, even though in her opinion, it did. “If you don’t mind, I’ll head inside now.”

“Of course. And let me take that.” Agent Hays reached for her bag, which she relinquished gladly now that she felt somewhat sure she’d get it back, and they entered the building.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold, Esmerelda looked around, her observant eyes taking in the furnishings and the décor. It was a pleasant foyer, obviously put together by a woman, but not too fussy with frills and folderol. She liked the simplicity of it.

“May I help you, miss?”

She turned at the voice and saw a pale young woman bustling toward her. From the apron she wore over her dark skirt, Esmerelda surmised that she was a housekeeper or maid of some sort. “Yes, I’m here to meet with Agent Gordon. I’m Esmerelda Carter.”

“And I’m Pearl. We’re glad to have you here, Miss Carter.”

“Agent Carter, actually.” Esmerelda was used to having to correct people. It was part of being a woman in her line of work—it came second nature.

“Of course. I apologize. Jonah, please take Agent Carter’s bag upstairs—we’ll tuck her away up there until her itinerary is resolved. Agent Carter, I’ll let Agent Gordon know you’re here.” Pearl crossed to a door just off the lobby and rapped on it, then opened it. “Agent Gordon, I—”

“What in all the bluebells in Scotland—”

Esmerelda blinked at the growl that came from the office, but Pearl didn’t seem flustered in the least.

“I wasn’t aware that bluebells grew in Scotland, sir,” she replied mildly.

“They do indeed—there’s a whole variety called the Scottish bluebell! I would think you’d know that, Pearl!”

Esmerelda took a small step backwards. Pearl merely shook her head.

“Well, sir, the next time I find myself on that side of the ocean, I’ll be certain to swing by and pay the bluebells my respects. First, though, you have an agent here to meet you.”

“And why did you leave him hanging around out there in the lobby? Show him in!”

“It’s a young lady, sir.”

“That doesn’t make it right! Show her in!”

Pearl turned back to Esmerelda with a patient look on her face. “He’ll see you now.”

Esmerelda raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure it’s safe to go in there.”

“He won’t actually hurt you. He’s just a mite out of sorts because his assistant transferred to the Chicago office.”

Esmerelda nodded. “Miss Chapman—I met her just before I left to come here. I’m from the Chicago office.” She recalled Miss Chapman as being quite a lovely woman with dark red hair.

“Agent Gordon depended on her quite a bit, and with her gone, he’s at loose ends. I’m sure he’ll get it figured out, though—in time.”

“If he’s so dependent on her, why did she leave?”

Pearl hesitated. “Well now, there are some things we can only speculate about.”

Esmerelda took that as a hint that she shouldn’t pry, and she nodded. She wasn’t the type who needed every last bit of gossip. In fact, she did quite well without it because it was a decided waste of time.

She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the office door, feeling as though she was about to enter a lion’s den, but knowing she must do what was necessary for her assignment.

A man with disheveled auburn hair and a beard sat behind the large desk in the room, papers strewn in front of him. He held a pen in one hand and a ruler in the other, and he was obviously looking for a certain sheet with no success.

Esmerelda walked up to the desk. “Good morning, sir. My name is Agent Esmerelda Carter, and I’m here from the Chicago office. Did you receive the telegram about my arrival?”

He looked up at her and squinted one eye. “Telegram? What telegram?”

“The one informing you of my arrival, sir.”

“Pearl!”

Esmerelda jumped back as Agent Gordon bellowed.

The housekeeper entered the office. “Yes, sir?”

“Did I get a telegram about . . .”

“Agent Carter,” Esmerelda supplied.

“Yes, yes, that’s right. Did I get a telegram about Agent Carter?”

“You’ve received several telegrams, sir, but I don’t read your correspondence, so I can’t say whether or not you got one about Agent Carter.”

“Gah!” He slapped both hands on the desk, letting go of the things he was holding. “How’s a man supposed to function like this?”

He wasn’t. That was plain. It was also plain that this chaos was of his own making. Unable to tolerate it a single moment longer, Esmerelda took a step forward and began to tidy the papers on the desk, talking as she worked. “Perhaps I can explain my reasons for being here while we look for the telegram. I was sent here by my superiors to team up with one of your agents for an undercover case. We have reason to believe that one of our agents in the Santa Fe office has gone missing, and we’ve been asked to investigate and see if this is actually the case. There have been rumors of a political uprising in the area, and it’s feared that he is a casualty. It’s quite a bit more complex than that, I’m sure you understand, but that will do for a quick summary.”

As she spoke, Esmerelda had been categorizing the papers, putting case files together and organizing them by date, and placing the telegrams in one separate stack. As she concluded her summary, she handed Agent Gordon the telegram he’d received from her supervisor.

He took it from her outstretched hand, glanced at it, then blinked. “You’re quite an expert in office management, Agent Carter. I don’t suppose you’d like to change your assignment and become my new assistant.”

“No, thank you, sir. I’m a field agent through and through, and not only that, but you need to get your previous assistant back here as soon as possible. I fear not only for your mental health, but for the fire hazard being presented by this completely unkempt office.” She hadn’t been offered a seat yet, but she took one anyway and fixed her gaze at him across the desk. “Now that you have my credentials, when do I meet my groom?”

He blinked. “Your groom?”

“Yes. I understand this office has developed the somewhat unorthodox policy of marrying off female agents to the male agents in order to preserve reputations and so forth. I’m not in the slightest bit worried about my reputation—I never have cared what other people think about me—but I do need help from your office, and if that’s your policy, so be it.” She paused, but he didn’t reply. “Did I misunderstand something, Agent Gordon? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, no . . . not in the slightest. I’m just not used to young ladies presenting themselves in my office ready to get married. It usually takes a bit of persuasion.”

“Except for those silly girls who showed up last year thinking we were a matrimonial service,” Pearl said from the spot she’d taken up by the door. “Miss Chapman sent them packing rather quickly.”

“I can’t imagine why they would think we’re in the business of marriage,” Agent Gordon said. “We solve crime, not matters of loneliness.”

“You have to admit, Agent Gordon, that you do broker marriages, whether that’s your stated intention or not,” Esmerelda pointed out. “And whether or not I marry your agent, I do need to meet him so we can begin discussing our case. Given that my telegram went missing on your desk, shall I assume that you haven’t had the chance to assign me a partner?”

Agent Gordon sat back with a loud exhale. “Agent Carter, your assumptions are correct, and I apologize. This office used to be run at the peak of precision, but now, most days I’m surprised I manage to put on my trousers correctly. Are you willing to extend me one day’s worth of patience while I look over our current cases and assign you one of our free agents?”

“Yes, that would be all right. I do hope it doesn’t take longer than one day, however. My supervisor is most anxious that we be on our way to locate that missing agent.”

“I understand.” Agent Gordon gave a nod. “Pearl, would you please get Agent Carter settled and made comfortable while I look things over?”

“Of course.” Pearl held out her arm to the door. “Come with me—let’s get you set to rights.”

Esmerelda glanced over her shoulder once as she was leaving the office. Agent Gordon looked flat-out dejected, as though he’d just lost his puppy in a rainstorm. It was easy enough to guess that he was in love with Miss Chapman, and that for whatever reason, they were choosing to be apart. Well, that was nonsense. They needed to put aside whatever was bothering them, and the sooner the better.

Pearl led the way upstairs. “This was Miss Chapman’s room,” she said, opening a door. “It’s the largest of our spare rooms, and I believe you’ll be quite comfortable here. Your bag has already been delivered, I see.”

“It won’t bother Agent Gordon that I’m staying here?” Esmerelda asked.

“He doesn’t concern himself over things like that, and besides, we won’t tell him,” Pearl replied with a smile. “I’ll be back in a moment with some fresh water for the basin, and you can hang up your clothes and make yourself at home. Supper’s not for a bit yet, but I’d be more than happy to make you a tray.”

“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d tell you not to trouble yourself, but I admit, that would be nice,” Esmerelda replied.

“Then I’ll take care of it right away, and it’s no trouble.”

Pearl left the door slightly ajar when she left. Esmerelda closed it, then walked around, touching the edges of the furniture. A glance out the window told her how high up she was, and it made her feel ever so slightly dizzy.

She hung up her things, knowing she’d just be packing them again before long, and then Pearl was back, a tray in her hands.

“That was quick,” Esmerelda said, holding the door open as Pearl maneuvered through.

“I’ve had a great deal of practice.” Pearl set the tray on the vanity table, moved the full water pitcher she’d brought over to the washbasin, then turned back to Esmerelda. “I brought some tea, a few sandwiches, some cakes, and a bit of cheese. And there’s plenty more downstairs if you think you’ll still be hungry.”

Esmerelda smiled as she looked over the contents of the tray. “I can’t imagine that I would be. This looks delicious—thank you.”

“My pleasure. Feel free to wander the grounds once you’ve freshened up—we have some lovely gardens. I would avoid the agents’ barracks out back, though—they’re men, you see, and housekeeping isn’t very high on their list of priorities. I believe Miss Chapman threatened to burn the place to the ground once.”

“I’ll avoid it most carefully. Thank you, Pearl.”

The housekeeper went on her way after telling Esmerelda what time to expect dinner. The tea smelled delicious, and Esmerelda sipped at her cup while trying to decide if she should start with a sandwich or a cake. The scant breakfast she’d had at the hotel that morning could hardly be called a meal at all—it had been little more than dry toast and watery milk, and she wasn’t one of those fashionable women who were scared to admit they were hungry.

Once she’d eaten her fill and left a tray of crumbs in her wake, she lay down for a few minutes, thinking that a nap might refresh her. But the promise of the gardens intrigued her, and she got back up again, curious to learn more about this place where she’d be staying while Agent Gordon figured out what was what.

The gardens were every bit as nice as Pearl had said. A stone path cut between the bushes and the flower beds, and there were just enough benches here and there that a person could stop and rest and take in the beauty around them. She chose a spot near a bush of yellow tea roses and closed her eyes, lifting her face to the sun as she inhaled the scent of the flowers. Yellow tea roses in the sunshine had to be one of the most glorious things in the world.

Her eyes popped open at the sound of male voices approaching.

“You couldn’t have known he was armed,” one of the men was saying.

“But I should have assumed. I’m just glad you were there to back me up.”

“That’s what I’m here for—leaping in to save the day.”

They rounded the curve in the path and came into view. Esmerelda gave them a cordial smile. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Good afternoon,” they replied in chorus, touching the brims of their hats.

“We weren’t expecting company today, were we?” the shorter of the two asked.

“Doesn’t matter—we get some anyway.” The taller man took a step forward and gave a slight bow. “Matthew Harrison, ma’am, and this is Michael Durango.”

“Esmerelda Carter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She inclined her head slightly, and they responded in kind.

“Forgive us—we were just discussing the details of a case we wrapped up this morning,” Agent Durango said. “We won’t bore you with it.”

“On the contrary,” she replied. “I love the details of cases. That’s partly why I became an agent myself.”

“You’re an agent?” The shock and surprise on Agent Durango’s face was comical, to say the least.

“I am. Based out of the Chicago office.”

“Welcome to Denver,” Agent Harrison said. “What brings you here?”

“I’m borrowing an agent for a case, you might say,” she replied. “Agent Gordon is finalizing the paperwork now.” She thought that sounded better than, Agent Gordon is muttering to himself while flinging things all over his desk and frightening small children.

“Well, hope you enjoy your time here,” Agent Durango said. “If you’ll excuse us, we need to go check in.”

“Of course.” She waited until they had entered the back door of the building, then turned her face to the sun again. Its warmth relaxed her and helped her breathe deeply. She would need to store up as much relaxation as she could get to see her through the next several days, she was quite sure of it. She might even need extra reserves just to make it through this period of time with Agent Gordon. She preferred things to be run in a crisp, efficient manner, and everything so far at the Denver office had been the complete opposite.

***

Matthew Harrison settled into one of the chairs across from Agent Gordon’s desk and watched, amused, as Archie rummaged through his desk drawer for a pencil. When at last he found what he wanted, Archie sat up straight and looked at the two men expectantly. Matthew waved at Michael to proceed.

“We located the missing necklace last night at eight thirty. It had been tucked away in the base of a potted plant, waiting to be retrieved by the thief. The culprit, the housemaid Sally, was apprehended when she came to fetch the necklace, and she confessed to the previous thefts of a ring, two bracelets, and a set of hair combs, all stolen over the course of the last month.”

Archie nodded, making a note on the paper in front of him.

“She’s in police custody now, and our client intends to press full charges,” Michael continued. “We were thanked most profusely and were offered a vast amount of pie and cake in addition to our fee. We accepted the pie. We did not accept the cake.”

Archie’s mustache twitched. “So, the case has been concluded?”

“Yes, sir,” Matthew said. “Our report is final.”

“Very good.” Archie sat back and interlaced his fingers across his stomach. “This puts both of you at loose ends for now, doesn’t it?”

They nodded.

“We’ve been contacted by the Chicago office for help with a missing agent case in Santa Fe. They sent a female agent out here to consult with us and to borrow a male agent to take with her to complete the assignment. This lady agent . . .” Archie shook his head. “She’s a pistol, that one. She’s very focused, very straightforward. She’s sure pretty to look at, though, I must say.”

“We ran into her in the garden just now,” Matthew said. “She seems pleasant enough.”

“Oh, she’s pleasant—she’s just also very unamused by life in general.” Archie shook his head again. “At least with her as your partner, you’re likely to get the case cleared up in record time, and she’ll probably handle all the paperwork too just to make sure it’s done right. Are either of you interested in volunteering, or should I just assign you?”

Michael and Matthew glanced at each other. “I’ll volunteer,” Matthew said. “I wouldn’t mind getting out of Denver for a while, and I know you were probably joking, but if she really will do the paperwork, that’s an added bonus.”

Archie nodded and made another note on his sheet of paper. “Very good. Oh, there’s the dinner bell. I’ll introduce the two of you formally after the meal.”

The men stood up and walked toward the dining room. Matthew wasn’t sure why Archie had seemed so reluctant about this particular assignment. It was almost as if he was holding back some things he wanted to say, but that wasn’t like him. Matthew supposed he’d find out whatever it was soon enough.

Chapter Two

Agent Gordon introduced Esmerelda to the table at large as they were sitting down to dinner, and the agents seated on either side of her engaged her in small talk throughout the meal. She supposed they were just being friendly, but small talk had always irritated her, as it seemed to have no purpose except for passing the time. She’d rather discuss things that meant something, but one had to endure all the little games that went along with being successful in society. Society. What a ridiculous concept anyway.

She had noticed Agent Harrison watching her contemplatively from across the table, and she suspected he was the one who’d been assigned to her. She in turn began to watch him, thinking that she might as well begin her evaluation of him so he wouldn’t be too far ahead. He was a nice-looking man, probably near her same age of twenty-five, and from what she recalled from meeting him in the garden, he was likely around six feet tall. He wore his dark blond hair to his collar, and he had no facial hair. His eyes were blue, and she could detect no distinguishing marks that would make it easy to describe him should he ever go missing or need to be featured on a wanted poster.

He seemed to have a good sense of humor—she noticed him laughing with his fellow agents quite frequently. He also seemed to know when to be quiet, which was a trait she wished everyone could develop in equal amounts. Silence was a blessing more often than not. She wondered what conclusions he was drawing of her with his surreptitious evaluation.

At the close of the meal, Agent Gordon rose and asked Esmerelda and Agent Harrison to return to his office. Once there, he invited them to be seated.

“Agent Carter, Agent Harrison has just completed a case, and he’s interested in assisting with yours. He’s quite skilled in doing undercover work, he’s an expert decoder, he speaks Spanish fluently, and he’s a champion boxer. I’m sure that one or more of those skills will come in handy over the course of your investigation.”

“Yes, I’m sure they will,” Esmerelda replied, turning to face Agent Harrison. “I’m glad to have you on board. We can discuss the details of the case on the train, if that suits you. Are you ready to leave first thing in the morning?”

Agent Harrison blinked, but if he was surprised, it wasn’t evident in his voice when he replied, “I’m always ready.”

“Good.” She turned back to Agent Gordon. “Now, as far as our wedding. I imagine you can arrange that rather quickly, can’t you? Considering that it’s just a formality and that we don’t intend to celebrate, I should think that we could get it handled right away.”

Agent Gordon nodded. “Yes, that won’t be a problem. Judge Hotchkiss was coming over for breakfast in the morning anyway—we’ll put him to work while he’s here.”

“Excellent.” She looked over at Agent Harrison. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Just one. Have you always been called Esmerelda?”

She paused, completely taken aback. “That’s your question? You don’t want additional information about the case or anything?”

He shrugged. “You said we’d discuss it on the train, and that’s fine with me. I can wait.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I’ve always been called Esmerelda. It’s . . . it’s my name. What else should I be called?”

“It’s just a bit time-consuming to say. If we’re, for instance, running down a dark alley after our prey and we’re being shot at, and I need to call out to you, those are precious seconds we could lose.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting that we could risk losing this case because my name is too long?”

“Or risk getting shot. The possibilities are endless.”

She just stared at him. “Agent Harrison, I believe you’re trying to make a joke, but I’m not sure I understand it or appreciate it. What possible difference could my name make under those circumstances?”

“All the difference, Agent Carter, and so I plan to call you Esme instead.”

She sat back. “Esme? You can’t . . . you can’t just change my name. That’s absurd, and there’s no reason for it whatsoever. You’re just being . . . well, you’re being ridiculous. It’s a difference of two syllables, and no one ever lost their life because of two syllables.”

Agent Gordon held up a hand. “Why don’t the two of you figure this out independently? I have some work to finish up, and frankly, you’re giving me a headache.”

“Of course, Agent Gordon.” Esmerelda came to her feet. “I didn’t mean to involve you in our little dispute. I’m sure we can solve it amicably ourselves.”

“Yes, I’m sure we can,” Agent Harrison replied. “Esme seems like a very reasonable sort of lady—we shouldn’t have any trouble at all.”

She glared at him, but didn’t say anything until they were in the hallway. Then she whirled on him. “Just what is going on, Agent Harrison? I feel as though you’re taking my position as an agent in this organization and making a mockery of it and me. I’ve a good mind to insist that you call me Agent Carter and nothing else until the conclusion of this case.”

“That would be awkward, considering that we’re getting married,” he said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning on the doorjamb.

She closed her eyes and counted to three before responding. “Are you trying to get out of this assignment? I thought you volunteered—doesn’t that mean you’re willing to come with me?”

“I’m very willing. I just think it would be easier to get along if we were on more familiar terms with each other, and frankly, your name builds a fence and keeps people out.”

She straightened her spine. “My name has been in my family for four generations. It comes from the Spanish for ‘emerald,’ and it has been passed down with the most thoughtful consideration from my ancestors. I see nothing whatsoever wrong with it.”

“I’m perfectly aware of its origins—if you’ll recall, I speak fluent Spanish,” Agent Harrison said. “You, on the other hand, don’t seem very Spanish at all, with that blonde hair.”

“Not all Spaniards are dark,” she retorted. “There’s actually quite a variety of coloring to be found, especially in the northern part of the country. Now, could we please bring an end to this ridiculous argument? I’ve checked the train schedule, and one departs for Santa Fe at ten o’clock in the morning. Do you suppose we’ll be able to meet with the judge and be on our way by then?”

“I imagine so.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Goodnight, dear,” he called after her as she climbed the staircase. She completely ignored him.

***

“That woman . . .” Matthew pulled off his shoes and tossed them into the corner. “She could try the skin off a mosquito.”

Jonah leaned against Matthew’s doorframe, an amused smile on his face. “Are you starting to regret volunteering for this case?’

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Matthew rested his elbows on his knees. “If she had even loosened up one little bit during our entire conversation, maybe I wouldn’t have been so hard on her, but no—she sat there ramrod straight, her hands folded, her grammar perfect, every little detail so precise. It’s like she’s not even real. I had to do something to ruffle her up a little and make sure she actually possesses a beating heart. She does, but it’s an ornery one.”

“At least you won’t have to train her,” Jonah pointed out. “That’s got to make things easier.”

“It might be easier to train someone from the ground up than to endure this woman and her criticisms. At least when you’re training someone, they respect you. She doesn’t respect me in the slightest, and she made that very plain.” He thought about it for a minute. “Of course, I didn’t give her much reason to, but still, there are certain courtesies you give someone automatically.”

Jonah nodded. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow morning?”

“As soon as the judge marries us, yes.”

Jonah chuckled. “That’s right—I’d forgotten about that part. So you get to be this Medusa’s husband, do you? I wish I could be there to see it—even as a fly on the wall. Do you know anyone who could turn me into a fly on the wall?”

“I don’t—I’m sorry.” Matthew unbuttoned his collar. “I’m sure we’ll all come out of it unscathed. Or at least, only moderately injured. I tell you this, though—by the time this case is solved, I intend to have made her laugh at least once. A true, genuine laugh. If I can do that, I’ll consider it a success.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“If she doesn’t . . .” Matthew shook his head. “Then she’s not really human after all.”

Jonah wished him luck and headed off to his own room down the hall, and Matthew finished getting ready for bed. It would only take him a moment to pack—he kept most of his things in his bag already so he was always prepared. A moment to wash up, another to change his clothes, and then he’d be on his way. On his way across the desert with a woman who just might end up being the death of him. He refused to let her get under his skin, though. She could try, and he could see that she certainly had the skill, but he wouldn’t let her. Only he could choose how he reacted to things, and he would choose to stay calm. It would be a nice counterbalance to her propensity toward melodrama.

Chapter Three

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Judge Hotchkiss gave them a dour look. “I don’t suppose you want me to tell you to kiss.”

“No, thank you,” Esmerelda replied. “We’ll be just fine without that little bit of tradition.”

He nodded. “Very well. I suggest you head off to the train station, then.”

Esmerelda thanked him again and walked toward the door, where her bag had been set to wait for her. She’d seen no reason to leave it upstairs when she came down for breakfast—it made much more sense to bring it down to begin with and save herself an extra trip. She noticed that Agent Harrison’s bag was also near the front door, only on the opposite side, as though trying to get as far away from hers as possible. She supposed it was all right if their bags didn’t get along—this was business, after all. Not romance.

“I packed you a little something for the train,” Pearl said, scurrying up to her with a bundle in her hands. “Agent Harrison loves peach tarts, so I made sure to include some of those, but I don’t know what you like best, Agent Carter.” Her tone was apologetic.

“I’ve enjoyed all your cooking so far, Pearl, and I’m sure I’ll appreciate this as well. Thank you for being so thoughtful.”

Pearl seemed embarrassed. “I just hate sending someone on a long train ride without something to eat, especially when you never know what’s available along the way.”

Agent Harrison came up alongside them, taking the bundle from Pearl’s hands. “Thank you, Pearl. You’re an angel.”

Her pale cheeks blushed. “Nothing of the sort, but you’re welcome.” She scuttled back to the kitchen, looking pleased.

Agent Harrison turned to Esmerelda. “Shall we be on our way?”

“Yes, let’s.” She picked up her bag and opened the door, purposely not bothering to hold it open for him. If he was going to put himself in charge of the snacks, he could very well figure out how to carry everything and open the doors too.

A buggy stood waiting out front, which Esmerelda was relieved to see. After walking to the office the previous day, she didn’t want to repeat the experience.

Once they were in the buggy and heading down the street, Esmerelda turned to Agent Harrison. It was time to clear the air. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve come to the realization that I overreacted last night when you asked about giving me a nickname. If the word ‘Esmerelda’ is too difficult for you to say, I agree that we should shorten it.”

He glanced at her, smirking. “That’s an interesting way you have of apologizing, but I accept. For my part, I apologize for being overly friendly. I realized afterwards that perhaps you’re the sort of person who doesn’t care to have friends, and I shouldn’t have assumed otherwise.”

Didn’t want to have friends? What on earth did he mean by that? “I believe that friendship is something that is developed over time,” she replied carefully.

“Yes. Let’s take lots and lots of time so we can develop it correctly. To that end, I have no problem calling you Agent Carter when no one is listening, but on those occasions when we’re supposed to be married, I’ll call you Esme.” He settled back in his seat as though everything was perfectly well decided.

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but then nodded. She had to push past this for the good of the case—she’d worked with difficult partners before. She could do it again.

They reached the train station in good time, checked their bags with the porter, and found their seats. As the other passengers boarded, she took note of them, hoping none would sit where they’d be likely to overhear the sensitive conversation she and Agent Harrison needed to have. The noise of the train would make it difficult in and of itself, and if anyone was sitting too close, they might just have to wait until they stopped at a hotel for the night.

She commented as such to Agent Harrison.

“You don’t want to ride straight through?” he asked, seeming surprised.

“It’s a distance of nearly four hundred miles. Are you suggesting that you’d be comfortable that entire distance?” Was he trying to prove his masculinity by making such an outrageous suggestion?

He shrugged. “You just seemed so impatient to get out of Denver, I thought you had a reason for wanting to reach Santa Fe sooner—the missing agent, perhaps.”

“I simply can’t imagine riding four hundred miles on a train without proper rest to break it up. I do want to reach Santa Fe, but we must keep our wits about us.”

“I don’t have any argument with that. I just wanted to clarify your plans.”

She nodded, somewhat mollified, and folded her hands in her lap to wait for the chaos to calm down. There were so many people boarding the train, chattering with their travel companions, calling out to the conductor that it would actually be a pleasant change when the noise of the train itself started up.

Once they were underway, Esmerelda glanced around and saw that they could likely speak without being overheard. That was good—she’d disliked the idea of waiting, especially when they had hours ahead of them with nothing else to do but talk.

Gathering up her skirts, she moved from her seat across from Agent Harrison to sit next to him, which would make it easier to converse. He lifted an eyebrow at her sudden closeness, but didn’t say anything. Which was just as well because anything he did say was likely to be uncouth.

“The agent in question is named Robert White. The Santa Fe Pinkerton office was brought in to help investigate a large number of guns and ammunition being brought up from Mexico and cached in various locations in New Mexico. There are rumors of some kind of planned uprising against the government. The letter my office received wasn’t very detailed and we’ll need to ask for more information when we arrive, but we’ve been told that Agent White has been out of communication for some time now, and they’re concerned.”

“So they’re asking for help from other offices? Why not send agents from their local office?” Agent Harrison asked.

“They’ve done what investigating they can, but each of the agents have received a warning of sorts that their covers have been compromised.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? What kind of warnings?”

Esmerelda glanced around to make sure they still had their privacy. “The head of the office, Agent Bleaker, found a dead bird on his doorstep a few weeks ago. That’s not so unusual, but this one had a ribbon tied around it like a present. Then one of the other agents found a dead cat with a ribbon on his porch. Every single agent in that office received a similar gift over the course of that week.”

“And they’re convinced that was done by these insurgents?”

“At first, they weren’t sure at all. But the last agent’s warning had a note attached that read ‘Viva España,’ which means ‘Long live Spain.’” She paused. “I’m sorry—you already knew what it meant.”

He shrugged. “Go on.”

“These rebels want New Mexico to be returned to Spain—they don’t want to live in a United States territory anymore.”

Agent Harrison shook his head. “The land was purchased by the States a couple of decades ago. What do they plan to do about it now?”

“Hold an uprising, apparently. They’ve been gathering supporters and caching weapons for some time now.”

“And who hired the Pinkertons to assist?”

“That I don’t know. We’ll need to ask.”

Agent Harrison looked thoughtful. “So, with every agent in the office having been identified, they had to send for agents from out of the area. I assume you were sent because you speak Spanish?”

“Yes, and also because firearms are my specialty.”

Agent Harrison looked surprised. “Firearms? That’s curious. How did you become interested in them?”

“My father was a collector. Why is that curious? Haven’t you met a female arms expert before?”

“Yes, actually, but I thought perhaps your specialty was negotiations or diplomacy. Because you like to talk so much.”

She was a bit taken aback by that, which seemed to amuse him all the more, and she didn’t want to amuse him. “I have been useful in a few cases requiring negotiation, but it’s nice to have a variety of skills at one’s disposal,” she said after she collected her thoughts. “Just as I’m sure you don’t want to be known solely as a boxer.”

“I don’t? Why not?”

He was toying with her—that was obvious. Well, she didn’t have to let him. “Because boxers aren’t generally considered to be all that intelligent, are they? Besides, anyone can box—all you have to do is swing your arms around until they connect with something.” She opened her eyes a little wider and gave him a slight smile.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I do. I just swing my arms around. You’d be surprised how effective it is.”

Hmm. He didn’t seem at all bothered by her comment. She’d have to keep trying. Or perhaps she shouldn’t—this game was pointless, really, especially when they had so many other things they should be doing. But oh, how he irritated her. She didn’t know how she was going to endure the remainder of this case.

“When we get there, what’s our plan?” he asked. Good—he wanted to get back on topic.

“We’ll meet up with Agent Bleaker and see what else he’s been able to discover since he wrote my supervisor. He sent the name of the hotel where he wants us to stay, and he’ll be in touch—because his identity has been made known, he’ll need to contact us rather than the other way around. My guess is that we’ll be going undercover as well to see if we can pinpoint the leaders of this organization.”

Agent Harrison shifted in his seat. “I can see where your knowledge of arms will come into play, but I have my concerns.”

“Oh? What might those be?”

“The fact that you’re a woman.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up both hands. “Hear me out. It’s uncommon for a woman to involve herself in business dealings such as these, and it’s even more uncommon in the Mexican culture. They’re going to have natural suspicions because they aren’t used to seeing women in this role. If we’re going to pretend to have an interest in their plan, we’d be much more successful if I ran point.”

That was . . . so frustrating, and so true. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She wanted to argue with him, to give him facts and statistics showing the increasing worth of women in the job field and in the world, but she couldn’t because he was right.

Most annoyingly so.

“I agree,” she said after several long seconds of arguing with herself. “You should be in the forefront whenever we’re in public. When we’re alone, however, I must insist that you defer to me when there are decisions to be made. I’ve done research into this situation, I’ve been in contact with agents who have investigated these rumors in the past—I’ve done my due diligence, and I’m not coming into this blind or naively. I’ll request that you trust my hard work and my instincts on this.”

He nodded. “I respect that, and I’m glad you’ve looked into it like you have. You’re a conscientious agent, Esmerelda, and I look forward to assisting you on this case.”

Once again, she was taken aback. Not only had he called her by the correct name, but he’d paid her a compliment, and it sounded sincere. She fumbled around, trying to come up with an appropriate response, but he’d tilted his head back, tipped his hat over his eyes, and seemed to have fallen asleep immediately. That was rather inconvenient, considering that she still had things to tell him, but if he was tired, it was better for him to get some rest.

It wasn’t until he began to snore that she really became annoyed.

***

“I don’t even know where we are,” Matthew said, stretching his back as he stood on the train platform. “Did you catch what the conductor said?”

“No, but I see a hotel, and that’s good enough for me,” Esmerelda replied.

Matthew was inclined to agree. Pearl’s delicious snack had been consumed hours ago, and he was ready for a hot dinner and a soft bed. He collected their bags from the porter, double-checked the next morning’s departure time, then led the way, glad Esmerelda had insisted that they stop for the night. He knew they were in a hurry to come to their fellow agent’s aid, but they needed to be fresh when they arrived. And hopefully not starving. He could follow clues much better on a full stomach.

When they walked into the lobby of the hotel, Matthew noticed immediately how dark it was. He glanced around, wondering why there weren’t more lights. Someone could sneak up behind him and he wouldn’t even know they were there. His guard immediately went up, all senses on alert. It was a natural reflex, one born of years of training and experience—and a few fistfights in dark alleys as well.

A glance at Esmerelda showed him that she was being cautious too. She glanced over her shoulder as they approached the check-in counter.

“Good evening,” Matthew said. “Do you have a room free? Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Harrison.”

The clerk, a thin man wearing a grease-spotted vest, opened the ledger on the counter and took an overly long time perusing the entries in front of him. “Room four,” he said at last, then reached up and pulled a key from the pegboard behind him.

Matthew was about to refuse the services of a porter, but realized that none had been offered. “Thank you,” he said anyway, taking the key and putting it in his pocket. He then picked up Esmerelda’s bag. She’d been stubborn about carrying it herself, but he could see that she was becoming fatigued, and it really wasn’t any trouble.

As they walked down the hallway to their room, Esmerelda whispered, “This place looks haunted. Did you see any other hotels when we got off the train?”

“No, I didn’t. I’m not even sure this is an official town—more of a railroad waystation.”

She shook her head. “I’m glad for a break from the train, but if we’re murdered in our sleep tonight, I’m sorry for making the suggestion.”

Matthew glanced at her sharply. Had she actually just made a joke? He didn’t want to disturb the miracle of the moment, so instead of replying directly, he said, “Here’s our room.”

The walls were papered with green, burgundy, and brown stripes, and the furniture was more of the heavy dark wood from the lobby. “At least the whole place matches,” he said as he put their bags on the bench at the foot of the bed.

Esmerelda was already moving around the room locating all the lanterns. “That’s better,” she said once every light in the room was glowing. “Maybe now we can see ourselves think.”

Another joke . . . Matthew stifled a grin. He’d have to pay attention and see if this was a pattern. If she let her guard down when she was tired, that gave him a window of opportunity to peer behind the iron grating she kept up and see what she was really hiding.

She sat down on the chair in the corner and studied him. “I’m worried about dinner. Would a place this dark and dismal actually serve a decent meal?”

Instead of answering, Matthew walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers, inspecting the sheets. “It might be dismal, but it’s clean,” he said. “The linens smell like they were washed just this morning.”

“Oh, thank goodness. That’s one thing I always dread about traveling. I try to make do with whatever I’m offered, but there have been some sleepless nights when I’ve been afraid to touch anything in my room.”

They decided to venture to the dining room and get a feel for the place. If anything seemed amiss, they’d just go to bed—neither of them were strangers to missing a meal, and they’d rather do that than eat something that might make them ill and unable to work. But the air smelled pleasant when they walked in, and as they glanced at the other guests’ plates, they thought the food was worth a try.

“Mr. and Mrs. Harrison, this way, please,” the waitress said, leading them across the room to a table by the window. She was an older lady, and Matthew wondered if she was married to the desk clerk. They had the same tired air about them.

Both Matthew and Esmerelda situated their chairs so they were facing the room, and he smirked at that. No, they didn’t look suspicious at all . . . It would just help if the hotel would invest a few more dollars in kerosene.

The chicken and dumplings they ordered was passable, if not delicious, and Matthew was glad to have something hot in his stomach. He noticed that Esmerelda ate just as she did everything else—with precision and exactness, as though she was a military general rather than a rather pretty young woman. That’s what confused him the most, actually. When he’d first seen her in the garden back at the Pinkerton office, he’d been struck by how uncommonly lovely she was in the sunlight. It was such a contrast to her prickly behavior that it made him want to know more. Why was she so filled with contradictions?

“I’m sure this wasn’t the wedding day you’ve always dreamed of,” he said as they walked back to their room.

“I’ve never dreamed of a wedding day,” she replied. “I’ve never had any expectations along those lines.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You’ve never thought about your wedding day? Not even when you were a little girl? That’s all my sister could talk about when she was eleven—she drove us nearly to distraction.”

“No, not even when I was a little girl. You still have the room key, don’t you?”

They’d come to a stop outside their room. He was so distracted by her comment that he hadn’t realized where they were, but now he pulled out the key and let them back in. “So, what did you daydream about?” he asked, loosening his tie.

“I didn’t. I studied hard, got good marks in school, learned how to run a household and embroider a pillow cover—I didn’t have time for daydreaming.”

“And how old were you when you rebelled?”

She looked up from her bag, where she’d been rummaging. “Rebelled? I don’t know what you mean.”

He sat down and began to take off his shoes. “The upbringing you just described doesn’t sound like a future Pinkerton agent.”

She glanced back down again and pursed her lips. “It wasn’t rebellion so much as just wanting to do something different with my life.”

“All right, so it was a quiet rebellion. How old were you?”

This time, she didn’t hesitate. “Fifteen.”

“Your mother or your father?”

“My mother or my father . . . who did what?”

“Who passed away.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed with a thump. “Agent Harrison, really, you astonish me. I’m not under investigation—why are you interrogating me?”

He held up both hands. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to get to know you better. You’re perfectly free to ask me anything you like in return.”

“I’d like to ask you how you got to be so nosy.”

“Practice,” he said with a grin. “Lots and lots of practice.”

“Yes, that’s obvious.” She paused. “My father.”

That was the answer he’d anticipated. “Had he been teaching you about weaponry before that time, or did you study it on your own afterwards?”

“Oh, he’d been teaching me for years. The whole wall of his study was covered with rifles and pistols and swords, and his favorite thing to do on a Saturday afternoon was to take them down and polish them. I’d watch him—I wasn’t allowed to touch—and he’d tell me stories about each and every one of them. Where they were made, what they were used for, how he got them—I don’t have any brothers, and I think he enjoyed having someone to share his interest with, even if it was rather unconventional to have those sorts of conversations with your eight-year-old daughter.” She stood back up and picked up her nightdress. “May I use the changing screen first?”

“Of course,” he replied, intrigued by the idea of a small girl listening to her father go on for hours about his weapons collection instead of playing with dolls or having tea parties. “And what did your mother think of all that?”

“She thought it was highly ridiculous. She said there were much better things I could be doing with my time, and she thought it was all a waste.”

“And that’s why you studied harder—you didn’t want to fall behind so she’d have an excuse to tell you to stop spending so much time with your father.”

Esmerelda came out from behind the screen, now dressed in a conservative white nightdress and holding her traveling outfit. “You certainly have a lot of ideas about my childhood.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well, no, and I must say, it’s a bit unsettling.” She draped her clothes over the back of a chair. “Quite a shame that they don’t even have hooks to hang our things from.”

“We’ll make do.” He grabbed his own night things and took a turn behind the screen. When he came out, he saw that she’d already commandeered the right side of the bed, and he was about to pull a blanket onto the floor for himself when she spoke.

“I see no reason for us to be embarrassed when it comes to our sleeping arrangements, Agent Harrison. We’re married, and not only that, but we’re mature adults, and I’m quite positive we can manage to share a bed and get a good night’s sleep without any associated awkwardness.” She motioned toward the left side of the bed. “Please lie down and get some sleep.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve just told you about my background in weapons, and I’m carrying a small pistol in my bag as we speak—the bag next to me on the nightstand. If I have any concerns about your moral character, I have sufficient enticement for your good behavior at arms’ reach.”

He grinned. “I like your style, Mrs. Harrison.”

She obviously didn’t care to be called that, but she didn’t reply to it. “Goodnight. I’m sure we’d both enjoy getting some sleep now.”

He dimmed some of the lanterns and extinguished the rest, leaving just enough light so they wouldn’t stub their toes, then climbed into bed. The fresh scent of the linens enveloped him and he inhaled, his muscles relaxing immediately. He disliked train travel for the way it made him feel bunched up inside, but this was nice. “Thank you for sharing the bed,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

“Well, I’m sure this isn’t how you envisioned your wedding day either,” she replied, and he grinned again. Three jokes in one evening. He was pleasantly surprised to learn she was capable of it.

Chapter Four

As the miles crawled by beneath the wheels of the train, Esmerelda found herself growing more fidgety. Their journey had continued on much the same, with so little variation, it felt as though it was never going to end. The conductor had said they were now just half an hour from Santa Fe, and she felt as though she could leap out of her skin and run alongside the train, she was so edgy.

“Feeling anxious?” Agent Harrison asked, that same amusement in his voice.

“I’m dreadful at sitting still for any length of time, and I’ve seen the insides of far too many trains over the last week,” she replied. “When I get back home, I might refuse to leave again for a while—I’m sure the office staff would be glad for another set of hands.” She paused. “Your Agent Gordon actually suggested that I stay in Denver and become his new assistant, but I don’t think he meant it. I think he misses Miss Chapman far too much for that.”

“I agree,” Agent Harrison replied. “The two of them . . . well, they certainly do bait each other, but it’s clear to anyone who’s known them more than a few minutes that they’re just hiding their true feelings.”

“Why? What do they have to lose by expressing themselves? That’s the thing I’ve never understood about romance, Agent Harrison, and perhaps you can explain it to me.”

He froze. “You want me to explain something about romance? Why would I have any special knowledge on the subject?”

“I’m not surmising that you do, necessarily, but you must know more than I do. So, here’s my question—why do men and women hide their feelings from each other? Where’s the virtue in loving someone without telling them? I’ve tried a few novels at the suggestion of friends, and I was utterly confused. Is that what’s considered good storytelling—watching men and women purposely avoid the objects of their affections until the very last page, when they suddenly reveal all?”

He chuckled. “You’ve summed it up rather nicely. Yes, that’s popular literature in a nutshell. Other stories do exist, of course, but stories of a romantic nature will always be the ones that are most widely read.”

“Well, I think it does a disservice to the whole human race to teach that we shouldn’t express our feelings. If I were to develop romantic inclinations toward someone, I’d simply tell him. Imagine the time it would save. He could either say that he feels the same way or that he doesn’t, and I could move on without wasting days or even months pining after something I could never have.”

“So, if he didn’t return your feelings, you wouldn’t be upset?”

“Of course I would, but at least I’d have my answer without all that silly conjecturing and pulling petals off daisies to tell my fortune.”

He nodded. “That makes sense to me. I return to my previous question, though—why do you assume that I know more about romance than you do?”

He sounded a little miffed, and she hoped she hadn’t blundered by speaking her thoughts so freely. “I just assumed that since you’re a man, you would have had any number of opportunities to entertain young ladies throughout your life.”

“My being a man somehow increases my chances at romance?”

“You have the ability to seek it out, whereas ladies must wait to be approached.”

“Hmm.” He seemed to mull that over. “You’re right, and it’s a shame, really. Women should be able to ask for dances just as easily as men do, and women should also be free to take the initiative and guide their partners outside for moonlight strolls. I rather think I’d be delighted if a young woman asked me to dance. It would make me feel wanted rather than tolerated.”

He understood what she was trying to say . . . How lovely. She’d been worried that she’d have to find some way to explain it, men largely being Neanderthals and whatnot.

“So now that we’ve discussed the ills of the world in regards to gender expectations, what can we do about it?” she asked. “I’m afraid we’re far too forward-thinking for society at large to go along with us.”

“And I’m afraid you’re right. We’re simply too ahead of our time.” He looked thoughtful again. “We could start by addressing each other by our Christian names. I understand married couples do that all the time.”

“Do they? Well, I suppose we must follow suit. I just . . . Is there anything else in the world you could call me besides Esme?”

He tapped his chin with his finger. “I could call you Elda, but that doesn’t sound very nice. What about Mer? No? What about . . .”

“You know, let’s just say that I surrendered,” she interjected. “I don’t believe we’ll ever arrive at the same conclusion, and you should be able to call me whatever you want. I, however, reserve the right not to answer if I find your choice of words in some way offensive.”

“Let’s consider it done,” he replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Esme.”

She wanted to shudder, but she was very pleased with herself for only wincing the tiniest bit. “You too, Matthew,” she replied. Perhaps now they could get to work.

***

The hotel Agent Bleaker had asked them to use was quite a lot nicer than what they’d experienced on the journey in from Denver, and Esmerelda exhaled with relief when they entered their room and found it bright and airy. She hid her smile when Matthew checked the sheets again. He must do that wherever he stayed. It wasn’t a bad idea—there were few things more unpleasant than discovering a dirty bed when you were exhausted and needed to rest.

“Did Agent Bleaker say how long it would be before he contacted us?” Matthew asked.

Esmerelda shook her head. “Just that he’d be in touch. I hope he doesn’t have to go to extraordinary lengths, but if the identity of every single agent in the office has been compromised . . .”

She didn’t finish her sentence, and she didn’t have to. They could both fill in the rest of the sentence—those agents could end up dead if they ran afoul of the organization.

That made it all the more crucial that they find Robert White as soon as possible.

“Do you think—” she began.

“Hmm?” Matthew looked up from the newspaper he’d picked up in the lobby. “Did you say something, dear?”

“Oh, hush. I was just wondering if Agent White gave up the names of the other agents. Do you suppose he’s being tortured?”

“Maybe the agents weren’t as careful about maintaining their covers as they should have been.”

“But a whole office of agents being so careless? Do you think that means Agent Bleaker isn’t training them correctly? He would be the common thread between them all.”

Matthew put down the paper. “This is a new train of thought. Has something occurred to you?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that, exactly . . .” Esmerelda sat down on the edge of the bed. “But now that we’re here, my attention has shifted from the logistics of getting here to the case itself, and I’m ready for more answers.” She paused. “Why are you reading the newspaper, of all things? Aren’t you thinking about the case at all?”

“I’m thinking about it quite a bit.” He pointed to an advertisement toward the back. “Do you see this?”

“Of course not. You’re clear across the room.”

He stood up and showed her the wording. Felix desires to meet Thurs. 7pm 1 ton. “This isn’t an ad for a mail-order bride,” he said. “This is a message from one criminal to another arranging their next meet. I always read the newspaper when I travel—you never know what you might discover.”

“So, who is this Felix? Is he involved in our case, or a different one?”

“We’ll have to ask Agent Bleaker if that name has come up yet. I’ve picked out another three ads that look promising, and we’ll run them all past him.” He resumed his chair and turned the page.

Esmerelda stood and walked over to the window. The landscape here was different from anything she’d ever seen before. The dirt had a red glow to it, and the buildings were a combination of wood and adobe brick. The settlers had taken the very ground they walked on and transformed it into walls and barricades—she imagined that was necessary because trees didn’t seem to be plentiful, so with the absence of wood, they had to be inventive.

Their bedroom was decorated to match the exterior view—the colors of Santa Fe were woven into their rug and painted onto the walls. Such a difference from her home in Chicago, where everything was hectic and chaotic, everyone rushing to be on time and taking little notice of the beauties that surrounded them every day.

“So, you said I could interrogate you in return,” she said, facing Matthew again.

“I did say that, but I wasn’t done interrogating you.” He set his paper to the side and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Should I finish up, or should we take turns?”

“I can’t see that it makes a difference as long as we both get our chance.”

“Very well—I might as well finish. Let’s see.” He leaned back again and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “You were raised by a mother who felt things should be done a certain way and a father who was more easygoing. You concentrated on school to stay on your mother’s good side, but you spent quite a lot of time with your father. When your father died, you chose to veer off on a different path from what your mother had chosen for you. Have I summed it up correctly so far?”

She hadn’t wanted to admit it before, but he was actually quite close, so she nodded.

He steepled his fingers and tapped his lips with them. “That brings me to my next question, and likely the most obvious—how did you end up becoming a Pinkerton?”

“It was an accident, actually,” she said. “I was taking one of my father’s pistols to the gunsmith—I noticed that the hammer was jammed when I dusted it. As I walked inside the shop, I noticed two men there asking the gunsmith some questions about how to identify which gun had shot which bullet. They were Pinkertons investigating a case, but I didn’t know that at the time. I thought their conversation was fascinating, so I joined in, and the next thing I knew, they’d invited me down to the office. I was asked to help out with a special need on a case, and now . . . here I am some time later, fully trained and finding a purpose in my life that I’d never had before.”

“And how did your mother feel about that?” Matthew asked.

He did have a way of getting right to the heart of the matter. “She wasn’t pleased,” Esmerelda replied after a pause. “She thinks I’ve lost all my senses, and that I can hardly be considered a proper lady anymore. In fact, she won’t even tell her friends where I am—she’s made up a story that I’ve gone back east to tend an ailing aunt.”

“Is that something more along the lines of what a proper lady would do?”

“Oh, yes. And I’d be embroidering pillow covers at the same time.”

“I see. You know, I’ve never understood the appeal of embroidered pillow covers—it seems like a lot of work for something that will just get sat upon.”

“Those are my feelings exactly. If we’re going to be completely honest, I think they’re a way of keeping ladies occupied with something mindless while the men go out and do all the truly exciting things like making laws and starting corporations. If women had those same opportunities . . .” She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I have strong opinions, and it’s difficult to rein them in.”

“I’d rather talk to someone with strong opinions than someone who doesn’t know what they think.”

They both looked up when a knock sounded on the door, and Matthew rose to answer it.

“I’ve brought your tray of tea, sir,” the young chambermaid said.

He glanced at Esmerelda over his shoulder, his question plain. No, she hadn’t ordered any tea, and she lifted a shoulder in reply.

“Thank you,” he told the young woman, taking the tray from her and closing the door again. Then he set the tray on the bedside table, studying it.

“What’s this?” Esmerelda asked, coming up next to him and spotting the edge of a piece of paper sticking out from beneath the teapot.

He pulled it out and unfolded it, then held it so she could read it too. Alley back of hotel 8 pm exit through kitchen.

“I suppose we’re to assume this is from Agent Bleaker.” Esmerelda looked it over once more for any sort of signature. “Seems a bit . . . Oh, I don’t know. Yes, we’re private investigators, but alleyways at night with no signature—it seems a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“If Bleaker’s been compromised and he’s seen speaking with us, we’ll be compromised too. Is that a risk you really want to take?” Matthew asked.

“Of course not. I just . . .” She exhaled, trying to find the words to describe what she was feeling. There was an itch in her spine, something that didn’t feel right, but that made no sense because they’d only just now reached their destination. They hadn’t met their contact, they hadn’t even begun to establish their story—she had no call to be feeling uneasy this early in the game, and yet she was.

“You just feel like something’s off,” Matthew finished for her.

“Yes, that’s it exactly.” She paused, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what’s come over us, Agent Harrison. We actually seem to be agreeing with each other more often than not today.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t let it concern you. It probably won’t last,” he replied mildly.

They took advantage of the fact that it was hours until dinner to bathe and rest. Esmerelda wished their room had a private bath, but while the hotel was nice, it wasn’t quite that nice, so she made do with what was available. She felt much better afterwards, and she had to admit, Matthew looked nice when he returned to the room, freshly shaven and smelling of pine.

“Let’s discuss what we know for a fact,” he said, getting right back to work and not seeming to notice her admiring glance—thankfully. She hadn’t meant to let down her guard in any way—it made no difference to her if he was handsome. Or not handsome. It was completely immaterial to the investigation.

He took a piece of paper from the desk and began to write down the elements of the case as they understood them. “I’d like to know how often White was supposed to be in contact with the office and how he went about doing that,” he said, making a note. “I think it’s entirely possible that he’s not actually missing, but that he’s been prevented from making contact. Perhaps he hasn’t been able to get away, for instance.”

“And from where,” Esmerelda added. “Where has he been living while he’s been undercover? Is there some kind of insurgent camp, or do the men live regular lives with their families and meet up only when there’s something to be done?”

“I imagine that if there was a recognized camp, the police would have broken it up,” Matthew commented.

“Then perhaps it’s not a recognized camp—it’s masquerading as something else. And if there are police involved, why have the Pinkertons been called in, and by whom?”

Matthew jotted that down. “Good question about the police. And logically, it makes more sense that the men would live in separate houses, but we should keep everything in mind.”

“Yes, absolutely.” She crossed to the window again and looked down to the street, where wagons rolled past and children darted back and forth between the pedestrians. “How are they transporting these weapons? Are they in crates on the backs of wagons, or are they being moved fewer at a time? And are they mostly pistols or rifles—that would tell us how much space they need for transport.”

“My biggest concern is their state of mental wellbeing,” Matthew said. “If they believe they can overthrow the Gadsen Purchase, which was a couple of decades ago, they aren’t thinking reasonably.”

“They probably consider themselves entirely in the right,” Esmerelda pointed out. “I doubt anyone asked them if they wanted to be considered a U.S. territory, and while there are certain advantages to it, I’m sure they also had certain advantages not belonging to the United States. Since we don’t live here and we don’t know how life was for them before and then after, we can’t say.”

“You bring up an interesting point,” Matthew said, turning from his paper. “If the people felt they had more advantages before they became a territory, do these insurgents have supporters in the area who are willing to hide them from the law? I keep thinking back to the Revolutionary War—the colonists were traitors, but they were also heroes. What if these men feel the same way—they believe they’re doing what’s right for their country, and the risks don’t matter?”

“Or what if they’re just trying to make money selling arms? Is money exchanging hands for these weapons, or is the upcoming battle their only goal?” Esmerelda sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Understanding their perspective is helpful in knowing how to approach them, but the facts of the case don’t change—they’re preparing some sort of uprising, and if they’re not stopped, people will get hurt.”

“What if someone had stopped the Revolutionary War?” Matthew asked. “Where would we be as a country then?”

Esmerelda was taken aback by the question. “In the first place, I believe plenty of people tried to stop it. In the second place, are you hinting that you feel this fight is just?”

“No, no,” Matthew said, lifting both hands in a gesture of surrender. “That’s not what I meant. I was just contemplating.”

“Well, please try to contemplate in a way that makes sense. I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They went down to the dining room at six, and they were both pleased to see Mexican food items being offered. “Mexican food and Spanish food have similarities while still being rather distinct,” Esmerelda explained. “My grandmother would make us a Spanish dish called paella at least once a week, with seafood if there was any to be had.”

“In my travels around Mexico, I’ve had plenty of rice, but not like you’re describing,” Matthew said with a nod. “It’s interesting how foods can come from the same roots but then branch off and become their own unique thing.”

They ate their fill of chicken, beef, and tortillas, all the while glancing around for anyone who might be paying them special attention. Esmerelda didn’t think she detected anything above and beyond the looks of curiosity they should expect for being visitors in a new town, but she kept her senses on alert just in case.

“I wonder how we’re supposed to exit through the kitchen door without calling attention to ourselves,” Matthew commented, lowering his voice. “The kitchen seems like a pretty busy place, and I don’t think they want guests of the hotel prancing through there.”

“Then we won’t prance. We’ll come up with something else, and we have one hour to do it in.” She paused. “Do you want that last tortilla?”

Chapter Five

They finished eating and returned to their room. Dinner had been a reconnaissance of sorts, allowing them to get a feel for the location of the kitchen. Matthew hadn’t been able to think of a way to slip through the kitchen undetected, and neither had Esme. With two waitresses and a cook, it would be tricky.

As eight o’clock drew nearer, Esme checked her pistol and slid it back in her bag, and Matthew checked the gun in his holster as well. Then they headed back down to the dining room, trusting that they’d find the right moment and take advantage of it.

But there didn’t seem to be one—the employees were washing dishes, sweeping the floors, and effectively blocking the way between them and where they needed to go.

“Is it terribly important that we aren’t noticed?” Esme said at last, turning to Matthew. “I’m sure they’ve already noticed that we’re hovering about.”

“What do you suggest?” he asked.

Rather than answering, she grasped his hand and pulled him along to the kitchen. “Excuse me,” she said in Spanish to the young woman washing the dishes. “May we please leave the hotel through this back door? My boyfriend is following me, and he’s very jealous.” She glanced at Matthew and giggled. “He wants to kill this one.”

The girl laughed. “Yes, yes, go ahead.”

“Thank you!” Esme called out, and they exited the building.

Matthew shook his head, a grin on his face. “That was pretty ingenious.”

“It was honestly all I could think to do. And if the waitress somehow sees the ledger and realizes that we registered as a married couple, she’ll just think we did that to hide from my boyfriend too.” Esme’s eyes were already darting up and down the alley. “Do you think we missed him?”

“No, I’m here.” A man stepped from the shadows and approached them. “I apologize for my delay. I was afraid of being followed.”

“We were a moment late ourselves,” Matthew replied. He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Blaker.” He purposely mispronounced the man’s name.

“It’s Bleaker, actually. Thank you again for coming. Please follow me.” The agent led the way farther down the alley, then used a key to open a door along the far wall. Within moments, they were seated in a room with a table and chairs—it sounded like they were in the back of a restaurant, perhaps.

“You’ve been apprised of our situation, I trust,” Agent Bleaker said, looking across the table at them. “We’ve had no contact from Agent White in weeks, our identities have been compromised, and we can’t lift a finger without being followed. This has impacted our other cases as well—they aren’t just interfering in our investigation of their case, but in everything we try to do. In addition, we have reason to believe the police are more sympathetic to Garcia’s cause than our own.”

“Garcia.” Matthew glanced at Esme. “What’s his first name?”

“Pedro.”

Esme shook her head. “He might as well be named John Smith. Do you have a location for this man?”

“He moves around a lot—he has a large number of supporters in this area. We’d set Agent White up in a small house near the edge of town, and Garcia would stay there when he felt he was being watched too closely. He and White talked for hours about Garcia’s plans to overthrow the local U.S. government and eventually claim New Mexico for the Spaniards again. He’s not a sane man, according to White, but he’s working from the fire of his convictions, and that makes him even more dangerous.”

“What does he have to gain by returning New Mexico to Spain?” Esme asked. “Is he being paid for drumming up this revolution?”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out. Garcia occasionally receives telegrams through the telegraph office here in town, and we have a request in with the judge to allow us to see copies of those telegrams. But as I mentioned, the police seem to have some stake in this, and they’re muddying up the waters on that count too. The judge isn’t sure we have a legitimate claim to have access to those telegrams, and the operator is saying he can’t remember even receiving telegrams for a Mr. Garcia.”

“And so this goes deeper and deeper.” Matthew leaned back in his chair. “So, you say it’s been a few weeks since you’ve heard from Agent White. How does he generally contact you?”

“A variety of ways. The street children will often deliver messages for a penny, or he’d stop in at the general store and speak with one of our allies there, or he’d send us a coded letter.”

“Is it possible that he hasn’t reported simply because he has no new information?” Esme asked. “It seems foolish to attempt sending a message unless there was something important to say.”

“That’s what we thought for a while ourselves, but then we sent an operative to check on him,” Agent Bleaker replied. “His house had been ransacked, and from some dishes of spoiled food on the table, it was clear that no one had lived there in several days.”

“Or didn’t want you to think they’d been there in several days,” Esme replied. “Is it possible that Garcia is still using the place as a hideout, but leaving the mess as a decoy?”

Matthew could tell from the look on Bleaker’s face that they hadn’t thought about that. “We can help keep an eye on the place,” he volunteered.

“Thank you,” Bleaker replied, seeming relieved.

“We’ve been constructing a list of questions,” Matthew went on, pulling his sheet of paper from his pocket. “You’ve answered a few already, but I have one we didn’t write down yet—have the rebels chosen a date for this uprising?”

“Not a specific one that we’re aware of, but the rumors we’ve heard say ‘soon.’ That could mean anything.”

“Is there any sort of compound where Garcia and his men live, or are they scattered and just come together as needed?”

“We haven’t identified a common living location, no. We have singled out a few houses where they meet, but they rotate, and we haven’t pinpointed a pattern.”

“And you’ve hinted that the police aren’t being very helpful. To what extent are they actually investigating, and who hired your office to come in?”

Agent Bleaker passed a hand down his face. “The police are doing just enough to keep from looking inept to the casual observer, but not much beyond that. Our client is actually a private citizen of some wealth who has been concerned about the possible corruption of the police system in this area and asked us to look into things. They have requested complete anonymity.”

“Understandably. All right.” Matthew glanced at Esme. “I think we’d like to start by looking at White’s house.”

“But that would give away your identities, and your trip down here would be wasted,” Bleaker replied.

“Not if we pretend we’re interested in buying the property,” Esme said. “I’ll go next door to the neighbors’ houses and ask if the place is available, see if I can get the women gossiping, that sort of thing.”

Bleaker contemplated her for a moment, then nodded. “All right, but be careful. I have to confess, I’ve never worked with a female agent before, and it’s going against my grain to send you into a dangerous situation.”

“That’s both the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard and the most unfortunate,” she told him. “You really should get some women in your office—we’re able to get into places where men couldn’t possibly, and we’d keep you on your toes.”

“We could probably use some shaking up,” he replied.

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. Any office that has been entirely staffed by men needs a breath of fresh air, a different perspective on things. You’d be surprised how helpful we are.”

Matthew glanced back and forth between the two of them. Did he detect . . . were they flirting? No, it couldn’t possibly be. They were simply discussing the merits of having female agents on hand. And yet, Agent Bleaker seemed to be looking at her with new eyes, and she seemed . . . Well, that wouldn’t do. Not at all. He cleared his throat.

“If you’ll give us the address of White’s house, we’ll go over first thing in the morning.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Bleaker reached into his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper. “Here you go.”

“And when we want to speak with you again?” Matthew was becoming irritated. Bleaker hadn’t taken his eyes off Esme for a full minute, and there were things that needed to be resolved.

“Go into the store at this address,” Bleaker said, picking up a pencil and scribbling on the sheet of questions Matthew had brought. “The proprietor is Mr. Young, and he delivers messages for us. Just tell him you have some news for Hector. That’s a code name,” he rushed on, looking back at Esme. “My name is Douglas.”

She gave him a smile.

“Well, my dear, if there’s nothing more, shall we get back to the hotel?” Matthew asked, resting his hand on the back of her chair. “It’s been nothing but go, go, go since the wedding, and I’m eager for a good night’s sleep.”

“Wedding? Oh, that’s right. I remember hearing that the agents in your office marry each other before heading out on your cases. It’s all in good fun, though, from what I understand.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it fun,” Esme replied. “We’ve done practically nothing but argue since we met.”

“But we’re getting along much better now,” Matthew interjected. “Was there anything else, Agent Bleaker?”

“Just this.” He finally turned and gave Matthew his full attention. “We may not know everything Garcia has planned, but we do know that he’s responsible for at least five deaths—he’s not a man to be trifled with. Once he’s located, we can arrest him for those deaths even if we don’t have all the evidence yet for those gun caches, so locating him is the first priority.”

“Understood.” Matthew gave him a nod, then led the way out to the alley and toward the hotel.

He didn’t say anything until they had returned to their room, but then he spoke in a low tone. “Exactly what was all that back there?”

“All of what?” Esme crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him innocently. “What has you so troubled, Agent Harrison?”

“All the eyelash fluttering and whatnot.”

“I didn’t notice Agent Bleaker fluttering his eyelashes.”

“I wasn’t talking about his eyelashes!”

“I’m certainly glad to hear it. That would be awkward.” She shook her head. “Oh, come now. You felt it too—something’s not right. That’s why you said his name wrong there at the start—you were hoping he’d correct you. If he didn’t, that would indicate that Bleaker wasn’t his real name, and he’d be questioning himself as to whether he had it right.”

“Yes, that’s correct. But what does that have to do with your eyelashes?”

“Making him want to trust me. Establishing a relationship. Indicating that I’m someone he can talk to.”

Matthew put his hands on his hips. “All of that in front of your husband?”

“So, you’d like me to act like this is a typical marriage?” She stood up and held out her hand. “I’d like some money to go shopping, please, and you need to be home from the club by eleven.”

“Of course this isn’t a typical marriage! It’s just extremely confusing to watch my wife flirting with another man!”

“It’s called being an agent!” she shot back. “I’m an agent investigating a case, and it’s my job and my responsibility to follow up on every possible lead. My intuition’s telling me that something’s not right and that Bleaker is the key. Wouldn’t I be in the wrong if I didn’t follow up on it?”

“Yes, but do you have to look so pretty while you’re doing it?” He hadn’t meant to say the words, but once they were out, he couldn’t reel them back in.

She stopped and blinked. “Pretty? You think I’m pretty?”

“You know you are,” he grumbled. “That’s why you were batting your eyelashes at Bleaker.”

“It’s still nice to hear it, though.”

“Fine. You’re pretty. You’re so pretty, my eyes get tired of looking at you because they aren’t accustomed to seeing such pretty things. Your prettiness goes above and beyond any and all prettiness ever and heretofore forever previously experienced!”

She stepped up to him until they were almost nose to nose. “Is that so?”

“Yes!”

She glared into his eyes for a moment, then softened and took a step back. “Well, now. Was that so hard?”

He flopped down into the desk chair. “You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”

“That’s what most men say about their wives.”

“And they might be telling the truth, but I’m the most correct by far.” He contemplated her, his mischievous mood turning somber again. “What’s bothering you about this case, Esme?”

“It’s hard to say—more of a feeling than anything, really.”

“So, share your feelings.”

She sat down again and folded her hands on her lap, squeezing them together. He realized for the first time that was her way of maintaining her calm demeanor—she was pressing her hands together so the rest of her wouldn’t fidget. That was an interesting insight into this very interesting woman.

“The police have had this case for a while, it would seem, and have been pushing it to the background because of their own possible agenda,” she began. “So a concerned citizen steps forward and is willing to use their own money to hire the Pinkertons, anxious for the community to be safe and then on a larger scale, to put a halt to an incident that might erupt into something catastrophic—we have no idea how many supporters there are for Garcia and his plan. But that’s the entire problem, the whole crux of what’s bothering me—why do we know so little? No organization is so well run that they’re able to operate with this kind of secrecy. Take, for instance, the Whyos in New York. That gang manages to elude capture a fair amount of the time, and yet the police have a pretty good sense for how many there are and so forth. The police here might be corrupt, but why don’t the Pinkertons know more? Why does a concerned citizen know more than the Pinkertons?”

Matthew leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Are you saying you think the Pinkertons here are corrupt too?”

“I don’t know what I think. I just have a sense that we’re not being told the whole story, that someone’s withholding important information from us. Didn’t Agent Bleaker seem downtrodden to you, like he’d given up hope? What dedicated Pinkerton allows himself—or herself—to give up like that?”

“I can see your point.” Matthew leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, his mind whirling. “What do you suggest we do?”

“You’re going to think I’m insane.” She held up a hand. “Yes, I know—you already do think I’m insane. That’s been established. But hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

“As we walked back just now, while you were fuming about my eyelashes, I was running through scenarios, and every one of them took far too long to carry out. I don’t feel like we have time to poke into corners and have clandestine meetings and tiptoe around. I think we need to be more obvious, draw some attention to ourselves, and make Garcia come to us.”

“What exactly are you proposing?” Matthew asked slowly. She certainly wasn’t one to take the easy road.

“I’m saying we go to the gunsmith here in town and tell him that you want to add some Mexican rifles to your collection. I say you head off to the saloon, pretend to get drunk, and start rambling about the good old days when New Mexico still belonged to Spain. Sooner or later, one of Garcia’s men will come along to shut us down—or more specifically, shut you down—or we’ll catch the eye of this mysterious benefactor who hired the Pinkertons in the first place. We have to rattle the cage, Matthew. We don’t have time for anything else.”

“You’re suggesting that we put ourselves in the line of fire.”

“Yes, I am. Nothing’s being done here—the police aren’t taking action, the Pinkertons seem paralyzed, and if we don’t do something audacious, we’ll get caught up in this lackadaisical method of enforcing the law ourselves. And perhaps I’ve misjudged you, but I don’t think you’re the kind of agent who likes to sit on his hands.”

Matthew grinned. “No, I don’t. I’d much rather be taking action any day. There’s one other thing, though, in addition to bringing Garcia forward.”

“Oh?”

He fixed her with a look. “If this Pinkerton office has been corrupted, they need to be shut down.”

“And we need to investigate them to find out the truth,” she replied.

“Exactly.”

She reached up and started pulling hairpins from her bun. “How supportive is Agent Gordon of your schemes? Will he back us up if we go against Agent Bleaker’s recommendations?”

“If we have a solid reason for our behavior, yes, he’ll back us up.”

“I’m trying to decide just how understanding my supervisor will be.” She set the hairpins in a little stack on the dresser, then retrieved her nightdress from her bag.

While she changed behind the screen, Matthew thought over everything she’d said. He couldn’t deny that he’d felt uncomfortable too, as though Bleaker was hiding something, and while he hadn’t looked into the political situation here like Esme had, he could understand her reluctance to believe everything they’d been told. How did they know so little . . . How did a member of the community know more than they did . . . Why weren’t the agents showing more initiative . . .

When Esme stepped back around the screen, Matthew looked up and nodded. “We have to do this—and fast. The more time we waste, the longer White’s in danger—and the state of New Mexico, too.”

Chapter Six

Feeling the pressure of urgency, the two agents stayed up rather late, discussing everything that needed to be done. Esmerelda threw a shawl around her shoulders when the room got chilly, but didn’t insist on going to bed until it was so late, her eyes ached from being open. She’d never concocted a plan so daring, so foolish—especially not when she was supposed to be undercover. This flew in the face of that concept altogether.

They fell asleep shortly before dawn and slept for two hours, then got up and prepared to move forward with their plan. It was with the full understanding that they could get in trouble with both the police and the Pinkertons, but there were things they had to know, and they couldn’t wait for the slow trickle of information that seemed to be coming their way. It was time to create an outright rainstorm.

They ate quickly, then headed out, their first stop being the house where Agent White had been living.

“Excuse me!” Esmerelda called out to a woman working in her garden nearby. “Good morning!”

The woman looked up from her rake. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Esmerelda chose to ignore the forced nature of the welcome. “I’m looking for my brother, Robert White. He sent me a letter from this address a while back, but he doesn’t seem to be home.”

“Nobody’s lived there for a month or so—not since the night of the gunshots.” The woman began raking again, but if she thought she was done, she was certainly wrong.

“Gunshots?” Esmerelda asked. “What do you mean?”

The woman sighed and leaned her elbow on the handle of her rake. “One night, there was some kind of party going on—loud voices, so maybe it wasn’t a party. Anyway, I heard some loud voices and then a couple of gunshots. Since then, nobody’s been around.”

“And what did the police say?” Esmerelda didn’t have to fake a note of worry into her voice—this was very concerning indeed. “When they came around and questioned everyone, that is. Who was shot? Did they catch the shooter?”

“They never came around,” the woman said with a shrug. “They don’t pay us much attention on this side of town. I think they’ve about given up on reforming us.” She paused. “I’m real sorry that your brother got mixed up in this.”

“Thank you,” Esmerelda said faintly. “Do you think it’s all right if I go in and look around?”

“Help yourself,” the woman said. She glanced curiously at Matthew, but didn’t say more, turning back to her garden instead.

As they walked to the house next door, Esmerelda muttered under her breath, “There were shots fired here, and Agent Bleaker didn’t say anything? Why would he leave that out?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew replied. “And why didn’t the police question the neighbors?”

The door was slightly ajar, but the wood was warped, and it stuck against the floor when they tried to open it. Matthew took a firm hold and pushed it open, and they stepped inside prepared for nearly anything they might see. A month’s worth of dust rested on everything, no footprints, dirty dishes on the table as they’ve been told, but no signs of a scuffle.

“I’ll check the back rooms,” Matthew said in a low voice, taking out his pistol.

It was clear that they were alone in the house, but Esmerelda brought out her firearm as well, knowing that someone could come in from outside at any moment. She looked in the closets in the front room, found some horribly moldy cheese and bread in the cupboard, and concluded that Agent White wasn’t much of a housekeeper even before the house was abandoned.

“Nothing,” Matthew reported a moment later. “No blood splatters, no overturned furniture, nothing to indicate any sort of trouble here.”

“Did the neighbor lie to us?”

Matthew shook his head. “I can’t think of a reason why she would. She wouldn’t have anything to gain by it.”

“Unless she wanted us to stop asking after Agent White, and thought that by telling us a story about gunshots, we’d stop our search,” Esmerelda suggested.

Matthew didn’t look convinced. “I don’t think we can count on anything being true—or untrue—at this point.”

They turned to leave, but Matthew held up his hand. “Wait.”

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer, but pulled out a pocketknife as he crossed the room. There, imbedded in the wall, was a bullet. He used the tip of his knife to extract the item and plopped it in his pocket. “There now,” he said. “We don’t know if this was fired last month or last year, but one thing’s for sure—there has been gunplay in this house.”

“I’m wagering on one month,” Esmerelda said. “Now, where is Agent White?”

***

Matthew had done his best to hide his anger, but in truth, he was furious. Why hadn’t they been told about the incident at White’s house? Surely the Pinkertons knew about it, and any agent worth his salt would have included that in his report. It was a deliberate omission, and he wanted to know why. As badly as he wanted to march down to the Pinkerton office and give Bleaker a piece of his mind, he held off, though, knowing that they needed to take each thing in order.

The order was just changed somewhat from their original plans based on this new information.

“The gunsmith next?” he asked.

Esme nodded, but didn’t start walking toward the buggy yet. “May I see the bullet?”

“Of course. I should have shown it to you immediately.”

She took it from his outstretched hand. “It looks fairly new,” she commented. “It could have been preserved in the wall, though—that doesn’t mean it actually is new.”

“Is there a way to tell when it was made?”

“Not just from looking at the bullet, but see this?” She indicated an etching at the base. “This is the manufacturer’s mark, and it’s an excellent start. The gunsmith should be able to tell us more.”

They hadn’t bothered to hire a driver, choosing instead just to hire the horse and buggy, and Matthew was contemplative as he guided the horse down the street. There would be a confrontation with Bleaker—there was no way around it, and it needed to take place as soon as possible. He’d been all right with the idea of investigating the man on the sly, but knowing that such crucial aspects of the case had been left out, it was clear that their tactics would have to change. He said as much to Esme, and she nodded.

“You’re right. I don’t even consider this a case of caching guns anymore—I think we need to locate Agent White by any means possible and then get out of here. This office needs to be investigated, but I think it will take a lot more than the two of us to do the task justice.”

“And if White is dead?” he asked.

“If he’s dead, we take whatever evidence we can find and we take it to Agent Gordon. I’m not trusting any so-called authority in this area to handle it.”

He liked the way she thought. She wouldn’t have been scared off by a dead bird on her porch—she’d still be out there doing her job. He might find her annoying, compulsive, uptight, and demanding, but he also found her impressive, and in ways that were impossible to ignore.

When they reached the gunsmith, Esme showed him the bullet and asked him what he knew about that manufacturer.

“This isn’t a marking I’ve seen before,” the man said after turning the bullet over in his hands a few times. “I don’t know if this manufacturer is new or if I’ve simply never encountered him, but I do get quite a variety of firearms and ammunition through here, and it’s surprising to me that this is unfamiliar.”

“So it could be a recent item,” Matthew asked.

“Yes, it could—or one from across the country someplace,” the man replied. “We don’t see many people here from New England, for instance.” He handed the bullet back. “I wish I could be more helpful.”

“I do have one more question for you,” Matthew said. He leaned one elbow on the counter and lowered his voice. “I collect unusual firearms, and I’m looking to connect with someone who could sell me a few Mexican rifles.”

“Mexican rifles?” The man’s eyebrow went up. “Why Mexican rifles in particular? They aren’t crafted any better than American—I can’t see that they’re superior in any way.” He didn’t bother to lower his voice at all, instead maintaining his regular volume. That encouraged Matthew to believe that he had nothing to hide.

“As a collector, I’m more interested in what they look like than how they shoot,” Matthew explained. “They’ll be mounted on my study wall back home.”

“Where his wife will dust them weekly, as if she didn’t already have enough to do,” Esme chimed in, her tone dry.

“I do know one fellow, but he might be out of town at the moment. Are you staying in Santa Fe for a while?”

“Oh, just a couple of days,” Matthew replied. He gave the man the name of their hotel and asked him to be sure to pass it along. “Are you the only gunsmith in town?”

“At the moment, yes. I’m sure that won’t always be the case, the way this country’s growing up around us.”

“We appreciate your help.” Matthew tossed some coins on the counter in exchange for the bullet evaluation, and then they left.

“If his body language is any indicator, he’s not involved,” Esme said as they climbed into the buggy. “He didn’t react at all.”

“He seemed trustworthy to me as well,” Matthew replied. Surely the man had heard about Garcia and the weapons caching, even if he didn’t know Garcia by name—but he could have written it all off as rumors, not worth sharing with a couple of visitors from out of town. He actually admired that—far too many people seemed eager to air their town’s dirty laundry with anyone who would listen.

 “It’s too early for me to head into the saloon,” Matthew said as he urged the horse onward. “What do you suggest we do next?”

“Let’s stop by the general store,” Esme suggested. “We’d decided to do that later, but it seems we’re taking everything out of order today.”

A couple of wagons were already pulled up outside the store when they arrived, but there was still space at the hitching post for one more. Matthew maneuvered their rig to line up with the others, and then they went inside.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with spectacles stood behind the counter, hurriedly marking his ledger as fast as he could go as a woman with three crying children emptied her basket in front of him. Two other customers waited in line behind her, seeming anything but patient, one man tapping his foot loudly as though that would make the slightest bit of difference.

Matthew went down on one knee in front of the oldest crying child. “Would you like to see a magic trick?”

The little boy shook his head and buried his face in his mother’s skirts.

“Well, I do,” Esme said. “I love magic tricks.”

Matthew flashed her a smile of gratitude. “Then you shall see one, but you have to hold very still.” He reached up and pulled a penny from her ear, and she gasped.

“How did you do that? I don’t keep pennies in my ears!”

The oldest child had stopped crying and now watched, eyes wide, as Matthew pulled a penny from Esme’s other ear. She clapped a hand to the side of her head. “I’m full of money! I must be rich!” she exclaimed.

“It’s a trick,” the boy said, giggling. “You’re not full of money!”

“I’m not?” Esme looked disappointed. “But where’s the money coming from, then?”

“It’s magic!” The boy turned to Matthew. “Do my ear, Mister!”

The other two children had stopped crying as well, the tracks of their tears still

evident on their dusty cheeks. Matthew gave the littlest girl a smile, then reached out and took a penny from her brother’s ear. This time, all three children broke into giggles.

It only took another moment or two for the clerk to finish writing up the order, and the mother turned to Matthew with a smile on her face. “Thank you so much, sir,” she replied. “They aren’t usually like this in public, but we had a long drive this morning to get into town, and they’re quite tired.”

“I love hearing the laugher of children,” Matthew replied. “I hope your day is better from here on out.”

“Let me help you get loaded up,” Esme said, scooping up the woman’s box of goods and following her outside.

The man at the end of the line shook his head. “You seem like a nice man and all, sir, but that’s a waste of time, what you just did.”

“What do you mean?” Matthew asked. “It’s never a waste of time to make a child happy.”

“No, I meant that other thing. I saw you slip the clerk here some money for their order. It was a kind thought, but things like that don’t solve the problem.”

Matthew thought he’d been more surreptitious than that—oh, well. He focused on the rest of the man’s statement. “And just what is the problem?”

“People who don’t work for what they need, who are always countin’ on gettin’ rich through some scheme or another. If they want to feed their little brats, they should get real jobs. Don’t you think?”

Matthew smiled blandly. “Well, I’m a stranger in town, so I’m not aware of who has jobs and who doesn’t have jobs. I just saw a little family who could use some help—I didn’t inquire as to their life story first.”

“Maybe you should have! That gal’s husband spends all his time out in the woods, ‘standing guard,’ he calls it, for some fellow who thinks he’s going to get rich doing whatever he’s doing out there. Not a lick of sense in any of it, and in the meantime, those little brats are being raised in a tent with no real clothes or shoes—well, you saw them!”

“I did see them, and that’s why I decided to help.” Matthew was struggling to keep his temper. He’d won fistfights with less provocation than he was feeling at the moment.

Thankfully, it was now that man’s turn at the counter. He bought some tobacco, a parcel of coffee, and some bootlaces, then turned back to Matthew. “I’m just sayin’, put your charitable actions where they’ll do some actual good.”

“I always do,” Matthew replied, then purposely ignored the man as he left the building.

Once Matthew was the only customer left in the shop, he gave the clerk a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I hope the money I handed you was enough.”

“Yes, sir, it covered today’s bill and some of last week’s as well.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I hope it’s a pleasant surprise when she comes back to settle up.”

“If she comes back to settle up.” The clerk scratched his cheek. “I don’t usually let accounts go so far overdue, but I can’t shut down her credit—not with those little ones.”

“You’re a good man.” Matthew held out his hand. “Are you Mr. Young?”

“I am,” he replied, accepting the shake.

“I was told by a man named Bleaker that you’re a good fellow to know.”

Mr. Young gave a slight nod. “I try to be helpful.”

“It’s appreciated. We’re here from the Denver office to assist with a case.”

“Glad to know you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You could tell me more about that woman and her children—and her husband in particular. Do you have any idea just what he’s doing out there in the woods?”

“None of us do.” Mr. Young chuckled and shook his head. “Apparently, this fellow comes along and promises that whoever helps him will make a bucketful of money once his ‘deal’ goes through. Only Tommy Ridges—that woman’s husband—takes him up on it, and we haven’t seen more than two seconds of Tommy ever since. He claims he’s too busy to come to town anymore.”

“Any idea where the Ridges’ tent is?”

“Oh, sure.” Mr. Young grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. “You head out of town here, and you cross this fork . . .”

Matthew studied the drawing after Mr. Young completed it. This could be nothing—in fact, the odds of it being something were rather astronomical—but he had a strong feeling in his gut that he needed to follow through on this, even if it was just so he could pull a few more pennies out of the children’s ears.

The men looked up as Esme came back inside, looking a little flushed. “Matthew, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course.” He tucked the drawing in his pocket, but he must have been moving a bit too slowly for her liking because she grabbed his arm and tugged him back toward the dry goods section rather abruptly.

“That woman—her husband works for Garcia.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m absolutely sure. I got her chatting—women love to chat—and before I knew it, she was telling me all about it. Her husband’s in charge of one of the caches, but she’s terrified that he’s going to get shot. She didn’t actually say the name ‘Garcia,’ but everything she described fell right into place.”

Matthew pulled in a deep breath, his anger now reaching a boiling point. “We’re being led on a wild goose chase, Esme,” he said after a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

He took the page from his jacket and showed it to her. “Mr. Young knows exactly where the Ridges live—he drew me a map. And it’s no secret in the community that the Ridges are up there helping a stranger with some sort of money-making scheme. We aren’t here to solve a mystery or to unearth some long-hidden secret. We’re here to mollify this concerned citizen so they don’t call in the higher authorities.”

Esme’s eyes were wide. “What’s our next step?” 

“Our next step is to scrap items three through six on our list, send a telegram to Archie and tell him what we’re about to do, and then we’re heading straight in to see Bleaker.” He paused as a thought struck him, and he edged around Esme to approach the counter once again.

“Mr. Young,” he said, “where am I likely to find Agent Bleaker?”

Mr. Young’s face took on an unexpected pallor. “Well, they shut down the office proper,” he hedged.

“I had gathered that much, so where is he now?” And why was Mr. Young suddenly acting so strangely?

Esme came up next to Matthew and rested her hand on the counter. “Mr. Young,” she said gently, “we realize you’re in a terrible position, but we assure you, we’re here to help. We have the backing of both the Denver and the Chicago Pinkerton offices, and we have solid relationships with law enforcement all over the west. That means you’re protected, no matter what you tell us.”

Matthew glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. What was she talking about? Rather than interrupting her, though, he remained silent to see what would happen next.

Mr. Young swallowed a few times. “I . . . I already showed you where he is,” he whispered. “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Then he ducked out from behind the counter and disappeared into the back of the store, closing the door behind him.

Esme turned and looked at Matthew. “He showed you already? What did the two of you talk about while I was outside with Mrs. Ridges?”

“Mrs. Ridges . . .” Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out the drawing Mr. Young had given him. “I’d say this is worth about a thousand words, wouldn’t you?”

She took it from his outstretched hand. “Bleaker is working with Ridges . . .” She looked up at Matthew with wide eyes. “We have to go right now. No time for backup, no time for anything.”

“But protocol says we should telegram Archie.”

She shook her head. “Now you’re quoting protocol to me? My, how the tables have turned. Listen—the longer we wait, the more time Bleaker will have to gather up his men, and the more dangerous things will become. Mr. Young just put himself in the firing line as well. We have to go now.”

“You’re right. Do you have plenty of bullets?”

“Yes, I do.”

He gave her a nod, then paused. “You’re something else, Esme. Do you know that?”

“What sort of something else? That could go either way, you know.”

“Something good. Something good and unexpected and surprising.”

“I’ll take that.” She flashed him a smile. “I’ll ask you for a much longer list of my attributes later, but we’d better be on our way.”

They left the horse and buggy where they were, dashed over to the livery station and commandeered two ponies in the name of the law, and hit the trail as fast as they could. The buggy would have slowed them down far too much, and they needed the flexibility horses alone could give them.

Matthew’s mind raced nearly as fast as the ponies. They truly were alone out here in Santa Fe. They didn’t know which police officers, if any, they could trust, and they didn’t know if Bleaker had turned the whole Pinkerton office or if he alone had gone rogue. He sifted through everything Bleaker had told them—and everything he’d omitted. So many lies and omissions for just one day. Some people just worked faster than others, he supposed.

Their intention when they’d laid out their plans the night before was to speak plainly to Bleaker and insist on more information. When they’d found that bullet in the wall, their plan had changed somewhat—they’d still approach Bleaker, but with the intent to arrest him if he couldn’t come up with some excellent explanations for his oversight. Now, knowing that Bleaker and Ridges were working together . . .

Did Pedro Garcia even exist, or was Bleaker behind the entire thing?

At that thought, Matthew almost fell off his horse.

He shouldn’t jump to conclusions—he knew how important it was to remain as objective as he could. But he couldn’t ignore the possibility that Garcia was a shadow, a name to hide behind.

Hmm. If that were the case, if Bleaker was the mastermind behind this plot, what did he have to gain from it? His objective wouldn’t be returning New Mexico to Spain—it would be the money, pure and simple. The argument over territorial rights would be a red herring.

For that matter, that could be true if there was a Pedro Garcia running everything. He could claim a sense of patriotism as his motivation, but beneath it all, he could be counting on the money from weapons sales to create a nice nest egg.

Regardless of the motive, regardless of the real mastermind, they were riding into the middle of a very dangerous situation, and Matthew gritted his teeth. It was time to focus on the things right in front of him and to stop conjecturing. He could sort out the details later. Right now, they had some men to arrest. A glance over at Esme told him that she was similarly focused, her jaw set.

And she’d never looked so beautiful.

Matthew shook his head, exasperated. He’d just given himself a lecture about staying focused, but now he was becoming distracted all over again. He didn’t know how to get this one out of his mind, though—she had planted herself there pretty firmly. Maybe if he rehearsed all the ways in which she annoyed him . . . but no, that wasn’t going to work either. Even her irritating little habits were starting to become funny to him, and he was more amused by her than exasperated. She was wearing him down, no doubt, and she would come out the winner in this battle of wills.

Another mile down the road, Matthew signaled by raising his arm, and Esme slowed her horse to match his speed. They led their horses into the trees and tethered them by some tender young grass, then kept low to the ground as they approached the camp Mr. Young had indicated on his map.

At first, Matthew wasn’t sure they were in the right place. Hand-drawn maps were never accurate as to proper distances, and as they crept along, he wondered if they needed to return to the horses and go farther north before veering off into the trees again. But then up ahead, he saw smoke curling into the sky where smoke wouldn’t ordinarily be, and he felt encouraged to keep going.

They placed their feet as quietly as they could, but the ground was covered in twigs, and it was difficult to remain silent. Thankfully, as they got closer, they could hear a child crying, and that should mask the sounds they were making. As grateful as Matthew was for the sound cover, he felt sick to his stomach that children were involved in this mess. Why couldn’t Ridges leave his family in town, a safe distance away, if he had to take this job at all? Didn’t he realize the danger he was placing them in?

Then again, if Ridges believed in the lies his boss was telling him, chances were good that he didn’t realize how dangerous things could become.

Matthew inwardly shook his head. Perhaps he was misinterpreting the entire situation and he was conjecturing scenarios that didn’t even exist. He hoped that would be the case—he hoped that every single thing he’d imagined would turn out to be just that, only his imagination.

At last they reached the edges of the camp. There were four tents set up around a fire pit, the doors opening toward the center. A huge kettle dangled from a tripod over the pit, filled with something that smelled like meat and pepper. The carcasses of some smaller animals had been strung between the trees—Matthew noticed a couple of rabbits and a groundhog, and he suspected that’s what he smelled in the pot. He’d be perfectly all right if he didn’t receive an invitation to this particular meal.

Mrs. Ridges exited one of the tents, and Matthew and Esme both took a step back farther into the shadows of the trees so as not to be seen. She gave the contents of the pot a stir, then went back into the tent. The whole time, the child’s crying didn’t vary in pitch or tone at all.

After taking greater note of the layout of the camp, Matthew motioned for Esme to follow him, and they edged away from the camp and ducked behind a rock cropping.

“We’ve located Mrs. Ridges, but now what?” Esme whispered.

Matthew slid down and sat on the ground, considering their options. There weren’t many. “We wait,” he replied after a moment. “We need to locate Bleaker or Garcia before we can take any sort of action—heading in there now with just Mrs. Ridges doesn’t accomplish anything.”

She nodded, and they settled in to wait. He shared his hypothesis that Bleaker might actually be the leader of the organization and that there was no Garcia, and she accepted it as though she’d already considered the possibility. That was a bit disappointing—he’d hoped to impress her or at least present her with a fresh perspective.

As the sun worked its way across the sky and then started its descent, Matthew was grateful for the rocks that sheltered them from the heat. The back of his neck was surely bright red anyway, but at least they’d been protected from the worst of it. The camp had been almost eerily quiet except for the child’s wail. They hadn’t heard Mrs. Ridges’ voice speaking to the children, and if they hadn’t seen her for themselves, it would be tempting to wonder if she was even there.

Esme, for all her insistence that she had a hard time sitting still, was patient as they waited, only moving when necessary. Toward the end of the afternoon, she leaned over and whispered, “I haven’t started interrogating you yet.”

“That’s right—you haven’t. What would you like to know?”

“You mentioned having a sister. Tell me about your family.”

They scooted closer together until their shoulders were touching, leaning against the rock while they waited for something—anything—to happen in the camp. Being so near to her made it possible for them to hear each other clearly, and it also made Matthew realize yet again just how pretty Esme was—and how feminine. Even though she was dressed simply in a blouse and skirt, she was certainly an entirely different breed of animal from his usual partners.

“One younger sister named Sarah,” he whispered. “She’s twenty now, married, one little boy. They live about five miles outside of Denver on their own little ranch.”

“Do you see her often?”

“As often as I can, but that’s hard in this line of work. My nephew is sure a cute thing—he’s only one and isn’t walking yet, but when he is, he’s going to run everywhere. You can just see it in him.”

Esme smiled. “He sounds like he has a doting uncle.”

“Yes, he does—I’ll admit it.”

“And how did you become interested in joining the Agency?”

He grinned, almost embarrassed to tell the story. “Playing horse thieves with my friends after school.”

“Horse thieves? How do you play that?”

“You choose one person to be the sheriff and another to be his deputy. Then all the other children are horse thieves. It’s a lot like tag—the sheriff and the deputy try to round up all the thieves, and at the end, all the bad guys get thrown in jail.”

She smiled. “And you liked being the sheriff?”

“No, actually—I liked being a horse thief. I liked being sneaky and figuring out how to get away. As I got older, I figured I could either use those skills to go into a life of crime or I could go into law enforcement. You see what I chose.”

He’d already been whispering, but at a sound from the camp, he stopped speaking altogether and listened. Faintly, so faintly, he heard a man’s voice and a woman’s reply.

The sun had nearly set by this point, and the sky was tinged with purples and pinks. The remaining light illuminated the red rocks that surrounded them, and the whole effect was breathtaking. It wasn’t the beauty of nature that was taking Matthew’s breath at that moment, though—it was the fact that he’d recognized the man’s voice.

Agent Bleaker.

Matthew looked over at Esme, who gave him a slight nod. She’d recognized it too.

“Time for Plan . . . C?” he whispered. Perhaps D. He’d lost count.

She nodded again.

She moved as though to stand, but he reached out and caught her elbow. She paused, looking at him curiously.

Now that he had her attention, though, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. His thoughts felt murky.

“Be careful,” he finally managed.

She gave him a smile. “You too.”

He held her gaze a moment longer before turning away, hoping she understood that wasn’t all he’d wanted to say. Maybe there would be time later—but maybe there wouldn’t. They had no backup, just each other. Only Mr. Young knew where they were. They had no idea how many people were actually living in this camp and how many of their supporters were living nearby. All they had was a long list of guesses, a few itchy hunches, and the fact that Bleaker hadn’t been entirely forthright. That was a shaky foundation to build a case on, and yet, they had to try.

Sometimes those itchy hunches saved lives.

Squaring their shoulders, Matthew and Esme crept back toward the camp, their heads down and their pistols ready.

Chapter Seven

The presence of children in the camp made everything a dozen times more difficult. Esmerelda kept an eye on them as Mrs. Ridges brought them out of the tent and set them each up with a plate of food. They ate as though ravenous, the poor little things, and Esmerelda’s heart ached for them. She didn’t think their father was a bad man—from what Mrs. Ridges had said while loading the wagon, he was desperate to feed his family, and Esmerelda knew that kind of desperation was born from love.

It was born from love, yes, but didn’t always lead to wisdom.

A man she supposed to be Mr. Ridges sat on a tree stump with his own dinner, and there, across the fire, sat Agent Bleaker, who poked at his food with a disgusted look on his face.

“I thought you said your wife could cook,” he said to Ridges, throwing his plate into the fire. “This is nothing better than animal carcasses and tree roots.”

“No one asked you to move out here with us,” Mrs. Ridges shot back. “If you wanted fancy city food, you should have stayed in your fancy city.”

Bleaker came to his feet. “I wouldn’t talk so high and mighty if I were you, Mrs. Ridges. Let’s not forget who got your husband this job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be homeless right now.”

She flung her arm toward the tents. “We are homeless. We live in tents and we eat whatever we can trap. You only have coffee in that pot because I went to town and put some on our store account—I was tired of drinking sagebrush tea every day. I should think you’d feel ashamed to talk to me the way you do.”

Bleaker took a step forward, then froze. “You went to town today? When?”

“This morning. While you and Tommy were out checking the caches with Garcia.”

Esmerelda glanced at Matthew. That answered one question—Garcia was a real person.

Bleaker swore and whirled around to face Tommy Ridges again. “Do you see? Do you see what she did?”

Tommy lifted his head tiredly. “What did she do?”

“She went into town, Ridges. The thing we told her not to do—she did it.”

“You can’t expect me to live out here on nothing! The children are starving, they’re cold, and they’re sick. They haven’t had but two seconds of joy in weeks, and you expect me to keep house here like this is some sort of grand palace. And no one, no one at all, told me I’d be childminding your prisoner for you either!”

Bleaker’s face had become more purple as she spoke, and now he stepped forward and backhanded her right across the cheek. The sound echoed around the camp, and Esmerelda winced.

“You will do as you’re told and you’ll keep your mouth shut while you’re doing it,” he growled. “We’re so close to bringing this deal to a close, and then we’ll all get paid. Until then, your head stays down and you keep your opinions to yourself. You understand me?”

She nodded, obviously fighting tears. Then she grabbed another plate, put some food on it, and disappeared into the tent on the farthest side of the camp, returning seconds later without it.

She’d said she was taking care of a prisoner . . . They’d just located Agent White.

Esmerelda felt goose bumps on her arms. The pieces were coming together, and now it was a matter of gathering them up again correctly.

She and Matthew crept back to their rock outcropping and hunched down out of sight.

“First thing is to rescue Agent White,” she whispered. “We need his help.”

Matthew nodded. “If you can creep around the back of the campsite and approach his tent from the rear, I’ll keep an eye on everyone from this side and make sure you’re not spotted,” he replied. “Do you have a pocketknife?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “My dear Agent Harrison, do I look like the kind of woman who would leave home without a pocket knife?”

He grinned. “Okay. Cut a slit in the back of the tent and go in that way so no one can see you from the fire. Lead White straight out into the woods and then begin to curve back around this direction. If anyone makes a move toward the tent, I’ll intervene.”

She nodded. “Once we have White, then what?”

Matthew sat back on his heels. “With White’s testimony, we should be able to put Bleaker away for a good long time, so my first thought was that we should just steal White and run. But once they discover White’s gone, they’re literally going to pull up stakes and disappear, and who knows how long it would take to hunt them down and arrest them.”

“So we’re not just stealing him and running?”

“No, I don’t think we should.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Go get White, bring him back here, and let’s get his input. He knows the strengths and weaknesses of this operation by now.”

She nodded. That sounded like the best course of action to her as well.

They waited a short time longer until darkness had truly fallen. Mrs. Ridges had put the children to bed in their tent, and Bleaker sat near the fire with Tommy.

“Garcia’s expecting another shipment tomorrow,” Bleaker was telling Tommy as Esme approached the campsite yet again. “The wagon will come down the northern route, so I’ll need you there at the fork. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. That wife of yours could have ruined everything for us, heading into town the way she did. You’d better pray she didn’t give away our location, Ridges.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Tommy replied, a slight whine in his voice. “She was just trying to take care of the children—and she knows how much you like your coffee.”

“Don’t try to blame me for her carelessness,” Bleaker spat. “I don’t have the patience for it. I’ve got to ride down to town in the morning and send those Denver agents on a wild goose chase to get them out of the way so we can handle this shipment—if it goes sour, Garcia will have all our heads.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Tommy said again, and Esme rolled her eyes as she crept past them on the outer perimeter. She couldn’t stand whining.

When she reached the back of the tent where they believed Agent White was being held, she pulled the knife from her pocket and opened the blade, then inserted it in the canvas. She kept the blade sharp, and it slipped through the tough fibers without too much difficulty. The hard part now was seeing in the dark interior.

She put her head through the opening and gave her eyes a chance to adjust, but after a few moments, she couldn’t see any more clearly than she had at first.

“I can hear you,” came a faint whisper from the corner of the tent, nearly making her jump. “Who are you?”

“Agent White?”

He paused, then answered, “Yes. Who are you?”

“Agent Carter with the Denver Pinkertons. I need you to do exactly as I say.”

He exhaled. “Thank God,” he whispered. “Yes, of course. Anything.”

“Are you injured?”

“No, but I am tied together at the ankles, and that rope is tied to the pole in the center of the tent.”

“All right. I’m coming in.”

Esme slipped in through the opening she had cut and bumped into something large on her left. No sound was made, but she still didn’t like being unable to tell what it was. “What’s in this tent besides you?” she whispered.

“Extra supplies, tents, ropes, that sort of thing,” he replied.

She felt her way forward, using her toes to guide her feet and waving her arms in front of her. At last she touched the center pole, and she trailed her fingers down it to locate the rope tying Agent White in place. When he’d first mentioned the rope, she’d wondered why he hadn’t just untied it, but as she touched it, she realized why that was impossible. It was by far the thickest rope she’d ever encountered, and the knots were complex. Mere fingers would never have been enough.

She felt around until she located a likely spot, then began sawing with her knife. Despite the fact that her blade was sharp, this was going to take a while.

“How long have you been here?” she whispered as she worked.

“About a month, I guess,” he replied. “Bleaker had to put someone on the case so it would look like he was doing his job, so he put me to work on it. I guess I wasn’t as stupid as he thought I was because I did figure it out—he and Garcia have been working together this whole time. I couldn’t go to the police because they’ve been paid off, and I suspected that at least four of the Pinkerton agents were also on the payroll, possibly more. The only thing I could do was confront Bleaker and hope for the best. Well, this is where I ended up, and this certainly wasn’t the best.”

Esmerelda could feel the rope fibers giving way under her fingers, but it wasn’t going fast enough for her liking. “Why did Bleaker contact us when you went missing?” she asked. “Why not just sweep your disappearance under the rug?” She paused. “For that matter, why are you still alive?”

“I have no idea why I’m alive. I’ve asked myself that every day, especially since I’m of no real use to them. As far as contacting you, I’m sure that was all for the sake of appearances too. He has to look like he’s doing his job or it will seem suspicious.”

“And he must have thought we’d be easy to fool too.” She thought back to what she’d overheard, how Bleaker was going to send them on a wild goose chase. Would they have fallen for it? She’d like to think not, but then again, it’s not every day that a fellow agent lies to you.

“All right, listen,” she whispered. “When this rope comes loose, we’re going to slip out of the tent the way I came in. We’re going to tiptoe around the camp and meet my partner on the other side. Do you have the strength to do that?”

“Yes. I’ve been able to walk around a bit—my rope is long, and I’ve been able to stay mobile.”

“Good. Now, you said there’s more rope stored in this tent. Do you remember where?”

“Yes—it’s over against the wall there.”

“Excellent. Your job will be to find as much as you can and bring it out of the tent with you, all right? We might need it. Is there anything else in here that could be useful?”

“I don’t think so—just a couple of tents.”

“All right. And here we go.” With a final slice of the knife, the rope had been severed. “You’re a free man, Agent White. Grab that extra rope and follow me.”

Esmerelda found her way back to the slit in the tent, stepped through, and held it wide while Agent White climbed out, his arms laden. She took one of the coils and led the way as they crept farther back into the woods, then crept around the circumference of the camp to where Matthew was waiting for them. Without a word, he guided them to the rock outcropping, where they all three collapsed.

“I’m Agent Harrison,” Matthew whispered after a long minute, reaching over to shake Agent White’s hand. “But I’m going to call you Robert. It’s easier. I’m Matthew, this is Esme, and it’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” It was hard to make out Robert’s features in the moonlight, but at least now that they were no longer in the tent, Esme could see him at all. “I can’t thank you enough for coming.”

Matthew gave him a nod. “All right, we need to decide what we’re going to do. Esme, did you hear what Bleaker was saying about tomorrow’s shipment?”

“Yes, I did. As I see it, we have two choices. We ambush that shipment and make a bigger arrest, or we wait until everyone’s asleep and tie them up. We brought rope.”

Matthew smiled. “Rope, you say?”

“We’re just working with what we have. Our biggest problem is manpower. There are only three of us, and that’s not going to change.”

Matthew turned to Robert. “Are there any agents or police officers left that you trust?”

“I don’t trust anyone anymore. Except . . .”

“Except what?” Esmerelda asked, finding it hard to keep her voice to a whisper.

“There’s a small army fort five miles from here. They’ve been apprised of the rumors of a possible uprising, but they haven’t gotten involved in the investigation because they believed we were handling it. Everyone thought we were handling it.” White shook his head and cleared his throat. “At any rate, if we could get word to them, they could be the backup we need.”

“And of course, Bleaker never mentioned the presence of the Army in this area.” Esmerelda shook her head. “Gracious, that man is annoying.”

Matthew chuckled, then grew serious again immediately. “We need to act quickly. It won’t be long before they discover that Robert’s escaped, and they’ll start searching for him. Esme, can you ride to the fort and get help?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“Good. Robert, you and I will go back to the camp and wait until everyone’s gone to bed. Then we’ll go in their tents, tie them up with this spare rope, and guard them until Esme returns. With any luck, the shipment will carry on as planned, but the Army will be here to stop it.”

Robert nodded. “What about Mrs. Ridges and the children? They’ve done their best by me, as much as they were able.”

“We’ll see to it that they’re treated as fairly as possible.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Matthew reached into his jacket, pulled out a second pistol, and handed it to Robert. Then he turned to Esme. “Ride fast,” he said. “We’ll be watching the camp, so ride fast and hard—don’t worry about making noise because we’ll shoot anyone who tries to follow you.” He didn’t say it, but she knew what he wanted to say—their fate rested in her hands. She felt the responsibility of that very keenly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she replied. She turned to go, but his voice stopped her.

“Esme?”

She turned back, expecting him to speak, but instead, he took her face between his hands and kissed her. It was entirely unexpected, but not at all unwelcome, and her heart gave an extra thump or two before he finally let her go. “Be careful,” he whispered, and she gave a nod before heading out into the darkness.

It wasn’t easy finding her way back to the horses. Clouds kept drifting across the moon, and it was only a quarter moon without much light anyway. But she did keep from spraining her ankle, and once she found the horses and had mounted hers, she breathed just a little easier. Her horse seemed to understand her urgency and took off at a gallop as soon as she flicked the reins, heading in the direction Robert had told her to go.

She wanted to daydream about that kiss, but that would have to wait until later. It was likely just a spontaneous thing anyway, a reaction to a moment of stress. When she saw Matthew again, he’d probably act as though nothing had happened, and she’d be all right with that. She knew that people did regrettable things when they were afraid for their lives.

Oh, but she hoped he wasn’t regretting it.

Ahem. Pushing the thought from her mind, she crouched low over the horse’s neck and encouraged it to go even faster, her skirts fluttering every which way. They weren’t riding skirts, but what did that matter? It was dark, and she had lives to save. She’d worry about propriety some other time.

***

Matthew and Robert waited until the camp was still. Neither Bleaker nor Ridges had gone into Robert’s tent to check on him—they likely figured that was Mrs. Ridges’ job anyway and somewhat beneath them. Bleaker had gone to bed in the third tent and Ridges stayed by the fire, supposedly to stand guard, but his head kept drooping down to his chest, making this task seem almost ridiculously easy.

Matthew formed a loop out of one end of rope, crept up behind Ridges and lassoed him with it, bringing his arms tight against his body before the man even had a chance to react. He did call out, though, before Robert was able to force a gag into his mouth, and it was only a couple of seconds before Bleaker came back out of his tent, his pistol at the ready.

Matthew left Robert to finish tying up Ridges, pulling his own gun and training it on Bleaker. “Drop your weapon.”

“That’s funny. I was just about to say that to you.” Bleaker glanced over at Ridges, now trussed up like a holiday turkey ready for the oven. “I told you that wife of yours was going to cause some trouble.”

Ridges couldn’t reply, but he strained against his bonds.

“Don’t blame Mrs. Ridges. We already knew something was wrong before we ever encountered her,” Matthew replied. “Why don’t you hand over the gun, Bleaker? You’re already in a world of trouble—at least do one thing right in this whole mess.”

“I am already in a world of trouble—what’s a little more?” Bleaker chuckled. “You don’t understand how things work down here, Harrison. Law enforcement is a joke. There’s no such thing as doing what’s right—right doesn’t exist. It’s every man for himself, and if you can find a way to get ahead, you should take it. I’d offer you a cut of the deal, but I have a feeling you’re too righteous to take it.”

“Just how many ways are you trying cut that pie, Bleaker? You keep bringing people in on the deal, and soon there will only be crumbs to go around.” Matthew shook his head. “I don’t know about being righteous, but I’m definitely not interested. The kind of life you’re leading holds no interest for me.”

“Well, that’s a shame.” Bleaker almost seemed sorry, but it didn’t last long. “I hate to see it end this way, but I’ve come too far to give up now.” He raised his pistol, but before he could bring it fully into position, Matthew saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, and Robert tackled Bleaker to the ground.

Only startled momentarily, Matthew leaped forward and disarmed Bleaker, then dodged out of the way to avoid a flying fist. Robert was not lucky enough to escape that fist, however, and it caught him in the temple, sending him staggering backwards.

Matthew took advantage of the moment to land a punch of his own, connecting with Bleaker’s jaw. The man lost his balance and fell, and within seconds, Matthew had his arms bound up behind him.

“Let’s put these men in my tent,” Robert suggested. He grabbed a lantern off a nearby tree stump and led the way, pushing back the flap and showing Matthew where he’d been tied up for the last month. Matthew was glad the rope they’d used on Bleaker and Ridges wasn’t as thick as the rope used on Robert—sure made it easier to tie them up. They pushed their captives into the tent and made sure they were secure, tethering them to the center pole in a clear case of turnabout is fair play, then took up guard positions outside, waiting for Esme to return.

Mrs. Ridges slowly peered out of her tent, her hair coming loose from her braid. “Am . . . Am I in trouble?” she asked fearfully. “Please remember my little ones—don’t take me away from my little ones.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll make sure your children are safe and cared for,” Matthew promised her. Until he knew the level of her involvement, he couldn’t promise more than that, but he would do everything that was in his power.

Chapter Eight

“Colonel Lowe, I simply don’t have time for your questions and your protocols. Either dispatch some of your men to come to my aid or I’ll leave and take care of matters myself. I’ve told you everything I can about the case, I refuse to be asked all the same questions over again, and I’m starting to regret coming here in the first place!”

Colonel Lowe looked like a man who had been dragged from his bed late at night by an overexcited woman telling stories of gun sales and captives in tents and rogue Pinkerton agents. He had every right to look that way, but his responsibility now was to hear her out, which he was not doing.

“I would love to be of assistance, young lady, but I’ve never even heard of a female Pinkerton agent before, and there are some elements of your story that just don’t make sense to me.”

“Isn’t it your job to protect the citizens of the United States of America?”

“Well, certainly.”

“I’m a citizen. My partner and my fellow agent are citizens. Other citizens will be in danger if you don’t take action now.” This was the most exasperating conversation she’d ever had in her life. How could she make him understand? She glanced around, and her eye fell on a deck of playing cards on the edge of the colonel’s desk. “Are you a gambling man, Colonel?”

He seemed a bit embarrassed. “I have to admit, I do indulge in the game from time to time. Don’t tell Mrs. Lowe, though—she thinks I kicked the habit years ago.”

“How would you feel about a small wager?”

He sat up a little straighter. “Are you proposing a bet, young lady?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well now, I’m intrigued. What sort of bet?”

“I . . .” Now she had to come up with something. Think . . . think . . . “I bet you that I can shoot a bottle off a tree stump at a hundred yards on the first bullet.”

“That would be impressive. What’s your wager?”

“If I can do it, you’ll send ten men with me, no more questions asked. And if I can’t, I’ll leave immediately and you’ll never hear another word from me again.” She paused. “But there’s one more thing.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed it’s dark outside.”

“That’s right. It won’t be dawn for a little while yet.”

“Have you ever seen someone shoot a bottle in the dark?”

The colonel threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t intend to try, do you? That’s just plain silliness! Wait until morning—humiliate yourself then.”

She smiled. “Let’s do it now. Right now, before the sun has even begun to touch the sky. That’s how confident I am, Colonel, and that’s how badly I need your help. If you won’t send it willingly, I’ll risk my humiliation, but you should know, I won’t be the one losing this bet.”

“We’ll see.” He stood up, chuckling. “I have to hand it to you—you’ve got a lot of spunk.”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

They walked outside, and the colonel sent his aide—also woken up from a deep sleep—to fetch a bottle. They located a fence post that would hold the bottle at a good height, and then they counted off a hundred yards.

“It’s pretty dark, miss,” the aide said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m more sure than I’ve been of anything in a long while,” she replied. “Now, one more thing.”

“I’m getting a little tired of your one more things,” the colonel said. “When will you actually shoot the bottle?”

“In a minute. I just need your aide to walk over there, stand directly behind the bottle, and say something. Then he should run like his heels are on fire.”

“You . . . you want me to go stand by the bottle?” The young man looked as though he might be sick.

“Yes, but I promise not to shoot immediately.”

He looked at the colonel, who gave him a nod, and then he trotted off. A moment later, Esmerelda heard his voice. “What do you want me to say?”

“Are you directly behind the bottle?”

“Yes, ma’am. Now, what am I supposed to say?”

“That was perfect. Now get out of there.”

She waited until she heard his footsteps scurrying off, then she raised her pistol and shot. The sound of shattering glass reached her ears, and she turned to the colonel with a smile. “How many men will you be sending with me, sir? Shall I plan on ten or fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” he said, spluttering.

“Perfect. Please have them out front ready to ride in ten minutes.”

***

Archibald Gordon sat at his desk in the Denver Pinkerton office, his desk covered in telegrams, his face grim. “What the two of you have discovered sent ripples of shock through the entire agency,” he said. “Never before have we experienced this level of corruption. The Santa Fe office has been closed, as I’m sure you can imagine, and will not be opened again until everything is sorted out. Each and every agent is being investigated, no exceptions. All the cases that were currently on their roster have been turned over to other agencies. The police are also under investigation by other law enforcement agencies. All this was put in place as you traveled back from New Mexico—we’ve been very busy over the last couple of days.”

He leaned forward and studied them across his desk. “The most important thing for you to know is how proud we are of you. Your service to this agency and to your country has been superlative, and the way you sacrificed your own lives to uncover this corruption—I honestly couldn’t have asked for any more from my operatives.”

Matthew felt his chest grow warm at the praise. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

Esmerelda nodded. “Yes, it certainly does, Agent Gordon. Thank you.”

Archie leaned back in his chair. “You’ll be glad to hear that the Army was able to intercept that shipment, and Pedro Garcia has been arrested. Colonel Lowe was disappointed that you didn’t stay around for that part, Agent Carter, and asked that you be given a message.”

“Oh? What sort of message?”

Archie checked the telegram sitting right in front of him. “It seems that if you’re ever in need of work, you’re to contact him immediately. He was rather impressed by you. Is it true that you shot a bottle at a hundred yards in the dark?”

She blushed prettily. “It’s just a little trick I learned some years back, sir. Nothing all that special.”

“I should think it was plenty special,” Matthew said. “I’m sorry to have missed it.”

“Perhaps we’ll prevail upon her for a demonstration later,” Archie interjected.

“Sir,” Esme said before any such plans could be made, “do we know who hired the Santa Fe Pinkertons? That question has been burning in the back of my mind for days now.”

“Actually, yes.” Archie looked at the two of them. “You’re sworn to secrecy, mind you.”

“Of course,” Matthew replied, and Esme nodded.

“It was the wife of the Santa Fe police chief. She’d suspected for some time that her husband was doing something illegal, but she was afraid to dig too deeply on her own. She’s gone to live with her mother back east and she doesn’t want her name connected with this case in any way.”

“That must have been so difficult for her,” Esme commented.

“Yes, it was. She’s yet another hero to add to our roster for this case.” Archie held up a hand. “And I know what your next question will be—Mrs. Ridges and her children are being well looked after. Some of the ladies in their local church have made arrangements for them.”

“I’m so glad.” Esme looked over at Matthew and smiled. “Yes, now I’m very well content.”

“Now, is this your full report?” Archie tapped the pages sitting on his desk.

“Yes, sir, but I need to lodge a small complaint,” Matthew said. “You told me that if I took this case, Agent Carter would handle the paperwork for me, but she made me write my portion myself. I feel misled, sir.”

Esmerelda turned to him, her eyebrow raised. “You thought I was going to do your paperwork?”

“Well, I’d hoped so.”

“I’m glad we’ve gotten that ironed out.” She smiled at Agent Gordon. “He’s a rather impetuous young lad, but I trust that with some additional training, you’ll be able to turn him into a respectable adult someday.”

“We’ll make that a priority,” Archie responded, a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, and Agent Carter? Your office says you’re to take a couple weeks off before returning to duty. They say you’ve earned it, and I agree. I think we’ll extend the same to you, Matthew.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s most kind.”

Archie nodded. “Now, why don’t you ask Pearl for something to eat? I have a dozen telegrams to answer, and you’re distracting me something fierce.”

Matthew held the door open for Esmeralda as they stepped out into the hallway. Before she could precede him into the kitchen, though, he said, “Esme? Can we talk for a moment?”

“Of course.”

He stepped over and grabbed the door that would lead them out to the gardens, then strolled along beside her as they followed the path between the blooms. “I remember meeting you out here for the first time,” he said. “You were sitting in the sun, and you looked like a ray of sunshine yourself—sunshine and fairy dust. I’d never seen anything prettier in my whole life.”

“And then you got to know me, and all your illusions vanished,” she replied. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

“No, actually—my illusions didn’t vanish. They just changed. Instead of being an ethereal beauty descended on a ray of light, you became a strong, smart earthly beauty sent to keep me in my place and hold my interest for hours on end. Every minute of every day, I found myself caught off guard and challenged, and you have no idea how attractive that was to me.”

She smirked. “You like being challenged, do you?”

“Yes, I do, and I didn’t even realize how much.” He reached out and caught her hand. “Esme, I know we’re supposed to meet with the judge to have our marriage annulled, but I wondered . . .” He was probably bungling up this whole conversation, but he had to give it a try. “Will you spend these next two weeks with me giving this marriage a chance? I feel as though we have so much more to discover about each other, so many strengths and attributes and quirks. The thought of sending you away before I’ve come to know you better . . . The truth is, I’ve fallen in love with the parts of you I know, and I’m eager to keep falling in love with you over and over again the more we learn about each other.”

She blinked. “You’re . . . you’re in love with me?”

“It would appear that way, yes.”

She blinked again, then threw her head back and laughed—a bright, crystal-clear laugh that rang freely throughout the garden. It was the very sound he’d wanted to hear since the moment he’d met her. “Agent Harrison, you have no idea what agonies I’ve been going through the last couple of days. I keep replaying that kiss in my mind over and over again, wondering if you really meant it or if it was your way of saying goodbye before sending me off to my certain death . . . I’ve been a wreck trying to figure it out.”

“And now that you know I meant it?” He tried to keep his voice steady, but his heart was hammering, and it was difficult to speak.

She took his other hand and faced him. “Now I think I’d like another one. Just to make sure the first wasn’t just a fluke.”

He brought her in close, sure his heart would leap out of his chest, and kissed her, every hair on the back of his neck tingling at her closeness. When he let her go, she smiled at him. “Yes, I think I could stand staying married to you for the next two weeks—but only if you promise to kiss me like that on a semi-regular basis.”

“I might find it a little difficult to fulfill that assignment by myself, so it’s a good thing I have a dedicated, conscientious partner,” he told her.

“Oh, trust me. I have every intention of keeping you on your toes. But I will not, now or ever, be doing your paperwork for you.”

The End