An Agent for Cynthia

The Pinkerton Matchmaker

Book Sixty-Nine

by Amelia C. Adams

With thanks to my beta readers—Amanda, Amy, Barbara, Cindy, Dorothy, Joseph, Mary, Renee, Robin, Sandy, Suzy, Teresa, and Theresa.

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 Nine

Chapter One

Denver, Colorado

1873

Cynthia Baxter stood on the platform at the station, looking back and forth anxiously. The train was scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes, but her intended groom was nowhere to be seen. She supposed they could take the next train, but Archibald Gordon, head of the Pinkerton Detective Agency’s Denver office, had been very clear that he wanted them to be on their way immediately. If they missed this one, it would be hours until the next, and that just wouldn’t do. Keeping her promises was very important to her.

Another few minutes went by, and her heart was thumping so rapidly, it hurt. Where was he? What was holding him up? He was going to ruin everything, and Agent Gordon would never assign her to another case. Being a Pinkerton was all she’d ever wanted, and now her chance was going to be spoiled because of this man who didn’t know how to tell time.

This man . . . She didn’t even know his name or what he looked like. She only knew that she was right where she was supposed to be, and he . . . well, he wasn’t.

“Miss Baxter?”

She turned to see two men approaching, one young and one definitely not young. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry we’re late,” the younger one said. He set his bag down on the platform and took a deep breath. “I’m Corbin Rawlings, and this is Judge Hotchkiss. He’s agreed to marry us before we board.”

“I hope you can talk fast, Judge,” Cynthia replied, and the man chuckled.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that, Miss Baxter. I once married a young woman who was in a delicate way and wanted the ceremony finished before the . . . er . . . blessed event. I’m no stranger to weddings on the run.” He chuckled. Cynthia assumed she’d find it amusing later, but at the moment, she did not.

The train whistle blew, and the conductor called out, “Five minutes! Five minutes to board!”

Cynthia turned back to the judge, hoping to spur things on. “Shall we?”

“Yes, we shall.” He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a small black book. “Now, let’s see. Corbin Rawlings and Cynthia Bateman . . .”

“Baxter,” she interrupted.

“Hmm?”

“Baxter. Cynthia Baxter.”

He blinked. “Oh, yes. That’s right. Corbin Rawlings and Cynthia Baxter.”

Cynthia glanced at Mr. Rawlings, wondering why he was doing nothing to hurry this up. Surely he didn’t want to miss this train. If he did, that didn’t speak well for his work ethic, and she didn’t think she could be partnered with someone who didn’t believe as strongly as she did about the importance of staying on top of things.

Thankfully, the judge began the ceremony, flagging down two passersby to be the witnesses. They thought it was a tremendous amount of fun that two lovebirds wanted to tie the knot there on the train platform. Cynthia gave them a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to shatter their illusions.

As soon as the judge pronounced them man and wife, Cynthia and Mr. Rawlings scooped up their bags and ran for the train. Cynthia called “Thank you!” over her shoulder and hoped she would be heard over the sound of the hissing steam coming from the engine. They clambered on board, the conductor giving them a disapproving look even though he was smiling.

“Just couldn’t wait to marry her, eh, son?” he said knowingly. “Go ahead and take your seats, and I’ll stow your bags.”

“Thank you,” Cynthia told him, handing him her larger satchel, but keeping her reticule. Mr. Rawlings handed over his bag as well, and they moved down the aisle. They had just barely sat down when the train began to move.

“Well, now. That was certainly a wedding to remember.” Mr. Rawlings gave her a smile, and she looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time. All she’d noticed on the platform was his height, which was around six feet. Now she took note of his smile, which was very pleasant, and his eyes, which were a warm brown and a shade or two lighter than his hair. She wouldn’t have called him handsome, but he was certainly nice-looking. She hadn’t married him for his looks, though—all that was quite immaterial. She was on assignment, her first priority.

“Yes, it was.” She paused, wondering if she should say anything. She didn’t want to start their relationship off on a sour note. However, he needed to know where she stood on important issues such as punctuality and dependability, and it was best that she be honest right from the start. “I was concerned that you might not make it on time.”

“It’s been a very harrowing morning,” he replied, but didn’t elaborate.

What exactly did he mean by that? What was harrowing about packing a bag and coming down to the train station? “And I suppose that getting married was the last thing you expected,” she went on, hoping to elicit some sort of response.

“Archie had told me it might be expected.”

“Archie? Oh, Agent Gordon?” Cynthia nodded. “I admit, I was rather surprised when I went in to apply and was told that all female agents needed to be married to their trainers before taking their first case. I’d heard rumors, but I dismissed them as being a bit too far-fetched.”

Mr. Rawlings didn’t reply. He just returned her nod.

“So, it doesn’t bother you? Marrying me?”

“I imagine we’ll get along all right,” he replied.

And that was the extent of it.

Cynthia looked out the window. There wasn’t much to see as of yet—they were still on the outskirts of Denver. She was looking forward to reaching their destination of Salt Lake City and taking in their new surroundings. That would be an adventure in and of itself, considering that she hadn’t traveled much in her life.

“Perhaps we should discuss the case? I only know the basics—”

At last that got his attention, but not in the way she’d hoped. He fixed her with a look. “Miss Baxter . . . although, I supposed I could call you Mrs. Rawlings now . . . we will discuss this later.”

She blinked. “I only—”

He leaned forward and nearly touched her nose with his. “Do you understand that we’re surrounded by people who could overhear us? Undercover agents do not discuss their cases in public. Now please, have a care and let me get some sleep.”

He straightened, leaned his head against the back of the seat, and closed his eyes.

Cynthia was ashamed. She should have realized this wasn’t the time or place to talk about sensitive things, especially when the noise of the train made it necessary for them to raise their voices even to be heard. She’d only wanted to initiate a conversation, to get him talking about something—anything. She hadn’t thought about the consequences.

But still, he didn’t have to be so rude, and what did he mean by going to sleep? Wasn’t part of his job to protect her? How could he protect her if he was asleep? She could be kidnapped or she could fall off the back of the train—any number of things could happen to her. And she didn’t even know how to shoot a pistol yet! How was she to defend herself if something went wrong?

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She was perfectly capable of seeing to her own safety. If she wasn’t, she never should have applied to be a Pinkerton. And the fact that Mr. Rawlings was sleeping meant that he trusted her to be independent. Either that, or he was the laziest man she’d ever met. Agent Gordon had indicated that he’d be assigning her to a highly skilled trainer, but perhaps he’d only said that to reassure her. Perhaps she’d been pawned off on a complete wastrel.

Well, this wasn’t going to do at all. When they reached their next stop, perhaps she should buy a return ticket to Denver and go tell Agent Gordon what she thought about this arrangement. It was one thing to promise her a skilled trainer and quite another to assign her to someone who wouldn’t even hold a conversation with her.

But she was married now, and that made resigning from her job extremely difficult. Maybe that was the real reason why female agents were supposed to marry their trainers—so they couldn’t turn tail and run when things got hard. She tried not to seethe as she thought about it.

After a time, the train pulled into another station, and the conductor announced a thirty-minute stop. Mr. Rawlings opened his eyes and looked around, then stood. “I see a hotel through the window. We’d best stop and get some real rest.”

“Stop? But . . . we’re supposed to be in Salt Lake City as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I know.” He walked down the aisle and spoke with the conductor, who returned a moment later with their bags. Cynthia fumed as she watched the exchange. He might be her husband, but that didn’t mean that she owed him her unquestioning loyalty. He was doing everything he could to undermine this assignment, and it would reflect badly on her.

They left the train and walked across the platform toward the hotel he’d spotted. At least he had the decency to carry her bag this time. His long legs made it difficult to keep up with him, and she found herself nearly trotting. “I trust we’ll discuss this when we get inside?”

He didn’t reply. Of course he didn’t. That would be entirely out of character for him.

When they reached the hotel, he paid for a night’s stay, and they were shown to an upstairs room. Cynthia didn’t have any qualms about sharing quarters with him—he barely noticed her as it was, so she highly doubted he’d start noticing her now. He set their bags on the bed, then took off his hat and placed it on the bureau in the corner.

The room was nice enough, she supposed. It was clean, and that was the most important thing, even if the blanket on the bed was a bit faded. “What time are we leaving in the morning?” she asked, turning to Mr. Rawlings.

He was hanging his coat on a peg near the door, his back to her, and she gasped. A trickle of red was seeping through his hair and onto his collar.

“You’re . . . you’re bleeding!” She scrambled for her handkerchief. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

He accepted her handkerchief and pressed it to his scalp. “I thought it had scabbed. I didn’t expect it to reopen.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me.” She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him expectantly. “Mr. Rawlings, you and I need to have a talk whether you want to or not.”

“I agree.” He sank onto the chair next to the bureau. “I just have the most beastly headache.”

“I can imagine so. I just wish you’d said something before. I might have been able to help.”

“Oh? And how would you have helped?”

She fished in her reticule again. “Headache powders, for one,” she replied, holding up the container.

He gave her a wry smile. “All right, you could have helped. My lesson is learned.”

She placed the container on the bedside table where he could access them when he was ready. “So, let’s have our little talk. For starters, I’m going to call you Corbin, unless you violently object—we’re married, after all.”

He gave a nod, then winced. “Agreed.”

“And how did you get that wound on your head?”

“Well, I mentioned that it was a harrowing morning.” He took the handkerchief from his head, looked at it, then put it back in place. Cynthia wondered if that was all he was going to say, but then he continued. “I’ve been working on something for weeks, but had reached a dead end, and Archie decided to put a fresh agent on the case and send me to Utah with you instead. When he told me this last night, I didn’t have any objection—I felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere, and maybe a new set of eyes would be just the thing. But as I was walking to the train station, I noticed that the man I’d been following was up ahead, and he was entering a building I knew to belong to the suspect in another case. Two wanted men having a meeting practically under my nose? I couldn’t just let that pass, could I?”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t,” Cynthia said. “What about the new agent assigned to the case? Couldn’t he look into it?”

“I glanced around, but didn’t see anyone following him, and if there was another agent on the street, he would have recognized me and signaled me in some way,” Corbin explained. “I don’t think Archie had the chance to make the assignment yet.”

“What happened then?”

“I waited a full minute, and then I entered the building as well. It was like a warehouse—one large room with a few smaller rooms sectioned off at the far end. I could hear voices coming from one of those rooms, so I crossed the floor as quietly as I could and listened. Sure enough, they were planning to collaborate on something bigger than either of them could have accomplished on their own, and I was in the right place at the right time. They’re both sitting in custody right now.”

“That’s wonderful! But your head . . .?”

He grimaced. “There was a bit of a dustup, but it came out all right in the end. I’m sorry for being late to meet you, though.”

She smiled, feeling a little sheepish. “I admit, I was furious, and I was planning to say all kinds of choice things to you. And then when you wouldn’t even carry on a conversation with me? I was even madder. I believe I’ve been misjudging you all day, and I apologize for that.”

“It’s all right. These haven’t been the best circumstances to get to know each other.” He checked the bleeding again and nodded. “Now, I’m sure we’re both hungry, and I’d like to take some of that headache powder. Let’s get some dinner in the hotel dining room, then come back up here and discuss the case. Will you help me clean up a bit so the other guests aren’t alarmed when they see me?”

“Of course.” Cynthia stood and looked in the pitcher sitting atop the wash basin in the corner. “Good—they filled this for us. You’ll want a clean shirt for sure.”

Corbin opened his bag and pulled out a shirt, then turned his back to change. Cynthia couldn’t help but smile. She hadn’t intended to watch him anyway, but the fact that he turned around struck her as endearing. She busied herself with unpacking her hairbrush and setting it near the washbasin to be ready for the next morning. Then she poured some water into the basin and soaked her handkerchief, ready to sponge his wound.

He winced when she first touched it, but then he must have grown used to the feeling because he stopped reacting. After a moment, she’d done all she could, and nothing was visible anymore.

“There,” she said. “How does it feel now?”

“It’s throbbing, but I’ve had worse.” He glanced in the mirror over the basin, but as the wound was in the back, she didn’t know what he expected to see. “Shall we go down?”

“Yes. I’ll need to wash up first.” She washed her hands with some of the rose-scented soap provided next to the basin, hoping the bloody water in the basin wouldn’t give their maid a start, then nodded. “I’m famished. Let’s go.”

It was odd, walking into the dining room on Corbin’s arm as though they were newlyweds. Well, they were newlyweds, but not in the traditional sense. As a young girl, she’d always imagined her honeymoon as being something quite different—stars in her eyes, waving goodbye to her friends and family as they cheered, holding hands with the man who had stolen her heart. Now she was being seated across the table from a man she barely knew, wondering what they could possibly have in common aside from this case. Wondering what would become of them at the conclusion of their assignment.

“So, Cynthia,” Corbin said once the waitress moved out of earshot. “Tell me a little about yourself.”

“Are you hoping for something exciting? Because there’s really not much to tell. Our current situation is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Just whatever comes to your mind.” He took a sip of water, then sat back, looking at her expectantly.

She suddenly felt put on the spot. “Well, I’m the youngest of four children, and the only girl. I was born and raised in Denver, and I’m now twenty. I sing a little and I play the piano, and I also speak some French—although to be honest, I’ve never found a use for it, and I’ve often thought my time would have been better spent learning something else. Don’t tell my mother that, though—she believes a woman isn’t truly educated unless she can speak French.”

Corbin smiled. “And what does she think about our current situation?”

Cynthia looked down at the table, then back up. “She doesn’t know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t know? Mrs. Rawlings, did we elope?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well, what do you know?” He shook his head. “I’m an affront to society, and I didn’t even know it.”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She felt terrible.

“No, no—I’m teasing you. Please, go ahead.”

“You’re teasing me?”

“Yes. It’s something I do often—I should have warned you.” The waitress brought their food, and Corbin thanked her. Then he took the container of headache powders from his pocket, stirred some of the contents into his water glass and downed it, then followed it with a bite of bread. “Please, I mean it. Go ahead.”

She’d become distracted by the scent of the roast beef wafting toward her nose. After she took a bite of her own, she continued, “I’ve always enjoyed reading mystery stories, and then I started reading about …” She glanced around, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “About the Pinkertons in the newspaper. It seemed so thrilling, like all those adventure books coming to life. I tried to become interested in other lines of work such as dressmaking or teaching, but I couldn’t put my heart into them, and I finally decided to speak with Agent Gordon about my possibilities.”

“And was this just yesterday?”

“Oh, no. I met with him months ago, and he said he’d be in touch. I never heard from him, so I assumed he’d decided not to hire me after all, but then yesterday morning, I received his note. He said he needed me right away, and now here I am.”

Corbin shook his head. “That’s quite impressive. You left your family without saying goodbye to travel a whole state away with a man you’ve never met before? You’re the courageous one, aren’t you?”

She blushed. “Well, I didn’t think of it that way, but I suppose you’re right. I’m either courageous or very foolish. And I did leave them a note . . . and I’ll write them later.”

“I hardly think you’re foolish.” Corbin spooned up several bites of soup in quick succession. “I’d like to get back upstairs so we can discuss things,” he said. “Have you had enough to eat?”

“Not yet, but I can hurry.” Following his example, only doing it more daintily, Cynthia finished her dinner in a matter of minutes and then rose. They thanked the waitress on their way out and climbed the stairs to their room. Cynthia could hardly wait—she was finally about to learn what she would be doing in Salt Lake City.

Corbin pulled a file from his bag and opened it, spreading the pages on the bed. “These are copies, and I’ll be discarding them before we get there,” he said. “Memorize as much of this information as you can.”

Cynthia nodded, her eyes already roving from paper to paper.

“We’re looking for a man named Kade Brown,” Corbin said. “He specializes in helping criminals disappear—he invents new identities for them, helps them find places to live and that sort of thing. Because of him, the authorities have lost track of several men they were hunting down, and we need to get him into custody as soon as possible. If we can, we need to find out where he’s been sending his clients so we can arrest them as well. They’re likely scattered all over the country, so we’ll be working with law enforcement in each locale. If we can provide the aliases and the addresses, they’ll make the arrests.”

“Do we have any idea how many criminals he’s helped?” Cynthia asked.

“No, not definitively. But it says quite a lot when we’ve tracked several to Salt Lake City and they’ve just disappeared from there.”

Cynthia nodded. “I always thought Salt Lake was a religious place—I never would have thought to look there for that sort of thing.”

“That’s exactly why he chose it. No one would suspect anything because the place is nearly entirely inhabited by Mormons, who don’t believe in breaking the law. He’s got himself tucked up nice and safe, and he doesn’t know we’ve tracked him that far.”

“What exactly will we be doing?” Cynthia asked. “I imagine we’re not just walking up to him and arresting him.”

“No, we’ll be going undercover as criminals who want to go into hiding. Because our goal is to locate his clients as well as arresting him, we need to find his records, if he’s been keeping any. If he doesn’t keep records on paper, we’ll need to get him to talk to us. He needs to trust us.”

“But … we’re criminals. Why would he trust us?”

Corbin smiled. “Good point. He needs to believe that we won’t betray him—that might be a more accurate way to put it.”

Cynthia picked up one of the sheets of paper. It was a telegram that had been sent to Archibald Gordon by a man named Harold Carlson. “This telegram gives the address of the last place where Kade was seen. I take it that Harold Carlson is an agent?”

“That’s right. We’ll be meeting up with him when we reach Salt Lake City so he can give us the latest.”

She frowned. “If he’s already on the case, why are we needed?”

“He’s already been spotted. Kade doubled back one night while Harold was following him, and Harold had to make up a story about searching for his lost dog. Turns out that Kade has a soft spot for animals, and they chatted for about ten minutes.”

Cynthia thought about that for a minute. “And Harold couldn’t just tell Kade that he’d been following him because he wanted to know if he could trust him, and that he’s a criminal who needs help?”

Corbin chuckled. “You really have read a lot of mysteries, haven’t you?”

“Well, it just seems that would be the easiest way to go about it . . .” Had she said something ridiculous? She honestly wasn’t sure.

“You’re right, you know—he could have turned it to his advantage. However, he chose to contact Agent Gordon and ask for additional help, and we’re on our way.” He paused. “I should tell you something before we arrive.”

“You should tell me a great number of things before we arrive,” she said lightly. “You realize how very little I actually know.”

“Yes, I do realize that, and I’m sorry.” Corbin cleared his throat. “It seems that Kade has a weakness for pretty ladies, and that might be why you’ve been asked to go along.”

Cynthia blinked. “You don’t mean that I’m supposed to . . . flirt with this man, do you? Or accept his advances? Because if that’s what you mean, you should definitely be apologizing.”

Corbin held up both hands. “No, not at all. I don’t think Archie would expect that of you, and I knew the moment I met you that you’re not that sort of girl. What I’m suggesting is that you pretend to be a damsel in distress. Play on his sympathies. Tell him you need to go into hiding for your own protection, that he needs to help you or something terrible will happen.”

“Like … what sort of something?”

“I thought you might have some ideas—what with all those mysteries you’ve read.” He smirked.

She put her hands on her hips. “I hope you aren’t mocking me. Those mysteries taught me critical thinking and how to piece things together from only a few clues. I’m going to be an asset to this case, I promise you that.”

“Oh, I’m not saying I doubt that. I just question your means of training.”

Cynthia puffed out a breath. “Training? That’s your job, Mr. Rawlings—to train me. So I suggest you get started on that.”

Chapter Two

Corbin couldn’t help but chuckle again. His new wife was so delightfully infuriated. Her cheeks had gone pink, making her even prettier, and her stubbornness was charming. He had no doubt she believed she could become an agent, but until they were actually fulfilling their assignment, he couldn’t properly assess her abilities, and he wasn’t going to make a judgment call without more information.

In the meantime, he felt terrible, and he needed to lie down. The medicine he’d taken had turned his stomach even though he’d been careful to take it with food, and it hadn’t even lessened his headache. If a good night’s rest didn’t set him to rights, he didn’t know what he was going to do. He had to be in good shape for this assignment and most particularly to watch over his partner, but if he’d gotten a concussion, he might be out of a job this time around, and he would have gotten married for no real reason.

Not that being married to Cynthia was a hardship, but he’d always thought he’d choose his wife himself rather than having his boss make that decision for him.

“I’m sorry if I seem patronizing,” he said. “I’m trying to find some humor in the situation because that’s how I deal with tense moments. We’re walking into something very dangerous, and I want to be sure that you’re aware of the possibilities.”

“Yes, I’m aware, and I’m ready to learn whatever you need to teach me for this case.”

He gave a nod, but then regretted the movement. His head felt as though it had been placed on a turntable and was spinning around and around. He reached out and caught the bedpost for support, but not before he’d stumbled a bit.

“Corbin!” Cynthia exclaimed, reaching out and catching his elbow. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little dizzy.”

She moved the papers aside with one sweep of her arm and helped him ease onto the bed. “You should be resting. Here—lie back.”

He managed to scoot up until he was lying down properly, but it took all his energy. Why was he so exhausted all of a sudden? “I’ll just rest for a few minutes and then we can keep discussing the case,” he said. “I’m sure I’m fine.”

“And I’m sure you’re not.” She began unlacing his shoes. “You need to sleep. Honestly, we could have waited a day before leaving Denver—why didn’t you tell me you were injured? I would have understood.”

“I thought I was fine,” he mumbled. He pressed a hand to his forehead, wondering if that would make the room stop spinning, but it didn’t help at all.

“You were probably so caught up in the moment that you didn’t realize it was serious.” She pulled off his shoes and set them on the floor next to the bed. “If you’re not feeling quite a bit better in the morning, we should send for a doctor.”

“I don’t know what good a doctor would do,” Corbin said. “He might give me powders, but you’ve already done that, and it’s not so bad that I need stitches, is it?”

Cynthia pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. “I’m honestly not the best judge of that, but the gash is rather small,” she replied. “It just bled a lot, which I understand is common for a head wound. I learned that from reading a mystery novel,” she added.

“They have their uses.” Corbin shifted a little on the pillow. “I’m not going to ruin this pillowcase, am I?”

She shrugged. “You might—I don’t know how we’d avoid ruining something while we’re here. We can leave a little money on the dresser to cover it.”

“Good idea.” Corbin felt sleep tugging at the edges of his consciousness. “I’m going to be fine in the morning. I promise.”

“We’ll see. And if you’re not, we’ll get you the help you need. You’re the most important thing, Corbin—there are other agents who can take this case if you’re not well.”

“But where would that leave you?”

“Nursing you back to health, of course,” she replied with a slight laugh. “You don’t think I’d leave my husband alone and wounded to fend for himself, do you?”

“About that . . .” He lifted his head and looked at her, even though it was painful. “All my friends in the agency have stayed married to their partners, but I’m told that others have had their marriages annulled at the conclusion of their assignments. You aren’t fettered to me for life—it’s just for now.”

She smiled. “We’ll take care of that in its own due time. For now, stop fighting the inevitable and go to sleep.”

“All right.” He couldn’t argue with that, and soon, he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings anymore.

***

The room was beginning to grow light when Corbin opened his eyes again. He lay there for a moment without moving, reminding himself where he was and what he was doing there. And that he was now married, and there was a beautiful young woman somewhere waiting for him to wake up.

He lifted his head slowly, cautiously, and looked around. She was sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, studying the papers that had been included in the case file. She’d taken out her hair pins, and long curls tumbled around her face and down her neck. If he’d thought she was pretty before, she was stunning now.

“Haven’t you slept?” he asked.

She startled at the sound of his voice. “Oh, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“My head is aching, but nothing like it was last night. I guess the real test will be standing up.”

“Well, don’t rush it, whatever you do.” She came to his side and offered a hand, which he took as he eased himself to a sitting position. He was still dizzy, but it was more tolerable now.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“Your question?”

“Yes. Did you get any sleep last night?”

“I tried, but I was too worried. And you were snoring.”

“I was snoring?”

“Yes. I was going to nudge you with my elbow, but considering your infirm state, I decided that wouldn’t be kind, so I got up again instead.”

He hadn’t even been aware of her lying next to him. His brain must truly be injured if he’d missed that important detail. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll try to make it up to you later.”

“It’s all right. It gave me a chance to study this case file in more detail. I was particularly interested in this list of persons you believe escaped with Kade’s help. It’s rather extensive.”

“It is, and sadly, it’s mostly conjecture. We have one witness who told us about Kade’s operation, and we have the word of Harold Carlson that he’s seen Kade interacting with various suspect types, but until we’ve sunk our teeth into it, we won’t know exactly what we’re up against.”

“I think the evidence is rather compelling. Why else would all these people disappear after traveling to Salt Lake City? Unless they’re all converting to Mormonism and giving up their lives of crime, but even if they did that, they wouldn’t disappear.” She held out her hands again. “Are you ready to try standing, now that you can sit?”

“I am.” Corbin gripped her hands and eased his weight forward onto his feet. He felt like a newborn calf trying to figure out how to use its legs, but Cynthia held him firmly, and after a few seconds, he found his center and was able to stand without assistance. He didn’t want to let go of her hands—they were soft, even though they were strong—but he did so he could test his balance.

“Very good,” she said. “And the head?”

“Still aching, but it’s much better than it was before.”

“I’m taking this as a very good sign. We’re not going to rush things today, but I believe I can stop worrying about you now.”

“What do you mean, we’re not going to rush? We have a train to catch this morning—”

Cynthia held up a hand. “After you fell asleep, I stepped out into the hall and asked one of the chambermaids to fetch me the train schedule. Yes, there’s a train at ten this morning, but there’s another at four this afternoon.”

“And you’d like to leave at four.” Corbin blew out a breath of frustration. “I hate the thought of losing all this time.”

“I don’t see a need to hate it. Why use up a perfectly good emotion on something we can’t control? You aren’t purposely feeling unwell—that’s not something you can control. What you can control, however, is the way you respond to it.”

Corbin lowered himself back to the edge of the bed, his knees suddenly deciding to lose their strength again. “You’re right, and arriving six hours earlier wouldn’t have solved the case any quicker. We can leave at four, but I do think you should take a nap in the meantime.”

“And I think you’re right. I can hardly keep my eyes open.” She gave him a scrutinizing look. “Are you going to snore again? Because if you are . . .”

“I’ll try my very best not to.”

“All right.” She came around to the other side of the bed and lay down without seeming to give it a second thought. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Corbin adjusted his pillow, then lay down as well. Cynthia’s quiet breathing soon filled the room, and he couldn’t help but glance over at her. The long curls he’d been admiring were now spilled across her pillow, one tangling up in the lace at the throat of her blouse, and he smiled. She looked so innocent and childlike, but he’d seen a streak of her stubbornness for himself, and he knew she had many layers to her. It would be part of the adventure to figure out those layers and learn what she was all about.

He closed his eyes again, not sure if he’d be able to fall back asleep after the long night’s rest he’d had, but he needn’t have worried. He was asleep again within minutes, taking comfort in the nearness and compassion of his new wife.

***

“Well, you’re a little less pale, but I wouldn’t say you’re completely on the mend,” Cynthia said, giving Corbin a scrutinizing look.

He hadn’t expected to be completely on the mend—he’d take whatever progress he could get. “I’m well enough to board that four o’clock train, and that’s all that matters to me.”

She glanced down at the floor, then back up. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

“An apology? Whatever for?”

“Yesterday, when you were late to meet me at the train station, I had all kinds of uncharitable thoughts about you. And then on the train, when you wouldn’t speak to me . . . Well, I’d decided that you weren’t taking this case very seriously, and I wondered if Agent Gordon really had given me the excellent trainer he promised me . . . and I’m sorry. I can see now that you’re completely dedicated, even pushing yourself past your health limitations to get the job done.” She paused. “And I’m sorry for even thinking such things.”

She looked so unsure, as though she thought he’d be angry with her for making this confession, such as it was. He reached out and took her hand, hoping she wouldn’t mind this little bit of familiarity. “I completely understand why you’d feel that way—in your position, I’d likely feel the same. And you don’t need to apologize for the things you think—I’ll never know the difference.”

“Yes, maybe, but I’d know, and I just wanted to clear the air. For my own sake if nothing else.”

He grinned. “Feeling a little guilty, were you?”

“Yes, a little. It’s just . . .Well, at first I was angry with you, but now I admire you, and I thought you should know.” Her cheeks were now bright red, and he couldn’t help it. He reached up and stroked one of those cheeks with the back of his finger, just a quick touch.

“It’s all right, I promise. I’m rather pleased, though, to know that you’ll always be completely honest with me, and that if you’re not, your face will give you away.”

She gave him an impertinent look. “And how am I to know if you’re lying to me?”

“You won’t. I never give anything away.”

“Never? That seems unlikely.”

“It’s part of being an agent. You must learn to be completely impassive at all times. No emotions, no reactions. Just a blank slate.”

She tried to rearrange her face to wipe off her expression, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Corbin was tempted to chuckle, but she was trying so hard, he couldn’t mock her like that.

“You’ll never be able to tell when I’m lying to you because I never will lie to you,” he said softly.

“Not even to save my life or protect my feelings?”

Hmm. That did put a new spin on things. “I might need to think about that, but under ordinary circumstances, I promise.”

“All right. You go ahead and think about it. In the meantime, we need to leave—the train won’t wait around for us.”

They gathered up their bags, and Cynthia took a quick look around to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. She’d left the pillowcase soaking in hopes that the blood would wash out, and Corbin had placed some money next to it on the washbasin. He hated leaving that sort of work for the maid, but given their time restrictions, they really didn’t have a choice. His bloody shirt was bundled at the bottom of his satchel, and he hoped they’d have a chance to meet up with a laundress when they got to Salt Lake City.

The next leg of their trip was much more comfortable for Corbin, as his head was no longer throbbing with every jolt. Instead, it was a low ache, and while that wasn’t ideal, it was an improvement.

The nap he and Cynthia had taken that morning had helped, but she was obviously still tired as her head lolled from side to side. She jerked awake a few times before he couldn’t take her discomfort anymore and shifted to sit next to her, guiding her head onto his shoulder. She settled in and fell into a deeper sleep, and he decided that even though he was pinned down and quite unable to move, he didn’t mind at all. What man would mind having a beautiful woman fall asleep on his shoulder?

The events of the last few days churned through his head as he looked out the window, the grasses and the hills chugging past and marking the miles until they’d reach their next stop. When Archie had asked him to turn his case over to someone else and take this one instead, he’d recognized the need, but he’d also felt like he’d failed. That was a feeling he disliked above all others—if anything, he stuck with a task until it was completed. Being able to make the arrest the next morning was a glorious vindication after a long night of feeling as though he’d let everyone down.

And getting married . . . Several of the agents had agreed to work with the new female recruits, and remarkably, nearly all of them had fallen in love. In his line of work, Corbin didn’t have time to meet women, alone having the time to court one, so he’d resigned himself to being a bachelor forever. This assignment was giving him the opportunity to correct that, but he’d just assumed they’d be getting an annulment and it wouldn’t be a long-lasting relationship. But the more time he spent with Cynthia, the more he wanted to spend with her. It hadn’t even been thirty-six hours yet and he was already completely intrigued by her.

He didn’t know what he’d expected her to be like. He knew Archie was choosing someone pretty for this job, but he hadn’t anticipated that she’d be this pretty—or this sweet. It was that sweetness that made him fear most for her suitability. Did she have the inner strength and the gumption to stand up to the coarseness they were likely to encounter, the language and the drinking and the innuendo? She seemed far more suited to a Sunday picnic than consorting with the criminal element. And yet she believed that reading a few detective books had prepared her for this . . .

She was looking to him for training, and he would do everything he could to ready her for what lay ahead. What he couldn’t do, and wouldn’t do, was crush her gentle spirit. Her genuine goodness set her apart from many of the other young ladies he knew, and he admired that in her. He wished he could be as good and as kind as she was, but it was too late for him—he’d lived in the real world far too long and had experienced far too much of life’s harshness to be that innocent again.

Her influence, though—her softness—would remind him that not everything in the world was cruel. Looking at her, he remembered things like Christmases and the smell of fresh bread and the first blooms of spring. She connected him to the lovely side of life, something he needed badly.

He also hadn’t expected himself to become so sentimental.

She stirred, and he looked down at her. She was so trusting—she depended on him to keep her safe on this train surrounded by strangers, and he would fulfill that task with everything in him.

And then, once this case was over, he’d see if he could convince her to remain his wife because he knew he’d have a hard time ever letting her go now that she’d been this close.

Chapter Three

Cynthia opened her eyes slowly. She was still on the train—the noise had been a clue to that before she was even fully awake. But she was leaning on Corbin’s shoulder now, a welcome surprise, and she couldn’t help but snuggle in a little further. She felt safe with him, safe like a child wrapped up in a blanket, and yet . . . No, he did not make her feel like a child. She remembered the way she’d felt when he touched her cheek earlier that day. The attraction she’d felt for him was strong and instant, and so sudden that it caught her off guard. She hadn’t anticipated feeling that way, and yet she did, and it was a welcome surprise.

She sat up and gave him a smile, noticing that he looked tired too. She hoped his head wasn’t aching again.

“I’ve thought it all out,” she said.

“You have?”

“I have, and it’s perfect.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Just what have you thought out, and how is it perfect?”

“Our cover story,” she said, leaning toward him and lowering her voice. “I don’t know whether I dreamed it or if it just came to me as I was waking up, but I’m rather enthralled by the idea and I think you should be too.”

“All right.” He chuckled. “I promise to be enthralled.”

“Good. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as we’re alone. Oh, and thank you for letting me sleep on your shoulder. That was very kind of you.” And just a bit embarrassing for her, but she realized that he didn’t mind, so it seemed foolish for her to mind.

“You’re welcome. As I see it, shoulders have to be good for something besides just holding our arms on our bodies.”

She smiled. “Exactly. Everything should serve at least two purposes, or what’s the point in having them?” Turning toward the window, she tried to make out some of the passing landscape, but it was entirely dark. “What time is it, and where are we?”

“It’s around eight o’clock, and we should actually be reaching Salt Lake City before too much longer.”

“Already? I didn’t mean to sleep so long—did I put a crick in your neck?”

“I’m not surprised you slept that long. You were up nearly all night. And no, my neck’s fine.”

“That’s good.” She suddenly found herself a little shy. “I  . . . I don’t snore, do I?”

“What?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Why would you think you snore?”

“It’s just that some people do, and I don’t want to be one of them.”

“Like me, you mean?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Um, yes, but I didn’t mean that in a critical way. It’s quite normal and natural for a man to snore, but for a woman, well, it’s just not ladylike.” She wished she’d never brought it up—she sounded sillier and sillier the more she talked.

“You have nothing to fear. You did let out a little sigh once in a while, but there was nothing even remotely resembling a snore.”

“Thank you. I’ve always wondered, but I’ve never had anyone to ask.”

Before he could reply, the conductor moved down the aisle. “Next stop, Salt Lake City. We’ll be taking a thirty-minute break before continuing on our way to Nevada and California. If you’re leaving us here, we hope your journey was pleasant. If you’re continuing on, please keep an ear out for the train whistle so you know when to climb back on board.”

A small shudder ran through Cynthia, and Corbin looked at her curiously. “Are you all right?”

“I suppose—I just realized that we’re here and we’re about to do something dangerous.”

“Do you want to change your mind? There’s still time—we can catch the very next train back to Denver.”

It was tempting, but only for the slightest second. “No! Absolutely not. We’re going ahead with it, and we’re going to do a brilliant job.” She gave him her brightest smile, hoping it would convince the both of them. “I’m sure I’ll have several such moments where I’m a little shy, but I’ll get over them—I promise.”

“I believe you. You’ve got a lot of courage, Mrs. Rawlings, and I have a feeling we’re only going to see more and more of it over the next several days.”

He looked at her with so much genuine warmth, she knew he was telling her the truth. He did believe her—and he believed in her, which was different and even more valuable. It made her feel like she could accomplish anything, even if it was something that made her nervous to think about.

When the train stopped and they disembarked, they both found it a little difficult to walk in a straight line. They’d been sitting on the train so long, they’d lost strength in their legs, and Cynthia was sure they looked like they’d just left the saloon. Were there saloons in Salt Lake City? There had to be . . . It was established by Mormons, but people of all faiths and some non-religious people lived there too. She should expect it to be similar to any other large town she might visit.

“Excuse me, sir,” Corbin said to the conductor, who was stretching his legs on the platform. “Do you know this town well? Is that hotel across the way reputable?”

“It’s decent enough for tonight, but if you plan to be here on any length of time, I’d be looking for a new place in the morning,” the conductor replied.

“Thank you. That will work.” Corbin took Cynthia’s bag and led the way across the street to a building that sat on the corner, its roof tiles in disrepair but a lantern in the window. It was late, and as long as the place was reasonably clean, Cynthia didn’t care about things like roofs. She just wanted some sleep.

They were checked in by a sullen-faced woman who didn’t look too happy to see them even though they were paying guests, and they tumbled onto the bed, almost forgetting to remove their shoes.

“I’ve never been so tired in all my life,” Cynthia said, staring at the wall. “I can still feel the train rumbling beneath my feet.”

“So can I. Sleep will help, though.”

“I’m sure it will.” She paused. “One of us has to take care of the light.”

“Hmm?”

“The light. One of us has to get up. We can’t sleep with the light on.”

“I can.”

She sighed. “I’m not talking about the ability to do it—I’m talking about being responsible. It’s not responsible to leave the light on if we’re not using it.”

Corbin rolled onto his side and looked at her. “Will anyone know? Are they going to ask at the front desk? Do we have to include it in our report of the case?”

“Well, no, but . . .”

“Then I don’t see what difference it makes. Light on, light off . . . Just get some sleep.”

Cynthia tried to ignore it—she really did. But the little voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that it just wasn’t right, and she finally got up and took care of it. As she climbed back into bed, she heard Corbin chuckle.

“That was going to bother you all night, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m afraid it was.”

He chuckled again. “You’re going to keep me on my toes—I can tell.”

“Good. You need to be kept on your toes.”

She could almost feel him smiling in the darkness as she finally drifted off to sleep.

***

When Cynthia woke up the next morning, she lay there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of stillness. She knew they’d have to get back on a train to return home at the end of their assignment, but for now, she would appreciate the break and having her feet on solid ground for a while.

Movement in the corner of the room caught her attention, and she looked over to see Corbin brushing his hair with the aid of the looking glass over the bureau. His hair looked a little damp, and he was freshly shaved—she was jealous of how tidy he looked. She badly wanted a long soak in a hot tub, but she hated the idea of doing that in a hotel. It just didn’t seem private enough.

“You didn’t tell me your idea,” he said. He hadn’t turned to face her, so she had no idea how he knew she was awake. “I was going to ask you when we got here last night, but you’d started . . . breathing deeply . . . and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She sat upright. “Breathing deeply? Are you trying to tell me that I really do snore?”

“No. Absolutely not. There’s a difference.” He set down his brush and finally turned. “Breathing deeply is a sign of restful sleep. Snoring is more like . . . swallowing a bee.”

“May I remind you that you promised you’d never lie to me . . .”

“And I’m not lying now. You weren’t snoring. You were tired, and you needed to sleep.” He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Now tell me your idea.”

“My idea?”

“Yes. For our cover story.”

“Oh, right. I was distracted by that whole business about swallowing a bee.” She clasped her hands in front of her, eager to share what she’d come up with. “So, you said we needed to pose as criminals, and I needed to be a damsel in distress.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, what if . . .”

“Yes?”

She was enjoying watching his impatience. “What if I’ve just killed my husband, and you’re my doting brother who has promised to help me escape? My husband was cruel to me—he’d come home drunk and beat me—and one night, I just couldn’t take it anymore and I picked up his gun and shot him. Then I ran to you for help, and now we need to disappear.”

“Hmm.” Corbin looked thoughtful. “That has merit.”

“I knew you’d like it. It has all the elements of a great tragedy and paints me in a sympathetic light, but it shows that I’m not weak or easily intimidated. That should afford me some respect.”

He nodded. “I like this idea a lot. You said you dreamed it?”

She shrugged. “Dreamed it, remembered it from a book . . . something like that.”

He chuckled. “Well, wherever it came from, I believe we can make it work. And the fact that we’re posing as brother and sister rather than a couple . . .”

“Means that if I need to be flirtatious, I’d be more likely to get away with it,” Cynthia finished. She’d thought over that aspect, and while she knew she’d never feel comfortable acting too coy, she did need to leave a little room for the various possibilities. There was no way to know what lay ahead.

“All right, that will be our plan. Have you chosen our names?” Corbin asked.

“Well . . .” She grinned. “I did have some ideas.”

“I’m not surprised. What are they? And let me guess—they’re also from books.”

She shook her head. “Actually, they’re not. They’re my grandparents’ names—Daniel and Marie.”

Corbin nodded. “And our last name?”

“How about Phillips?”

“All right. You’re hereby in charge of all our aliases—that seemed rather painless for you.”

That surprised her. “Don’t you like choosing names?”

“I hate it. I’d much rather be working the case itself than inventing a backstory.”

“Oh, but I think the backstory would be the most fun part.” She stood up and shook out her dress, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled to be worn again before it was ironed. She’d been so tired the night before, the thought of changing into a nightgown was more than she could handle. 

Corbin reached out and caught her arm. His face was serious. “I want to be certain that you understand something,” he said. “This is dangerous—not fun.”

“I do understand that,” she replied. “I believe you passed that message along yesterday. I promise, I’m not just here looking for a diversion. I’m here to help bring criminals to justice, and I know that means facing all sorts of scary situations.” She met his gaze squarely, hoping to convince him.

“Good. When you talk about having fun, it just concerns me.”

“I understand,” she repeated. “But there are elements to the assignment that I’m going to enjoy—things like choosing assumed names. I always choose to focus on the things I like about an assignment. Focusing on the bad only makes the task seem harder.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. Now I’m the one accusing you of not taking this case seriously—we’re taking turns.”

“At least we’re being fair about it.” Cynthia smiled. “So, what’s next on our agenda?”

“Next, we send a note to Harold Carlson and let him know we’re here. I memorized his address before I tore up the file at our last hotel. He’ll tell us when and where to meet. And while we’re waiting for him, I think some breakfast is in order.”

Corbin sat at the small desk in the corner of the room and penned a note to Agent Carlson while Cynthia finished cleaning up. She supposed it was all right that she hadn’t had the chance for a proper bath—a woman on the run wouldn’t have that luxury, and her slightly disheveled appearance might convince Kade Brown that she was telling the truth about needing help. She brushed through her hair and pinned it back up, and then they headed downstairs.

Corbin gave the note and a few coins to the bellboy, who promised to deliver the message right away, and then they entered the dining room to find some breakfast.

As Cynthia glanced around at the plates in front of the other diners, she wasn’t overly impressed. The food looked simple and bland—she hoped that in this case, looks were deceiving.

They weren’t.

She and Corbin both poked at their food until the bellboy returned. “The gentleman had a return message all set for you, sir,” he said, handing a folded slip of paper to Corbin. “It’s like he knew your note was coming.”

“I imagine he did,” Corbin said mildly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” The boy gave a nod, then moved off to help someone else.

Corbin unfolded the note. “Carlson wants to meet us at ten in a small park a few blocks from here,” he said, tucking the paper in his pocket. “We’re to sit on the bench and wait for him to find us, and then we’re not to make eye contact with him.”

“He’s afraid he’s being followed?” Cynthia asked. There was no one else in their corner of the dining room, so she felt more confident about asking questions than she had at their previous meals.

“Yes. That will make things more complicated.” Corbin took a sip of his coffee, then grimaced. “After our meeting, let’s find a decent place for lunch. A person could starve to death eating here.”

“Agreed.”

They finished their coffee, which was the least reprehensible thing on the table, then went upstairs to gather their things. They were going to take the conductor’s advice and find a new hotel. This one had been fine in a pinch, but with so many other options, there was no reason to settle for bad food, and Cynthia was sure that on a night when she wasn’t so exhausted, she’d feel every lump in that mattress.

Chapter Four

Corbin and Cynthia took seats on the bench Agent Carlson had indicated in his note, then Corbin turned his attention to analyzing the park. If Carlson was being followed, his followers would need hiding places to observe him, and Corbin identified some trees that would fill that need. He’d have to be sure that they never raised their voices loudly enough to carry over that distance, and he’d want to be sure that they didn’t get a close look at him or Cynthia.

He smiled to himself at the thought. If they were observed, it actually didn’t matter so very much—they’d each disguised themselves to look quite different. They’d stopped in at a ready-made clothing store and purchased a few things, including some men’s trousers and a hat for Cynthia. Whoever was following Harold Carlson would only see him sitting near a man and a boy, not a man and a woman.

“I’ve never felt so conspicuous in my life,” Cynthia muttered. “I can’t wait to change.”

“I don’t know. I think you look rather fetching,” Corbin replied, knowing that would only agitate her further, and he was right. She gave him quite the scowl before turning her attention back to the path in front of them.

A few minutes later, a man shambled by, paused, and plunked down on the bench next to them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter, which he pretended to read as he spoke to them.

“Morning,” he said, his lips barely moving. “Code?”

“834634,” Corbin replied. “And you?”

“3445829.”

Corbin nodded. This was Agent Carlson. “Have you been followed?”

“Can’t say for sure, but I always act as if I am. No sense taking chances.” Carlson turned his letter over to study the other side. “Kade Brown has recently changed his living arrangements. He’s living at the Brookside Hotel, room 203. If you go there before nightfall and if he agrees to take you on as clients, he’ll arrange for you to stay there at the Brookside. That’s so he can keep an eye on you, but it’s handy because you can also keep an eye on him.”

“Who shall we say sent us to him?” Corbin asked

“Tell him that Richard Michaels sent you. Richard’s a long-time trusted associate—that name should open doors for you.”

Corbin nodded. “What else?”

“I believe that’s all you need for right now. I’ll be in touch.” Carlson folded up his letter, tucked it back in his pocket, and strode off.

“That wasn’t very helpful,” Cynthia said, shaking her head at the agent’s retreating back. “I thought he’d have a lot more to tell us.”

“He may yet have quite a bit to tell us. He likely didn’t want to call attention to us, so he made this first contact as quick as possible. We’ll have many other opportunities to speak with him, I’m sure.” Corbin glanced around. He hadn’t been able to identify anyone who might have been following Carlson, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there.

“Let’s go change and get some lunch, then discuss how we’re going to handle our first meeting with Mr. Brown,” Cynthia said. “And I do mean that about changing—I never thought I’d say this, but I miss my multiple petticoats and my floor-length skirt. I’m sure trousers are quite comfortable for you men, but I feel unbearably awkward.”

“I think you’re rather adorable.”

“Adorable or not, let’s take me somewhere I can change.”

They had told the lady at the store that the pants were for Corbin, and Cynthia had slipped into them and snuck out of the store while he paid. Allowing her to change back was going to be a bit more complex, Corbin feared.

They chose a place to have lunch, and Cynthia spotted an alley behind the restaurant. She pulled her skirt from her bag and put it on over her trousers, then removed the trousers while Corbin stood guard, his back to her. He shook his head, smirking a bit—it wasn’t uncommon for him to seek out unusual places to change from one disguise to another, but he’d never paused to consider what that would mean for a female agent. There was a new level of complication, and he’d have to be mindful in the future of what Cynthia needed.

“All right,” she said. “I’m ready.”

Corbin turned and saw her stuffing her trousers into her bag. “Do you feel better?”

She sighed. “Oh, so much better. I always thought that trousers looked so freeing, but honestly, I felt exposed. I wasn’t made to be a boy.”

Corbin grinned. “I like you better as a young lady too.”

He’d already pulled off his outer coat and put it in his bag, revealing a coat of a different color beneath, and they entered the restaurant looking quite different than they had a few moments before.

They took their time eating, appreciating the good food after their disappointing breakfast, then sat back and studied each other. “When should we go in search of Mr. Brown?” Cynthia asked.

“We shouldn’t wait too much longer, I don’t think. If he has eyes and ears all over this city, which his file indicated, he may have already spotted a new couple wandering around town, and if we show up on his doorstep a full day after arriving, he’ll wonder why we didn’t come straight to him,” Corbin said.

“Excellent point. Now that I have some decent food inside me, I’m ready to move forward.” Cynthia paused. “I do wish we’d had time for any sort of weapons training—I would love to be able to shoot a gun.”

“I don’t know when we’ll have the chance, but I promise that I will teach you,” Corbin told her. “Even if you never use a pistol as an agent, it’s a valuable skill to have in everyday life, too. I also want to teach you some basic elements of self-defense.”

“Yes, please,” she replied. “And I’ll be a good student.”

“That’s good to hear. You’re so unruly sometimes, I hardly know what to do with you.” Corbin pulled some money from his pocket and settled the bill for lunch, and then they gathered up their bags and went in search of the Brookside Hotel.

Corbin could tell just by walking up the street toward it that it was a much nicer place than where they’d stayed the night before. It was in good repair, the sign was freshly painted, and marigolds encircled the building like a charming yellow welcoming committee. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Cynthia pulled in a deep breath. “I’m as ready as I can be,” she replied.

“All right. I’m proud of you.”

She paused and looked at him, some emotion in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly. “That means a lot.”

He badly wanted to reach out and touch her, but he didn’t have any sisters in his family and he wasn’t sure what was appropriate—just how did a brother touch his sister anyway? Rather than attempting something and being seen, he just smiled. “Let’s go.”

***

It wasn’t physically possible for Cynthia’s heart to pound harder than it was as she entered the Brookside Hotel and approached the desk. She stayed quiet and let Corbin do the talking, glad that he sounded natural. If she were to try speaking, it would likely sound strained and forced.

“I’d like to send a note up to Mr. Brown’s room,” Corbin told the man at the reception desk. “Mr. Kade Brown.”

“And why do you presume that we have a guest here by that name?” the man replied, looking down his nose at Corbin. Cynthia blinked. She thought that was something that only happened in books, not real life.

“We were informed of it by Mr. Brown himself,” Corbin said, and the man nodded.

“If you’d kindly write out what you’d like to say, I’ll send a boy upstairs to deliver it immediately,” the clerk informed him. He brought out some paper and a pen so Corbin could write his note.

Cynthia felt a bit impatient about that. She was the pretend murderer—shouldn’t she get to write the letter asking for an audience with Kade Brown? It didn’t really matter, she supposed, but still, it was a little disappointing.

Corbin passed off his note to the desk clerk, and just a few minutes later, during which Cynthia took advantage of the comfortable-looking furniture in the lobby, the clerk returned.

“He says he will grant an audience, and you are instructed to obey his directions carefully. Please proceed to room 203.”

“Thank you.” Corbin gave the man a nod, then he and Cynthia headed for the staircase. When they emerged at the top, she would no longer be Cynthia Baxter Rawlings. She would be Marie Phillips, trying to escape.

Just before they reached the top of the stairs, Corbin hissed, “Wait.”

Cynthia paused and turned to him. “What is it?”

“I think maybe you didn’t kill your husband. He’s still alive.”

She frowned. “I’m pretty sure I killed him.”

“It was close, but listen . . . What if he’s chasing you down? What if your need to escape isn’t just to keep you out of prison, but to save your life? He’s vowed he’ll kill you—that’s bound to tug at some heartstrings to be sure.”

She felt doubtful. “But we decided I was a widow so we wouldn’t have any moral compunction against my ‘falling’ for Mr. Brown if need be.”

“We did, but I think we’ll still find ways to make it work. I just feel that we need more motive, more reasoning, more death threats and things to make it impossible for you to stay in the area. That option shouldn’t even be on the table.”

She nodded. “All right. My husband survived, and now he’s chasing me all over the country, insistent that I’m not to get away with attempted murder. And he’d rather see to my punishment himself rather than leaving it to the authorities. He doesn’t trust them to be as thorough as he’d be.”

“Yes, that’s perfect. Let’s continue.”

They finished their climb to the second floor, then started looking for room numbers until they located the right one. Corbin tapped lightly, and they heard a voice from inside call, “Who is it?”

“Daniel Phillips, sir.”

The door opened a second later, and they were both ushered inside.

It was impossible to tell much about the room because it was so dark—the curtains were pulled snugly, not allowing even a sliver to enter the room, and one lamp on the table was the only source of light. It cast eerie shadows over everything. Cynthia wondered why the need for such secrecy. It almost seemed a bit comical, a melodramatic nod to the darkness of the criminal life or some such silliness.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Corbin said into the darkness. “We understand you can help us.”

A shadowy figure emerged from the back of the room and stepped into the light. It was a man of medium height and build wearing a gray suit, a small mustache on his upper lip. He was impeccably groomed and looked wealthy. “Just who told you that, Mr. Phillips?”

“Richard Michaels.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Brown’s acknowledgement sounded like a grunt. “And what brings you here? The whole story, please—quickly. I don’t have time for prevarication or excuses.”

Corbin glanced at Cynthia. “It’s about my sister, sir—”

“Then she should be the one to tell it.” Mr. Brown flapped an impatient hand toward Cynthia. “Get on with it.”

Well, wasn’t he a charmer? “My name is Marie, sir, and . . . and I’m in a great deal of trouble.” Cynthia had intended to play on the man’s sympathies by showing some emotion, but the quaver in her voice was real, not for show, and she was annoyed with herself. This was no time for nerves. “I killed my husband . . . that is, I thought I killed him, but then I found out that he actually survived, and now he’s coming after me. For revenge. He says he’ll kill me for trying to kill him . . . only I think he means to be more successful than I was. Please, Mr. Brown—I need to disappear. If he finds me, he’ll kill me, and he’ll probably kill my brother . . .” She glanced around, saw a chair, and pretended to stumble toward it. “I don’t know what else to do.” She sank down and buried her face in her hands.

“You want me to help you instead of turning you in for attempted murder? Why would I do that, Mrs. . . . Er . . .”

“Fielding,” Cynthia answered, reaching for the first name that came to mind. She’d chosen Phillips, but she’d forgotten that Marie would have a different name from her brother, since she was married.

“Mrs. Fielding, you’ve just confessed to attempted murder. I should be sending for the authorities right now. Why do you think I should help you?”

“Because . . . because Richard said you would.” Cynthia was beginning to feel more confident, and as her voice grew stronger, she concentrated on continuing to sound upset. “And because I’m not a murderer, Mr. Brown.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You tried to kill your husband, and indeed, you thought you had . . . but you’re not a murderer?”

“Oh, no, sir! Not in my heart! You see . . .” Cynthia lifted her handkerchief to her eyes and blotted them. “My husband—his name was Mason—he was very cruel to me. He’d come home drunk and beat me. Several times, I thought . . . I thought I was going to die. That night, he just kept going, and there was no end in sight. His gun was hanging from his belt by the door, and I grabbed it and I shot him. It was the only way out, Mr. Brown. I’d tried leaving before, but he always found me and dragged me back.”

“And so you took matters into your own hands.” Mr. Brown sounded skeptical.

Cynthia couldn’t see his face and had no way of knowing if she was making an impact on him. “That’s right. I had no other choice.”

“You never spoke to the police?”

“Mr. Brown, a woman has no rights in the little town we come from. If a wife complains of being abused, the men just nod, wink, and make jokes about keeping their women in line. It’s a serious problem, and I saw no end in sight.” She wiped her eyes again. “Yes, I know that trying to kill someone is wrong, but he nearly killed me on several occasions. Why should his life be more valuable than mine?”

“So, you shot him. Then what happened?”

“I just . . . I just looked at him lying there on the floor, and I started to shake. I dropped the gun and I ran. My brother’s house is just down the road, and I ran there as fast as I could. He took me in, and the next morning . . . Well, that’s when we heard that Mason had actually survived, and he’d said he was coming after me. I hid in the back room of my brother’s house until night, and then we snuck out. We knew Mason had someone watching the house, and we had to be so careful . . . I’ve never prayed so hard in my life. Are you a praying man, Mr. Brown?” She looked at him imploringly.

“I . .  . can’t say that I’m particularly religious.” His voice sounded wry.

“Well, I am, even though you think I’m a murderer . . . and I prayed every second while we were creeping through that field. We cut through the woods and a few more fields until we reached the train station, and we stayed hidden behind some large bushes until it was time to board, and then we got on as quickly as we could.” Cynthia hoped Mr. Brown wasn’t going to ask for more details about the so-called town where they lived—she was making everything up as it came to her, and if she mentioned a place he was familiar with, he would see through her story.

“And how do you know Richard?” Mr. Brown asked.

“Through me,” Corbin replied. “We’re acquaintances from way back. I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that I’d prefer to keep the exact circumstances to myself.

“Of course. We all have our secrets, don’t we?” Mr. Brown walked around to the front of the table where the lamp was situated, and she could see his face again. It was quite unfair that he’d been able to see her and scrutinize her this whole time. “It’s true that I’ve been known to lend a hand to people who seem to need it, but it’s not something I offer to just anyone. This is a dangerous world, Mrs. Fielding, and I have to be careful not to give the wrong impression to the wrong people.”

“Oh, I understand,” Cynthia replied. “And I hope this doesn’t seem indelicate of me, but I do have money to pay for my passage, plus . . . a bit extra for extenuating circumstances.”

He nodded. “You’ll be traveling together, I assume? Mr. Phillips, you won’t be returning home once your sister is on her way?”

Corbin shook his head. “I’m likely in danger too, and I don’t have much tying me down—I’d like to go with her and keep an eye on her.”

“Passage for two, then,” Mr. Brown said musingly.

“That won’t be a problem,” Cynthia reassured him. “My father was quite wealthy when he passed, and he left each of us a sum of money. I never told Mason about it, so he never took it from me. I thank my father every day for that gift, and I believe he can hear me. Do you believe he can hear me, Mr. Brown?”

He cleared his throat. “As I mentioned, I’m not much into religion.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Cynthia looked down at the floor piously, then back up. “At any rate, we do have the means for what we need. And some extra,” she emphasized. She had no idea what Mr. Brown charged for his services, but she wanted him to know she was prepared to pay it.

Mr. Brown rubbed his hand down his face. “Let me tell you what we’ll do,” he said at last. “You look exhausted, and I’m sure you’d like something to eat and to freshen up. I have an arrangement with the hotel—they always hold a room or two empty for my special guests, and you’re invited to use them.” The words were gracious, but his tone and demeanor indicated that this invitation was more of a command. “That will give me some time to think about your situation and ask a few questions, and we’ll talk again later, all right?”

“You mean . . . you mean you’ll consider it?” Cynthia asked, her eyes widening.

“Yes, I’ll consider it, but I can’t agree without doing my due diligence. In the meantime, you might as well get some rest.”

Cynthia stood up, clasping her hands to her chest. “Oh, Mr. Brown, I’m so grateful—you truly have no idea how grateful I am. I do believe you’re saving our lives.”

He nodded briskly. “We’ll see. Your rooms will be 208 and 209 down the hall there. The maid should be waiting with your keys to let you in.”

“Thank you,” Corbin said, opening the door, and Cynthia gave Mr. Brown a watery smile before they stepped out into the hallway.

A maid was indeed waiting for them, and she let them in their rooms, promising she’d be back with trays for their dinner. Once she was out of sight, Corbin slipped into Cynthia’s room so they could discuss what had just happened.

“Of course he’s right to be skeptical, but I do wish he’d given us a definitive answer right away,” Cynthia whispered.

“I do too, but we have to be patient.” Corbin chuckled, shaking his head. “I had no idea you were such a convincing actress. Where did all that come from?”

Cynthia shrugged her shoulders. “I just put my imagination in charge. It was kind of fun, actually.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to add to the story—just be careful not to confuse the facts you’ve already given him.” Corbin reached out and took her hand. “I mean it—you did an excellent job in there.”

Her heart warmed, and her fingers tingled at his touch. “Thank you. I want to be useful to you.”

“Useful to me? I think this case will rest entirely on you—I’ll be the one in the supporting role, not the other way around.”

A shudder ran through her. “I didn’t expect that,” she replied. “I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility—I’ve only been an agent for a couple of days.”

“I’m not sure there is such a thing as being ready,” Corbin replied. “Sooner or later, we all have to take a leap of faith, and leaps never wait for us to be fully prepared.”

A knock sounded on the door, and he dropped her hand as though it was burning him. Maybe it was, if the way she felt was any indication. She crossed the rug and opened the door to see the maid standing on the other side with a tray.

“Here’s some dinner, ma’am, and after you’ve eaten, I’ll show you where you can bathe. Mr. Brown requested that I arrange it for you.”

“Oh, thank you . . . I’m sorry. What is your name?”

“I’m Esther, ma’am.” The girl dropped a curtsy, which was quite graceful considering the tray she held.

“Thank you, Esther.” Cynthia paused. “Is it a private bath?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. You’ll be the only one in there, and there’s a sturdy lock on the door.”

Thank goodness. “That sounds perfect. Let me take the tray—it looks heavy.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I put Mr. Phillips’ dinner on here too, figuring that you’d want to eat together.” She gave Corbin a nod.

“That was exactly right. Thank you.” Cynthia set the tray on the low table at the foot of her bed. “I’ll be ready for that bath in about thirty minutes, if that suits you.”

“That’s just fine, ma’am. I’ll be back then.”

The girl left, closing the door, and Cynthia let out a sigh. “A bath. A real bath. Do I look that dreadful, or did Mr. Brown just assume?”

Corbin laughed. “He probably knows ladies well enough to assume that if you’ve been on the run, you’d like a chance to clean up.”

“Well, he’s right.” Cynthia lifted the covers off the plates on the tray. A nice meal of chicken, herbed potatoes, and fresh bread awaited them, and while it was still just a little early for dinner, her mouth watered.

They each pulled a chair up to the table and ate, then she gathered up her last set of clean clothes for her bath. “I hope Esther can refer us to a good laundry,” she said.

“I was hoping the same thing. Someone who can get the blood out of my shirt collar,” Corbin replied.

“How are you going to explain that?”

“Oh, I’ll just say I scraped my head on a low-hanging tree branch while we were escaping through the woods.”

“That’s a good idea.” Cynthia opened the door to her room to see if Esther was coming and found the girl waiting patiently in the hall. “I’m ready for that bath now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

As Esther led Cynthia down the hall, Cynthia asked about laundry services, and Esther promised that if she’d make a bundle of all her dirty things and set them just outside her door, they’d be washed and returned the next morning.

Cynthia nearly cried with happiness when she saw the tub. It was huge, and filled nearly to the top with fresh hot water. A small table with soaps and creams stood next to it, and there was a stand holding fluffy towels. The entire room looked as though it had been scrubbed from edge to edge, and after she locked the door, Cynthia had no qualms at all about disrobing and climbing into the steaming water.

She could have stayed there for hours—or quite happily for the rest of her life—but she knew she’d be wanted soon, so she only allowed herself to soak long enough to work out some of the stiffness from the journey. Then she treated herself to some of the luxurious soaps and scrubbed herself just as clean as the room itself, saying a regretful goodbye when it was time to climb out. Someday when she had a home of her own, she’d insist on a room just like this. It didn’t matter to her if the kitchen was tiny or the parlor was small—she could endure those things quite well if it meant having such a peaceful, quiet place to bathe.

Being a criminal on the run had its advantages, apparently.

She dressed, then tucked her laundry under her arm and went back to her room. She added her other dirty things to her collection, tied everything up in her skirt, and set it out in the hall. She noticed that Corbin already had a bundle waiting—Esther must have spoken to him too.

A moment later, a knock sounded at the door, and she opened it, expecting Corbin. Instead, it was Mr. Brown standing there, and she took a step back in surprise.

“Mr. Brown,” she said, a little out of breath.

“Mrs. Fielding. I trust you’re refreshed after your meal.” It was good of him not to mention the bath—she would have melted from embarrassment if he had. She didn’t want to discuss anything that personal with him.

“Yes, I am. It was delicious.”

“Good. Yes, I chose this hotel for a reason. It’s one of the nicest I could find, and the staff is the most accommodating.” He glanced inside her room as though expecting to be invited to enter, but she had no intention of doing that, so she didn’t move to the side. He seemed to understand and returned his gaze to her face. “I’ve made a few inquiries, and I believe we have more to discuss. However, you and your brother should get a good night’s sleep first. Would you please return to my room tomorrow at nine o’clock?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied. Was this to discuss good news or bad? She wished he’d give any indication.

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.” He gave her a nod, then headed back toward his room, and she closed the door.

She supposed she’d have to get used to him popping up like that unexpectedly. This was, after all, pretty much his hotel.

Chapter Five

Corbin read the Salt Lake City newspaper while he waited for Cynthia to be done with her bath—he liked being aware of what was going on around him. Then Esther escorted him down the hall for a bath of his own. He didn’t know how she’d managed to empty and refill the tub so quickly, but as he sank into the fresh hot water up to his ears, he was certainly grateful she had.

When he returned to his room, he found a note on the bedside table written in an unfamiliar hand requesting him to come to Mr. Brown’s room the next morning. The fact that they weren’t being thrown out onto the street that night was a good sign—unless Mr. Brown had decided to play some sort of game with him. One never knew.

He thought about paying Cynthia one more call before bed, but he guessed that she was exhausted and was ready to sleep, and he was too. They’d have plenty of time to discuss things in the morning, so he prepared for bed, turned down the covers, and climbed in, expecting to fall asleep immediately. And he would have, too, if thoughts of Cynthia hadn’t come rushing full force to his mind, keeping him awake.

He’d meant what he told her—he was impressed by her performance for Kade Brown. The story she told had rolled effortlessly off her tongue, so much so that Corbin could have believed it even though he knew the truth. She had created a picture of pathos that no man with a heart in his chest would be able to ignore. She was perfectly suited to undercover work, and he believed that meant she was perfectly suited for him.

He pulled in a deep breath at the thought. He’d wanted to kiss her so badly earlier, but they were interrupted by the maid. That was probably for the best—if anyone were to see them kissing, they’d know immediately that he wasn’t her brother, and their false identities would be shattered. He couldn’t risk the integrity of the case because his feelings were getting in the way—but they certainly were strong feelings. He’d have to be extra careful not to let them take the reins on his actions.

It was best to stay focused on the case. What did Kade Brown want to discuss in the morning? Corbin imagined that he’d done a little investigating—had he already determined their story wasn’t true? It hadn’t been that long since their first meeting—Kade couldn’t possibly have learned much. Still, the worry was enough to niggle at Corbin’s stomach.

His head hadn’t bothered him for hours, which was a welcome relief. With the pain gone, his full faculties would be restored, and he’d be able to handle whatever the next day brought. He had to believe that or he’d be second-guessing himself, and that was a sure way to get in trouble.

***

“Do you find it odd that our food is being delivered on trays and we haven’t been told just to go down to the dining room?” Cynthia asked the next morning. They were eating together in her room again—toast with jam, sausage, eggs, and fruit, delivered by who else but Esther.

“I think it’s Kade’s way of keeping an eye on us,” Corbin replied. He spread a little more jam on his toast. “I can’t say that I mind—I’ve never enjoyed eating in crowded public places.”

“I just wonder if we’re being kept here on the second floor for a reason,” Cynthia went on.

“You mean, you think he’s holding us prisoner?” Corbin’s hand stopped halfway to his mouth.

“Not prisoner necessarily, but . . . maybe he doesn’t want us leaving,” Cynthia hedged.

“Which is the same as keeping us prisoner.”

“I suppose. I just didn’t want to think of it as being that bad.”

“We’re certainly not being mistreated,” Corbin pointed out. True to Esther’s word, she had returned their laundry bright and early that morning, and whoever had done the actual work had even managed to get the bloodstain out of his collar. Their meals had been delicious, the beds were comfortable . . .

“You’ve heard, though, of a gilded cage,” Cynthia said. “A prison may be beautiful, but if you don’t have your freedom, it’s still a prison.”

“We’ll figure out what our boundaries are,” Corbin promised. “I’d think that we’d be able to come and go as we chose, considering that we haven’t made an agreement yet and no money has been exchanged.”

“But we know about his business dealings, and that means we’re a danger to him.” Cynthia took a sip of her coffee, then set the cup back on its saucer. “We need to tread very carefully—even more so than we were already planning. If we’re being held here until he’s decided what to do with us, that adds kidnapping to his charges, and it also means that he’s more desperate than we first thought. That would make him more likely to act in haste.”

Corbin didn’t like the implications, but Cynthia was making excellent points. He appreciated her reasoning skills.

When Esther returned to take the tray, he decided to test out the theory. “I’d like to step out and buy some cigars,” he told her. “Can you recommend a good shop?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, sir. We have a wide variety of cigars and tobacco here for our guests. Just tell me your preference and I’ll have some sent up.”

“That’s very kind of you.” He glanced at Cynthia. “I would also like to mail a letter, if you’d direct me to the post office.”

“No need for that either. We have stationery here for your use, and we have a boy who runs to the post office twice a day.”

“You certainly do think of everything.”

“We try, sir. The care of our guests is very important to us.”

“I can see that.” Corbin thought for a minute. “Esther, can you tell me, who’s your boss?”

She looked at him curiously. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

She didn’t seem offended, just confused, so he pressed on. “Do you work for the hotel or for Mr. Brown?”

“Well, both, sir. That is to say, Mr. Brown owns the hotel.”

Ah. That certainly made a lot of sense. But why hadn’t he just said so? Why had he said he had an arrangement with the hotel, making it sound like he was a guest with special privileges and not in fact the owner?

“Thank you, Esther. We appreciate it.”

“What variety of cigar should I have sent up, sir?”

“I still have two or three left—I’ll let you know when those are gone.”

“Very well.” She bobbed another curtsy, picked up the tray, and left.

Corbin turned to Cynthia, who had a surprised look on her face. “What do you make of that?”

“Why would he lie about owning the hotel?” she asked.

“That was my thought exactly.” Corbin sat down and began to tick off the possibilities on his fingers. “He gave us rooms—this hotel is obviously a hangout for his clients, so maybe he’s hiding his ownership to protect them.”

“Maybe he needed a way to hide some of his profits, so he bought this hotel so the general public wouldn’t be the wiser as to how wealthy he is,” Cynthia said, and Corbin added that to his mental list.

“It could be that he was testing us to see how much we already knew about him,” Corbin went on. “When he told us he had special arrangements here, he could have been expecting us to say, ‘But don’t you own this building?’ That idea seems more far-fetched, but it’s worth considering.”

Cynthia nodded. “Whatever his reasoning might be, it’s time to go meet him.”

They pulled the door to Cynthia’s room closed behind them, then walked down the hall to Mr. Brown’s suite. This time when they entered, the curtains were thrown back and the room was flooded with light. Why had he greeted them in the dark the night before? Likely an intimidation tactic. That seemed a bit melodramatic.

“Good morning, Mrs. Fielding, Mr. Phillips,” he greeted them, clasping their hands as though they had been friends their whole lives. “Please, be seated. We have many things to discuss.”

Corbin and Cynthia sat down on the couch across from Mr. Brown’s chair.

“I trust you slept well?” their host asked.

“Yes, very well,” Cynthia replied. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so comfortable.”

“Good, good. With all that you’ve been through, you deserve some comfort. And Esther’s treating you well?”

“She’s gone out of her way for us,” Cynthia told him. “We can’t thank you enough, Mr. Brown.”

He raised a hand. “Please, call me Kade. And I hope you’ll forgive me for keeping you at arms’ length before—I had to be sure before I allowed you into my confidence, so to speak. But I’ve been in contact with Richard Michaels, and he assures me that you’re genuine. That has set my mind at rest, and I have some ideas for you.”

Corbin had no idea how this Richard Michaels could possibly have vouched for them, but he smiled and nodded. “We appreciate it.”

Kade leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “How far away do you feel you need to go? California, Canada, Europe?”

Cynthia blinked. “You could send us all the way to Europe?”

“I could, if that’s where you wanted to go. I have friends in several key cities who can help you find a place to live, employment—anything you need.” Kade paused. “At a cost, of course.”

Cynthia waved him off. “I already assured you, money is of no concern. I can’t put a price on safety—my life is worth more than money to me.”

“As it should be, Marie—may I call you Marie?”

She gave him a shy smile. “Of course, Kade.”

Corbin tried not to react to that, but his stomach knotted again. How . . . sweet they were being with each other.

“But back to my question,” Kade went on. “Where would you like to go?”

Cynthia paused, and Corbin wondered how she would answer. They hadn’t discussed this at all, and Corbin knew his opinion didn’t matter—Kade had been directing all his questions to Cynthia and acting as though Corbin wasn’t even in the room.

“Where do most people go?” she asked at length.

“A large percentage have gone to California,” Kade replied. “However, some have gone to Canada. Only one or two have gone all the way to Europe.”

“Oh, my. I hadn’t dreamed it was so many,” Cynthia replied. “You must have dozens of friends.”

Kade smiled. “I have a fair number. Does California appeal to you?”

“I’ve seen pictures of San Francisco—that seems like a nice place. Do you think I’d be happy there?” Cynthia asked.

“Well, that’s hard to say. What sorts of things do you enjoy?”

“Art, music, gardening, fancy dinners—I must confess, Kade, that I appreciate the finer things in life.”

“Drove our father to distraction,” Corbin muttered, feeling as though he should do something to contribute.

“Yes, but Mother saw no harm in it,” Cynthia shot back.

“Only because she never dared tell you no.” Corbin sat back and folded his arms.

Cynthia turned to Kade. “You’ll have to forgive my brother,” she said smoothly. “We do love each other—of course we do, or he wouldn’t be coming with me or protecting me—but we do squabble sometimes.”

“That’s understandable,” Kade replied. “As far as San Francisco is concerned, yes, you’ll be able to enjoy all those things there. I have an associate who will set you up with lodging, and I believe you’ll be quite happy.”

“Is . . . is that all? It’s that simple?” Cynthia asked.

“It’s that simple. Of course, you’ll need to choose new names . . .”

“Of course,” Cynthia echoed. She glanced at Corbin. “What do you think?”

Corbin sat up a little straighter. It was time to look more involved. “I’ve always liked the name Nathaniel.”

“I like that too. And I’ll be . . . Oh, I don’t know. Kade, why don’t you choose for me?” She gave him another of those shy smiles.

He returned her smile. “The first girl I ever fell in love with was Christine—Christine Simmons.”

“Oh, l like that. Nathaniel and Christine . . . We’d better not use Simmons, I suppose, but what about Stewart?”

“Perfect.” Kade pulled a small leather-bound notebook from his breast pocket and flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted. “Nathaniel and Christine Stewart, destination San Francisco,” he said as he wrote. “Your fee will cover your transportation costs and a deposit on your lodgings, and also a gratuity for my associate in California. Of course, I do charge a small fee as well.”

He named a total that made Corbin blanch, but he wasn’t looking at Corbin, thank goodness. He was focused entirely on Cynthia, who didn’t have a reaction at all.

“Of course,” she replied, reaching into the small bag she had dangling from her wrist. Corbin had always wondered why women carried those things—they didn’t seem large enough to hold anything important—but Cynthia extracted a thick stack of bills and counted them out, returning a few to her bag after handing the rest to Kade.

He’d obviously been watching her count because he didn’t bother to double check. Instead, he folded the stack in half and slid it into his pocket. “Excellent. If it suits you, we’ll send you on the morning train—it departs at eight o’clock on the dot.”

“Tomorrow?” Cynthia asked.

“Yes. Is that too soon?”

“No—I want to leave immediately. I wish it were sooner—how do I know we’ll be safe until tomorrow morning?”

Kade leaned forward and patted her hand. The action seemed too familiar and Corbin wanted to slap it away, but he forced himself to stay still. “This hotel is like a fortress, Marie—I assure you that no one will be able to harm you while you’re here.”

She met his gaze shyly, but then with more boldness. “That means a great deal to me, Kade. Thank you.”

It was all Corbin could do not to throw a punch at the fellow.

Chapter Six

“Marie, I wonder if I could speak with you for a moment.”

Cynthia paused. She and Corbin had been leaving Kade’s room, but she turned back at Kade’s beckoning. “Yes?”

Corbin had paused as well, but at a pointed look from Kade, he stepped out into the hallway. Kade walked over to the door and closed it, then gave Cynthia a warm smile.

“You mentioned that you enjoy nice dinners.”

“Yes, I do. Very much.”

“I enjoy them myself—would you consider being my guest tonight? I’m sure your brother can find some other way to entertain himself for a few hours.”

Cynthia blinked. “You’d like to have dinner . . . with me?”

Kade took her hand. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I find you a fascinating woman, Marie. You’re not only charming, but beautiful, and I can’t think of a more pleasant way to spend your last evening here.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Well, pleasant for me.”

Cynthia smiled while she tried to think of a reply. She really should turn him down, but she and Corbin had discussed this already and the fact that she might need to allow some interest on Kade’s part. Just some interest—she wouldn’t be expected to allow things to go beyond a certain point. But interest all the same. “I’d like that,” she said at last. “You’ll have to forgive me for being hesitant—I’m so used to thinking of myself as being married. Even though it wasn’t a happy marriage, I was still loyal to my husband, and now … to be invited to dinner by someone else . . . it feels so strange.”

“I do understand,” Kade told her. “But you will need to throw off those shackles at some point—why not cast them aside here, with me, over a nice meal?”

“I’m willing to try,” she said, and he smiled.

“I’m very glad to hear it. Shall we say, six o’clock? I’ll have something nice brought up for your brother so he doesn’t feel too left out—maybe an extra dessert.”

Cynthia nodded. “Six o’clock. I’ll see you then. Will we be eating in the dining room? I haven’t seen much of the hotel—”

He cut her off. “We’ll be eating here, in my room. I prefer solitude over mingling with the guests.”

“Oh. All right. Six o’clock.” She gave him another smile, then left the room, a bit taken aback by his vehement reaction. Staying on the second floor, having no interaction with the other guests . . . She supposed that made sense from a security standpoint, and yet it was still a prison. Not even allowing Corbin to shop for cigars? Or to post a letter? Perhaps that also made sense, but no dining room either? That felt extreme. Surely Kade’s guards could keep an eye on a dining room without too much trouble, unless . . . unless Kade didn’t want them to see who else was staying at the hotel. Or didn’t want the other guests to see them.

She slipped back into her room, and just seconds later, opened the door again at Corbin’s faint knock.

“I’m to have dinner with him at six tonight,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry to say, you’re not invited.”

“Of course I’m not. That would be inconvenient, to say the least.” Corbin folded his arms across his chest.

Cynthia smirked. “Why, brother dear, are you jealous?”

“No, not at all. But . . . but your husband might be. Just a little.”

That brought her up short. “Really?”

He sighed. “It’s not easy, watching him watch you. His motives are hardly a secret, you know, and knowing what he’s thinking . . . Well, let’s just say that I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“I can’t either, but we’re not done.” She took a step even closer. “You saw that notebook.” Her voice was now barely a breath. “Once we have that list, we could contact agents in each of those towns and have them make dozens of arrests—just like we talked about. And if I have dinner with him, our chances of stealing the book are suddenly very good instead of nonexistent.”

“Yes, it’s everything we were hoping for. But at the time we first discussed it . . .”

She looked up into his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

He took a deep breath. “When we first discussed it, I wasn’t in love with you yet.”

Could . . . could he really be saying what she thought he’d just said? “You’re in love with me?”

He nodded. “It’s crazy, considering that we’ve just met, but crazier things have happened in this world, haven’t they? And the thought of you being alone with that man, even just for a few minutes, let alone for a whole meal . . .” He swallowed. “I know it’s important for the good of the case, but that doesn’t mean I like the idea.”

 She slid her hand into his. “You’re very sweet.”

“Yes, that’s me—very sweet and very agitated. Why don’t I just go in there, punch him senseless, take the book, and then we leave? I think that’s an excellent backup plan.”

“Maybe so, but it’s bound to attract attention, don’t you think? Punching someone senseless usually makes a lot of noise.”

“True, but we can find a workaround.” He studied her eyes. “You’ll be alert every minute—promise me.”

“Yes, absolutely alert. If he serves wine, I won’t touch it . . . I don’t like the stuff anyway.”

“And if he sweet talks you?”

She shook her head. “My goodness, you haven’t learned very much about me yet, have you? I’m not about to let myself be influenced by some flimflammer’s idea of a romantic conversation. I require a lot more than that.”

“Oh? What do you require?”

She grinned. “Well, I usually like to be married to someone first before I make up my mind.”

“You do? That seems rather presumptuous, doesn’t it? And what if you can’t get him to marry you?”

“Then I have to come up with an elaborate ruse, like . . . like needing a partner for an exciting adventure.”

Corbin reached up and stroked the side of her cheek, and she melted into his touch. Every one of her senses was tingling—how had she been so lucky and so blessed to be paired with this man? Cupid himself couldn’t have arranged this match more perfectly.

“I’ll be hovering in the hallway the entire time you’re gone,” he whispered. “You might even need a crowbar to get me away from Brown’s door.”

“I have a better idea,” she replied. “What if you use that time while he’s distracted to poke around a little? See what else is on this floor, see if someone stops you if you try to go downstairs—you’ll need a good excuse for that one, though.”

“I’ll think of something.” He pressed his lips together. “I don’t usually hesitate to send my partners off without me. I’ve never sent my wife off to have dinner with another man, though.”

“We just discussed this—everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know. I’m just very thick in the skull and I need things repeated to me over and over again.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just stubborn.” She stepped away and sat down on one of the chairs near the table. Everything was happening rather quickly now, and she needed a moment to let her thoughts catch up. “You mentioned before that you’d like the chance to teach me some basic defense strategies. We have quite a while until dinner, and since we’re apparently not allowed to go anywhere, we could get started.”

“Excellent idea.” Corbin glanced around. “I’d like to move some of this furniture out of the way, but Esther keeps popping up when we least expect her and she’d be curious, so we’d better leave things as they are.”

“Yes, she is rather inconvenient that way.” Cynthia was still mulling over Corbin’s declaration of love, even though she was talking about other subjects entirely. The look in his eyes when he’d said it . . . He was telling the truth, no doubt about it, and she was thrilled to realize it. But she couldn’t say it in return until she was certain. She loved how he made her feel, how he took care of her, how he listened when she spoke—well, once his head felt better—but there was a difference between loving things about a person and simply loving them.

She’d never been in love before, and she wanted to do it right because the thought of hurting Corbin was too terrible to bear. The fact that she cared so much was a good indicator, but she didn’t want to confuse the deep feelings of friendship she had for him with love.

And perhaps that friendship would grow into love over time . . . After all, most good romances began with friendship . . .

She looked up with a start when she realized Corbin had said something and she’d missed it. “I’m sorry. Could you please say that again?”

He chuckled. “You’re contemplating something rather seriously over there.”

“No, not really. Just . . . thinking about something.”

“Isn’t that what contemplating means?”

Oh, gracious. Somehow she had the sense that he could read her thoughts, and her attempts to hide them weren’t working at all. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry—I think I’m still tired from our trip here.”

“Why don’t I ring for some tea or lemonade? That will refresh you.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

She closed her eyes while he made the request, hoping that a few minutes of stillness would settle the chaos churning in her brain. When Esther came back with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses, she was feeling much more herself.

“Esther, do you ever get time off?” she asked. “It seems that every time we’ve needed something, you’ve been here.”

“Would you rather I not be here? I can call someone else,” the girl faltered, but Cynthia jumped back in.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I was just curious about your schedule.”

“I’m here nearly all the time, ma’am. I’m an orphan, and I have a room on the top floor. Several of us girls do. It’s nice to have a place to work that also gives us a place to live.”

“Yes, I imagine that would be very nice. How many girls live here?”

“Oh, about ten. I’ve never stopped to count.”

Cynthia blinked. “Ten girls? The hotel must be larger than I assumed.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. It’s quite large, and we’re full all the time. Sometimes it’s mostly regular guests, but sometimes it’s mostly special guests, like you and Mr. Phillips, but no matter what, we’re always busy.”

Interesting . . . “How many special guests are there right now?”

Cynthia had tried to sound casual, but something about the question struck Esther wrong, and she immediately clammed up. “Can I get you anything else, ma’am? Or is the lemonade enough for now? Lunch is in an hour.”

“This will be just fine. Thank you, Esther.”

Once the girl had left the room. Cynthia turned to Corbin, who had been lounging near the fireplace to stay out of the way of the exchange. “Isn’t that curious? Sometimes the hotel is full of special guests . . . and she won’t say how many are here now.”

“I wonder if they’re all staying here on the second floor,” Corbin replied. “I think you’re right—I think I should do some snooping around while you’re at dinner.”

“But you’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“Yes. We’ll both be careful, and with any luck, by the end of the night, we’ll have a great deal of evidence to arrest a great number of criminals.”

***

Corbin spent the next forty minutes teaching Cynthia how to escape from different holds, trying to keep the sound as muffled as possible. If he stepped down too hard or yanked her around too much, it was likely to alert someone that something unusual was going on, but he managed to show her how to twist her wrist and how to jab an attacker in the ribs without the resulting noise being too loud.

“I just can’t figure it out,” Cynthia said as they paused for a sip of lemonade. “If Kade sent a telegram to Richard Michaels, why does he trust us now? We don’t know Richard, do we?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Corbin replied. “Archie does have a number of tricks up his sleeve, though.”

“Speaking of tricks, will you show me that last one again? I think I’ve almost got it, but I need to leverage my weight better.”

Cynthia was a quick learner, and what she lacked in strength, she made up for with agility. Corbin was able to analyze her weaknesses and teach her some moves that worked with her abilities rather than emphasizing those weaknesses, and he felt sure that she’d be able to get out of almost any situation that didn’t involve a knife or a gun. When weapons entered the picture, well, no one could guarantee anything.

A few minutes before the hour, they each took a moment to freshen up, and when Esther arrived with their lunch, they looked quite ordinary and not at all like they’d just finished a scrimmage.

“Here you are, and when you’re done eating, I have something for you, ma’am.”

Cynthia looked mystified. “What sort of something?”

“The sort of something that I want to tell you, but I can’t because it’s a secret.” Esther ducked out of the room before they had a chance to ask her any more questions. Cynthia felt bad for the way they’d hounded her earlier, but she was their only source of information. If they wanted to learn more, she was their resource.

When the surprise arrived, it most certainly was a surprise and not just in name. It was a simple dinner gown in deep pink with white gauzy material around the neck. Even Corbin, who knew nothing about ladies’ fashion, was suitably impressed.

“Do you like it, ma’am?” Esther was nearly bouncing up and down with excitement. “Mr. Brown wanted you to have something fresh and lovely for your date tonight.”

“It’s very lovely,” Cynthia said with a glance at Corbin. “I’m not sure it’s an actual date, though, is it? I thought it was more . . . just having dinner.”

“Isn’t that a date, ma’am?” Esther hung the dress up while Cynthia tried to think of a reply. Not all meals eaten together were dates, were they? She knew she was making this into more than it ought to be, but the expression on Corbin’s face—a combination of thunder and lightning—made her want to clarify.

“It’s just that we’re leaving soon, and I didn’t intend for anything romantic to happen between Mr. Brown and myself,” she hurried to explain.

“Whatever the case may be, I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time tonight.” Esther gave her a bright smile before leaving the room.

“It’s all right, Cynthia,” Corbin said, pushing himself out of the chair where he sat and walking over to her. “Let him call it whatever he will, and let the maid have her own fantasies about beautiful dresses and so forth. And ignore my reactions to it too. Just concentrate on your task and don’t worry about the rest of us, all right?”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

He chuckled. “That’s for me to endure. Now, why don’t you take a nap until it’s time to get ready for dinner? I can see you fighting off a yawn, and I think I’ll go nap in my room too.”

She nodded, and after Corbin left the room, she climbed onto her bed and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Have dinner, steal the book, don’t get caught, don’t let him get the wrong idea . . . Gracious. There was so much to consider. Yes, a nap was just the thing to make sure she was ready for this challenge.

Chapter Seven

“My dear, you look even more beautiful in that dress than I imagined,” Kade said as he welcomed her into his suite. “The color suits you very well.”

“It’s one of the loveliest things I’ve ever owned,” Cynthia replied truthfully. “I almost didn’t accept it, though—it seems far too extravagant a gift when we won’t be seeing each other again after tomorrow.”

“Oh, let me decide what’s too extravagant.” Kade chuckled. “It’s my money, after all—I should be the one to determine what happens to it.”

Cynthia smiled because it was expected, but not because she wanted to.  It was odd to think that he’d likely spent part of the fee she’d paid him on a gift for her, especially when the gift was just window dressing and carried no real meaning. “I’m sorry for questioning you. I’m not used to such kindness from someone I’ve just met.”

“Your modesty does you credit. Please, have a seat.”

In the center of the room stood a small dining table that had been set with nice dishes and a lovely crocheted tablecloth. It brought another smile to Cynthia’s lips, but this one of wry amusement. She was not the first young lady to be invited to dinner here, that was for certain, and she wouldn’t be the last.

She took her seat, and Kade sat across from her. She noticed now that he wasn’t wearing the same jacket he’d worn that morning—the one with the breast pocket where he’d tucked his notebook. Instead, he wore a vest and no jacket, and she couldn’t detect the outline of a notebook in the pocket on his chest. If he wasn’t carrying it, where had he put it?

“Thank you again for arranging things for us,” she said. “It’s hard to think that we’ll be saying goodbye to our old lives forever, but both our parents are deceased, and there’s nothing keeping us tied to the past. I’m rather excited to see what the future holds for Christine Stewart.”

“May she prosper in her new home,” Kade said, lifting his water glass in a toast.

Cynthia lifted hers as well and took a sip. As she set it down again, she commented, “And I also need to thank you for sheltering us in the meantime. I’ve never felt so safe.”

“It’s nothing less than you deserve.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Kade rose to answer it. A young man stood on the other side, and he spoke to Kade in low tones. Cynthia couldn’t tell what was being said, but it sounded urgent.

Kade returned to the table, but instead of sitting, he rested a hand on Cynthia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dear, but the kitchen has run into a bit of trouble with our dinner and I need to step out for just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting.” She gave him a broad smile.

When he left the room and pulled the door closed, she noticed that it gave an extra click, and she wondered if she’d been locked in. She counted to ten, then crept over and tried the knob. As she suspected, it wouldn’t turn in her hand.

All right . . . She took a deep breath and pushed aside the sudden feelings of fear that rose up in her. She had a job to do, and this was actually the perfect opportunity. She needed to locate the notebook, and Kade’s absence made that task all the easier.

She began with the dresser under the window, opening and closing drawers and sifting through the contents. Then the bedside table, then the desk. Her hands were shaking and her movements were jerky, but she was thorough, determined not to miss anything. At last, she found the notebook tucked into the very back of the desk drawer, and she flipped it open to make sure that’s what it was and not a similar notebook filled with recipes or some such thing.

She found the names “Nathaniel and Christine Stewart” written on the back page, but interestingly, there was another name written after theirs. Had Kade met with another client later that morning or afternoon? It would appear so, but where was that person now? Were they locked in another room here on the second floor?

She startled and nearly dropped the notebook when she heard voices in the hallway. She stepped away from the desk as quickly as she could and walked over to the bookshelf, pretending to examine a row of poetry books, but she had no idea what to do with the notebook in her hand.

“I’m so sorry for the interruption,” Kade said as he opened the door to the room and entered. He held it wide, and two young men carrying large trays entered behind him. They arranged plate after plate on the table, then left, and she was once again alone with Kade, a notebook in her hand. “I trust you weren’t too bored in my absence.”

“I did feel a little awkward here without you, so I helped myself to your books,” she said, motioning toward the shelf. “Might I borrow this volume of poetry? It might help me sleep tonight. I’m afraid I’ll lay awake until dawn otherwise—I’m so anxious about leaving.”

“Of course you may borrow it. And anything else on my shelf.”

“Thank you.” She pulled the book down, slipped the notebook inside it, and set the book on the table next to the door. Provided that he didn’t look at the book too closely and notice that there was something wedged inside it, everything should be all right. Then she returned to her seat.

“Everything looks so delicious.”

“The kitchen does a marvelous job. For some reason, though, they didn’t understand my instructions about dessert.” He nodded toward her plate. “Bon appetit.”

The food was delicious, and Cynthia tried to concentrate on her enjoyment of it rather than her anxiety over being discovered. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act natural when she felt so very uncomfortable, and it was difficult to keep her eyes from straying to the book.

“How long were you married to Mr. Fielding?” Kade was asking, and she forced herself back to the moment.

“Just over two years,” she replied. “I married him young—far too young to make a proper decision, and my mother didn’t override my choice because I insisted that’s what I wanted.” She paused. “Daniel was right, you know, when he spoke about our parents. I was coddled—I realize that. And it did make me selfish in a lot of ways.”

“You can’t blame yourself now for the innocent choices of youth,” Kade said. “As you pointed out, you have a whole new life waiting for you, and a long string of new choices as well.”

“And this time, I’ll be wiser.” She gave him a wide smile, which he returned.

“I wonder, Marie, if you’d permit me to read you one of my favorite poems from the book you’re borrowing.” He made a motion as if to stand, but she held up her hand.

“Of course, but I’ll fetch it. You needn’t bother.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

She crossed the floor and picked up the book, her mind racing. What to do … what to do . . . Acting on pure impulse, she dropped the book, making a show of her clumsiness. “Oh, dear,” she said as she bent down to retrieve it. She turned her body slightly so the voluminous skirts of her dress covered the book where it lay, and as she picked it up, she flicked the notebook onto the floor. Then as she straightened, poetry book in hand, she gave the notebook a little kick, sending it under the door and out into the hallway. Thank goodness the door had a small gap before it met the floorboards. Now she just hoped that Corbin was out in the hallway somewhere and would retrieve the book before someone else came along and picked it up.

“You must think I’m all thumbs,” she said lightly as she took her seat again and handed him the volume of poetry.

“Not at all. I’ve rarely seen such grace.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t true. Did he expect her to believe that flattery? “Which poem is your favorite?” she asked, preparing to settle in for what was likely to be a very boring reading indeed.

***

If Kade did have other “special guests” and they were all being tucked away on the second floor, Corbin wanted to know it. He waited until he could no longer hear voices in the hall and then he crouched down in front of his door with his lock-picking tools. Within a few moments, he had his door open, and he slipped out into the corridor.

He began with the room on the far end, pressing his ear against the door and listening for any sign of movement inside. When he heard none, he tapped lightly—just enough to be heard by an occupant, but not enough to draw the attention of someone more than a few yards away. Again, nothing, so he moved on.

None of the rooms sounded occupied, and he wondered where the other special guests might be staying. Or if there even were any—Esther could have been confused about the exact number of guests that day. At any rate, by the time he’d checked every room on the second floor, he’d heard nothing—not a rattle or a rustle, not even a cough.

Hmm.

He was easing his way back up the corridor when he noticed a book lying on the floor just outside Kade’s room. As he drew near, he saw that it was Kade’s notebook—Cynthia must have found a way to get hold of it. He picked it up, put it in his pocket and continued toward his room, reaching it just as he heard steps on the staircase.

He closed his door quickly and took a deep breath, hoping he hadn’t been seen.

The footsteps neared his room but continued past without stopping, and Corbin allowed himself to relax. He sank down on the edge of the bed and pulled out the notebook, curious to see what secrets it held. Page after page of names and locations—there had to be over fifty notations here, and if each represented a person hiding from the law, this was a gold mine.

The last page was particularly interesting. There was another name written after the aliases he and Cynthia had chosen—a Thomas Brewster, who would be relocating to Canada. Why would this Mr. Brewster, or whatever his name actually was, want to go so far away? Was his crime that heinous, or was he just eager to start again somewhere completely different? And where was he now if not on the second floor? Was there an additional floor assigned to those under Kade’s “protection”?

The staircase did continue upwards, but it was impossible to tell how far it went. Corbin needed to find out—he needed to find this Mr. Brewster and determine whether he was a dangerous man or just an adventurous one. Even if he didn’t find Mr. Brewster, though, having the notebook was enough to ensure that a great many people would finally see justice.

As far as arresting Kade went, though, they needed to show that he actually put individuals on trains or on boats and sent them off to their new homes. Right now they had a list of names and places, but until he directed them where to go more specifically, it wasn’t concrete evidence, although vastly helpful.

Corbin passed a hand down his face. He wanted to leave his room again and see if he could reach the third floor, but he heard more footsteps, so for the moment, he was trapped. Impatient, he began to pace, passing by the window, and something caught his eye.

Harold Carlson was on the street below reading a newspaper, sitting on a bench just as casual as you please.

Corbin pulled in a relieved breath. He’d had no idea how he would contact Harold from inside this fortress, and now the answer was right below him on the street. He grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk and scribbled a quick note, then wrapped up that paper and the notebook inside another sheet to create a little bundle.

“Please, let this work,” he breathed.

Using his lock-picking tools, he was able to open his window about a foot. He grasped the bundle tightly and stuck his whole arm out the window, clear up to his shoulder, and flicked his wrist, letting go of the bundle and holding his breath at the same time. If this didn’t work . . .

The package hit Harold Carlson square in the head.

The man jumped up, looking around and then up at the building. Corbin waved at him, then retreated, knowing that any further action on his part would draw too much attention to himself. He did watch through the window, however, as Harold picked up the projectile.

Now all he could do was wait.

Chapter Eight

Kade was actually better at reading poetry than Cynthia had given him credit for, and if circumstances were different, she might have enjoyed it. But circumstances weren’t different, and she was becoming more anxious by the minute to leave. She needed to find out if Corbin had found the book and what he’d done with it. She also needed to know if he was safe. Without a clear indication of what he’d been doing for the last hour, she didn’t know what she’d find when she saw him again.

“My dear Marie, I can see that I’ve kept you up too late,” Kade said, closing the book and setting it on the table. “Your eyes seem heavy.”

“I’m rather exhausted—I’m sorry I’m not better company tonight.” She smiled, hoping his feelings wouldn’t be too hurt. “And I confess that I’m a little apprehensive about life in San Francisco. I’ve never moved to a new community before, and I’m worried about making new friends.”

“You will be swarming with friends by the end of the winter,” Kade assured her. “With your welcoming nature, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble at all.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” She paused. “Will you stay in touch? Or will you forget all about me once I’m gone?”

He tilted his head. “Well, I don’t generally stay in contact with those I’ve helped after they leave my care, but if you’d like me to stay in touch, I’m sure I could make an exception.”

“Oh, would you? It would mean so much.”

The pleased expression on Kade’s face told her she’d said the right thing. “Of course.” He rose, placing his napkin on the table. “Would you like to stay for an after-dinner glass of sherry?”

“That does sound nice, but you’re right—I’m quite tired. I think going to sleep would be the best thing for me. Do you mind horribly if I excuse myself? It was a lovely dinner and I appreciate it so much, but I’m nearly asleep where I sit.”

He smiled. “I’m a little disappointed, to be honest, but I understand. Goodnight, sweet Marie, and I’ll see you in the morning for a final farewell.”

She picked up the book of poetry. “Thank you again for this. I might not need it after all, but I’m glad to have it just in case.”

“Consider it a gift, my dear. Something to remember me by.”

She made a show of clasping it to her heart. “Thank you. I’ll treasure it.”

Kade rang the bell for service, and as Cynthia stepped into the hall, she found Esther there waiting for her.

“Did you have a nice evening, ma’am?” she asked as they walked back to Cynthia’s room.

“Yes, I certainly did. The food was delicious—I’m so glad the kitchen was able to resolve the issue with dessert.”

“Dessert, ma’am? Was there a problem with dessert?”

“I thought so . . . that’s what Mr. Brown said.”

“Oh. Well, if that’s what he said, I’m sure it’s so.”

What a curious answer.

Esther followed Cynthia into her room and offered to help with the buttons of her dress, but Cynthia declined, saying that she could reach them all herself. When Esther left, the door wasn’t locked, and Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief. She’d hated feeling trapped—it did give her a moment to look for the notebook, but no one should ever be caged.

She slipped out of her dress and into a simple blouse and skirt, knowing her evening wasn’t over yet. She needed to speak with Corbin about his findings. If he’d discovered anything pertinent, they’d likely want to go investigate, and one couldn’t do that very easily in one’s nightclothes.

Just a few moments later, she heard a soft tap, and she let Corbin into her room.

“Did you get the notebook?” she whispered.

“Yes, I did, and I passed it along to Harold. He was keeping watch outside, and I tossed it down to him.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I was scared that someone else would pick it up.”

“How was your dinner?”

“It was delicious. A nice roast beef, gravy . . .”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” She grinned. “It was fine, although nerve-racking, and he read me poetry.”

“Poetry?”

“Yes. I brought it back with me if you’d like to read it for yourself.”

Corbin shook his head. “I don’t think so. Listen, do you know anything about a man named Thomas Brewster?”

“Wasn’t that the last name in the notebook?”

“Good—you did see that.” Corbin sat down on one of the chairs and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve listened at the door of every room on this floor, and they all seem unoccupied. If Mr. Brewster is under the same kind of supervision we are, where is he? And if he’s not being watched like we are, well, why not? What makes us the exception—does Kade suspect us, even though he says he doesn’t?”

Cynthia sat near him so she could catch his whispers. “Mr. Brewster’s name never came up. I asked a few questions about Kade’s enterprise to see if I could get him talking, but no—he wouldn’t elaborate on anything.” Another thought occurred to her. “He excused himself for a few minutes, saying there was something wrong with dinner in the kitchen, and that’s when I was able to search for the notebook. But when I asked Esther about it later, she said nothing had gone wrong with dinner. If that was just his excuse, where did he go and why?”

Corbin exhaled. “We have two choices here. We can go to bed, get up and head to the train station first thing in the morning, and make the arrest as soon as Kade has provided our tickets. That gives us evidence to arrest him, and the notebook gives us the names and locations of the criminals he’s helped. All in all, an excellent job of it.”

Cynthia lifted an eyebrow. “And the other choice?”

“We can prowl around a little bit and see if we can find Mr. Brewster or any other special guests.”

“But if we have the information we need, why would we do that?”

“There’s something about that name—it’s familiar to me somehow. I didn’t think much of it at first, but something in the back of my brain is telling me it’s important.”

“I don’t know  . . .” Cynthia shook her head. “We’re so close—so close. Why would we do anything to endanger the case now?”

Corbin nodded slowly. “You’re right. Whatever it is, it can’t be important enough to jeopardize everything else.” He stood up. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll need to be on our toes in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Corbin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He was standing, but he hadn’t yet taken a step toward the door. He seemed reluctant to leave.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I was thinking back to this morning when I shared my feelings with you,” he said. “The more time that goes by without a response from you, the more I wonder if I offended you and if I should have kept those feelings to myself.”

In her desire not to hurt him with a hasty answer, she’d hurt him anyway by not answering at all. She wished she knew more about relationships and how to navigate them—but how could she learn more without making dozens of mistakes along the way? Was it possible to get it right on the first try and not have to experience the heartache that would surely come by saying or doing the wrong thing?

She stood up and took his hands in hers, mimicking how he often reached out to her. “Corbin, I can honestly say that you’re the finest, kindest man I’ve ever met, and I can’t imagine anyone ever becoming as important to me as you are.”

“You’re about to say ‘however,’ aren’t you?”

She smiled, although sadly. “However, I’ve never been in love before, and I don’t know what it feels like. I know that sometimes my heart races when you look at me, and I know that it melts when you say something thoughtful, and I know that I enjoy laughing with you—but how can I tell the difference between love and attraction? Is there a rulebook or a set of guidelines or—”

She was interrupted as he tugged her toward him and kissed her. One minute, she was sharing her insecurity, and the next, she was in his arms, and it was completely overwhelming. Every emotion she’d been juggling, every doubt she’d had, every thrill she’d felt warred it out inside her until everything disappeared and all she knew was the feel of his arms around her waist and his lips on hers, and nothing else even mattered.

He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against her lips, “Do you still need a rulebook?” Then he brought her close again, and she clung to his lapel to keep her balance. Her knees were weak and she knew she’d tumble if he wasn’t holding her up.

When he let her go again, this time completely, she sank back into her chair, a little out of breath. “So, that’s what kissing’s all about. I always wondered why it was such a big deal.”

He chuckled. “You’ve never been kissed before?”

“Well, no! I told you I’ve never been in love, and I wouldn’t kiss someone unless I loved them.”

“There you have it! You just kissed me, so therefore, you must love me.” He gave her a triumphant look.

“Yes, but I could argue that you caught me by surprise. I didn’t know you were going to until you were doing it.”

“And your reaction was quite in the affirmative, as I recall.”

Her cheeks instantly felt hot. “Yes, it was in the affirmative.”

“Aha! There’s your proof, Mrs. Rawlings. You love me, and there’s nothing more to analyze or debate. The question is settled. Now, isn’t it nice to have that resolved? One less thing to worry about?”

“Yes, I suppose, but . . .”

He shook his head. “Are you still trying to complicate this? What more could there be?”

“I . . . I guess there’s nothing. I just hadn’t expected it to be so easy.”

“Because love is complicated?”

“Well, it always is in books.”

He laughed, although quietly. “Oh, sweetheart, so few things in real life are the same as they are in books. Falling in love can be as simple as looking at someone and realizing that you’re meant to be together. It doesn’t have to be fraught with conflict and angst.”

“So, you just looked at me and you knew?”

“Not immediately, but it didn’t take me longer than . . . ten or fifteen minutes.”

She knew he was joking, but she also recognized that he was telling the truth when he said it hadn’t taken long at all. She’d felt it in the way he treated her, that extra bit of courtesy and respect. If that’s what love was—courtesy, respect, laughter, and yes, amazing kisses, she could say it with clarity. “Then I must be falling in love with you too.”

“I knew you’d come around to it eventually.” Even his eyes smiled as he looked at her, and she knew he was about to kiss her again. Her heart sped up in anticipation and her eyes were halfway closed when a knock sounded on the door, and then it flew open and hit the wall behind it. Kade stood in the doorway, his eyes on fire. Cynthia was grateful that Corbin had leaped back at the knock and was no longer right next to her.

“Kade? What’s the matter? It’s terribly late.”

“Mrs. Fielding, have you seen my notebook?”

She’d hoped he’d have no need to go looking for it until the next day. “Yes, I’ve seen it,” she replied. “You wrote in it when we chose our new names, remember?”

He looked up at the ceiling as though trying to stay patient, although there was nothing else patient about his demeanor. “I don’t mean, have you seen it. I mean, do you know where it is now?”

“I have no idea.” She could answer that truthfully as well. What had Harold Carlson done with it? Had he passed it along, or had he ripped out the pages so he could roll his own cigarettes? There were so many possibilities.

“It was in my room when you came to dinner, and it’s missing now. What am I supposed to think, Mrs. Fielding? That it grew legs and walked out on its own?”

She motioned around. “You may search my room from top to bottom if you like. I don’t have it, I promise.”

Kade whirled on Corbin. “That’s because you have it.”

“No, sir, I do not,” Corbin replied. “You may search my room too—I have nothing to hide.”

Kade turned and called over his shoulder, “They’re admitting nothing. We’ll have to search their rooms.”

Cynthia hadn’t realized anyone was waiting out in the hallway. Now a man entered the room, shaking his head as though he was terribly disappointed. “It’s always so much easier when they simply confess. A room search can take a long time.”

Cynthia heard Corbin take in a breath. It wasn’t loud, but it was definite, and she looked to see the cause of his reaction. He and the newcomer had locked eyes on each other, and they looked like two wild animals ready to spring at each other.

“What is it, Thomas?” Kade asked. “Do you know Mr. Phillips?”

“I know him, but his name’s not Phillips,” Mr. Brewster replied. “This is Corbin Rawlings, an agent from the Pinkerton agency in Denver.”

“And this is the man who killed my last partner,” Corbin replied evenly. “But he’s taken on the middle name of his former employer, I believe—whom he also killed.”

Chapter Nine

Too much had happened in the last few minutes for Cynthia to follow. She sank back into her chair, trying to sort through it, but Kade grabbed her arm and yanked her back up. “I want that notebook, and I want it now,” he hissed in her face, his grip on her arm so tight, she nearly cried out.

“I don’t have it,” she repeated. “I swear to you, I don’t.”

Kade brought his other hand back and slapped her sharply across the face. The impact stung and she gasped, but she brought her gaze back to his with defiance. “I don’t have it, and striking me won’t change that.”

Kade looked as though he would hit her again anyway, but then he shoved her back in her chair with a curse. A glance told her that Brewster was holding Corbin back from coming to her defense.

“We’ll search both rooms from top to bottom,” Kade told Brewster . . . or whatever his name really was. So many aliases had been floating around lately, Cynthia wasn’t sure she even remembered who she was anymore. “If the notebook doesn’t turn up, we’ll shoot her and see if that loosens his tongue.”

Brewster nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

Kade grabbed the ties that were holding back the curtains and yanked them from the fabric, then used them as ropes to tie Cynthia’s wrists and ankles to her chair. He pulled the straps so tight, they bit into her skin, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. Then he took the ties from the other window and used them to tie Corbin up similarly.

Brewster patted Corbin down once he was detained, pulling his lock-picking tools from one pocket and a small pistol from a side holster. “Well now,” he said, holding the items aloft. “You won’t need these anymore, will you? You might want them, but that’s entirely different.”

“So, you’re fleeing to Canada so you won’t be arrested for killing my partner?” Corbin asked. “Canada might be far enough away, but I doubt it.”

Brewster chuckled. “You don’t need to worry about my affairs any longer, Rawlings. Soon enough, you’ll be dead, and I’ll be a free man.” He glanced over at Cynthia. “And who’s this? Not actually your sister, I’d wager.”

“She came along to add to my cover,” Corbin said. Cynthia noticed that he neither confirmed nor denied the relationship.

“Well, you two sit tight. We’ll be back in a minute,” Kade told them. He and Brewster left the room, pulling the door closed tight and locking it.

As soon as they left, both Cynthia and Corbin started straining against their bonds, but they were too tight. Corbin bounced up and down in his chair a few times to see if he could get it to hop, but he wasn’t able to get it high enough off the floor to make it travel.

“You never told me you’d just lost a partner,” Cynthia said.

“I don’t even like to think about it, let alone speak of it,” Corbin replied. He blew out a breath. “It was about three weeks ago. He and I had been on the trail of an embezzler who was stealing money from his employer, a man who ran a manufacturing company. He made things for the government—that’s why it turned into a Pinkerton case instead of something for the regular police. His boss turned up dead—that was the real Edward Thomas Brewster—and we had evidence to arrest his killer for it, but when we moved in, he pulled a gun and shot my partner in the chest. I was able to tackle him to the side, but he hit me across the cheekbone with his pistol and ran off before I could get my bearings again. We launched an exhaustive search, but with no results, and I thought he was gone forever until I saw that name in the notebook.”

“And it didn’t make sense right away because it was an alias and not his actual name,” Cynthia replied. “And a middle name at that.”

“Correct. He shouldn’t have used ‘Thomas Brewster’—not only was that foolish, but it’s as though he thinks that murder was a joke, something to laugh about or brag about. It sickens me.”

Cynthia nodded. It did her, too. Murder was such a vile act. How could someone purposely, willfully take another’s life?

“I’m not pleased to be tied to this chair, but I’m very glad to know where Gar Holly is—that’s his real name, by the way. I like having all the loose ends tied up.”

“As I learned while waiting for you on the train platform,” Cynthia said teasingly. “It’s all right—I wouldn’t have it any other way. In case I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I admire you, Corbin Rawlings. A great deal.”

“Hmmm. I tell you I love you, I give you the very best kiss I’ve ever given anyone, and what I get in return is your admiration?”

“I said I was falling in love with you—isn’t that what you wanted? And wait a minute—just how many girls have you kissed?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Only enough to show me what I really want in a wife,” he answered at last.

“That was certainly a diplomatic answer.”

“I tried.”

Cynthia smiled. This banter was helping to keep her nerves from taking over, but in reality, they only had a few minutes until Kade and Brewster—Holly . . . whatever—returned, and they needed a plan. “What are we going to do?” she asked.

“We won’t know for sure until we see what they do,” Corbin replied. “If they just shoot us here in our chairs while we’re still tied up, we won’t have the chance to escape. However, if they untie us first so they can move us to a different location, that will give us more alternatives. Keep your eyes open and be alert for any possibility of escape. If you can pretend to faint or if you manage to wiggle free, take advantage and run.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Listen to me, Cynthia. Don’t hesitate to get yourself away. I’ve gotten out of situations like this before, and I’ll have a much better chance of doing it again if I’m not worried about you.”

Leaving him behind was the very last thing she wanted to do, but she understood what he was saying. If leaving him meant increasing his chances of survival, she’d do it. And if that chance didn’t come or if they were shot in their chairs . . . Well, at least for the last few days of her life, she’d known what it was like to be loved.

***

The moment Corbin’s gaze had landed on Gar Holly, he’d wanted to rip his throat out. He’d never forget watching the light leave his partner’s eyes, knowing he was dead. And Gar had laughed—he’d actually laughed, as though killing someone was great amusement. All Corbin knew now was that he and Cynthia had to escape somehow—Gar couldn’t get away again.

He hoped Cynthia understood the importance of what he’d told her, that she needed to get away at all costs. Corbin didn’t know what he’d need to do in order to escape, and he neither wanted Cynthia involved or for her to see. He had plenty enough images burned in his brain he wished he could forget, and he didn’t want her to start building up a collection of her own.

Kade and Gar returned to the room sullen-faced and began ripping it apart. They were so thorough that they even sliced open the bed. At last, they stopped their search, and Kade placed the tip of his blade at Cynthia’s throat.

“I was going to threaten to shoot you, but there’s something so poetic about a knife,” he said, his voice almost soothing. “Tell me where the notebook is, and I will not leave a long, jagged scar down your pretty face.”

Corbin wouldn’t have blamed Cynthia for giving in to the threat, but she only set her jaw and refused to speak.

“Really? Well, that’s a shame. Agent Rawlings, how would you like us to proceed? I’ll leave her unscathed if you come clean right now. Otherwise, I’ll start at the left ear and make a broad motion over to the right. The knife’s quite sharp—it will only take a few seconds.”

Corbin weighed his options, but there weren’t many to weigh. He knew that whatever he said or did, Kade was out for blood and he wouldn’t be dissuaded from spilling it. And he already knew that Gar enjoyed killing.

“You won’t find your book no matter how many beds you destroy,” he said at long last. “It’s no longer here.”

“What?” Kade’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. “How is that possible?”

Corbin shrugged. “It just is.” He knew this information wouldn’t save their lives, but he wanted to see Kade’s reaction before he was killed.

“Who has it? How did it leave this building?”

Corbin shrugged again. He’d said all he was going to say.

Kade turned to Gar. “We have to find that book, and we have to dispose of these two.” He slammed his hand down on the table and swore. “Do you realize what you’ve done, Agent? What you’ve destroyed? Well, you won’t be around to enjoy the fruits of your labors, will you?” He pulled his gun from beneath his jacket and trained it on Corbin. “Goodbye, Agent Rawlings. So sorry that we didn’t have the chance to get better acquainted.”

Just then, Corbin heard loud voices coming from the hallway, and the door burst inward. Kade looked up, startled, but he didn’t lower his gun as several uniformed police officers poured into the room, followed by Harold Carlson.

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot him,” Kade told them.

“Now, that’s not exactly how this works,” Harold said. He ambled toward the center of the room, where Gar stood looking completely overwhelmed. “See—I’ve got my gun pointed at your man now. We’re even except for one thing. I brought a bunch of my friends.” He nodded at the police officers. “What say you put down your gun and we end this?”

Corbin glanced at Cynthia. She still looked afraid, but she also looked determined, and he knew that she was bracing herself for whatever came next. Good girl.

Kade looked around the room. There was clearly no escape for him—he was finished no matter what. He slowly bent down and placed his gun and his knife on the floor, then put his hands behind his head.

Harold picked up the knife and cut the ties holding Cynthia and Corbin in place while the police officers escorted Kade and Gar toward the doorway. “Garland Holly, you are under arrest . . .”

“Wait,” Cynthia called out, and the arresting officer paused. “His name is Garland Holly? As in . . . a garland of holly?”

“What of it?” Gar snarled.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . It’s . . .” She was trying not to smile, but not succeeding very well. “Never mind. Please cart him away, officer.”

Harold and two of the policemen stayed behind to take statements while the other officers escorted Kade and Gar to the police station. “Are the two of you all right?” Harold asked.

“I’m fine—and actually doing quite well now that Holly’s in custody,” Corbin replied. “I’ve lost countless nights of sleep over his escape, and now I feel like I can finally close that chapter of my life.” He smiled at Cynthia. “You’ve been brave enough for both of us—are you all right?”

“I’m fine too, but I don’t think I’ll be standing up anytime soon. My legs are like jelly,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve never been so terrified.”

Corbin sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so, so proud.”

“Thank you. And just think how lucky I am—most women never get to see what their husbands do at work all day, but I got to see it up close.”

He kissed her forehead. He didn’t have the words to tell her how afraid he’d been, how grateful he was that it had all worked out the way it had.

“Agent Carlson, I’m counting on you to fill in some details,” Cynthia continued. “How did you know to come right at this exact moment?”

“I didn’t—at least, not at this exact moment,” he replied. He sat down across from Cynthia and Corbin and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. “When Corbin tossed that book at me—excellent aim, by the way—I immediately knew we’d struck pay dirt. I checked in with my special agent in charge, and we went down to the police station together. We might have been here a few minutes sooner if it hadn’t taken us so long to gather up the men we’d need.”

“Your timing was excellent as it was,” Cynthia told him.

“Thank you. Now, we had enough evidence to arrest Kade for helping the people listed in the book, but we knew you were hoping to arrest him as he was putting you on the train—we couldn’t wait that long, though. We assumed you were in danger, and the fact that you’d given him money was enough evidence to convince the police. So, here we are.”

“I appreciate you for making that assumption. I’d used up all my great ideas and didn’t know how we were going to get out of this one,” Corbin said.

“Another question, if you don’t mind,” Cynthia added. “Kade said Richard Michaels had vouched for us. How is that possible when he’s never met us and doesn’t know us from Adam and Eve?”

Carlson smiled. “It was fairly simple—I intercepted the telegram when it was sent to him. I knew his approximate address and I figured I knew where the telegram would be sent for delivery to his place, so I hung around outside, and when he exited the building, telegram in hand, I clunked him over the head, arrested him, and then sent a telegram back to Kade praising the two of you and encouraging him to help you out.”

“So, he’s already in custody?” Corbin asked.

“Already there.” Carlson stood up. “I think that’s all we need to discuss for tonight. We can get together tomorrow to tie up the loose ends, but it seems to me that a good night’s sleep is in order first.”

“Agreed, but something else first,” Corbin replied. “Can you recommend a good hotel? I don’t think we want to be here another minute.”

***

Cynthia was grateful beyond words that Corbin had suggested switching to a different hotel the night before. If she’d had to spend one more night at the Brookside after everything that had happened . . . but she hadn’t. Her new husband had seen to that. Even though he was exhausted himself, he’d made sure all their things were packed up, and they’d found a quiet place to stay on the opposite side of town.

They had shared a room because Cynthia was still too rattled to want to be alone, and Corbin spent the night holding her hand. It was exactly the kind of support she needed, and she knew that with his continued patience, she’d soon be all right. They’d won, after all. They were no longer in danger, and justice would be served to countless criminals who would have gotten away otherwise.

She lifted her head from the pillow and looked around the room, wondering where Corbin was. Oh, there—he was reading the newspaper in front of the window. It was such a nicely domestic thing to do, a direct contrast to their activities of the last few days. “Good morning.”

He lowered the paper immediately. “Good morning to you too. How are you feeling?”

“Stiff and sore, but so much better than last night.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure you need several nights of solid sleep to recover, but you will.” He crossed the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve telegrammed Archie, and he’s authorized a few days off. He agrees with me that you’ve been through quite a lot for your first assignment and you deserve a vacation. Where would you like to spend it?”

Cynthia thought for a moment. “What about right here? We haven’t been able to see much of Salt Lake City, and I’d rather not change hotels again or get back on a train for a little while at least.”

“I like that idea. I like it a lot.” He reached out and tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “Cynthia, if I’d lost you last night—if we’d lost each other—”

“I know. But we didn’t, and now we get to celebrate. Every day is a blessing, and we’re going to remember that for the rest of our lives.”

“Our lives?” He searched her eyes. “Are you saying . . .?”

“Yes, Corbin. I want to stay married to you. I’m sorry I’ve been so wishy-washy—you can chalk that up to youth or inexperience or whatever else seems to fit, but I’m done with that now. I know what I want, and I want you.”

He grinned. “You have no idea how good that sounds, Mrs. Rawlings,” he replied.

“And speaking of that . . . Do you have any idea how many names I’ve had in the last few days? It’s ridiculous! I started out as Baxter and then I became a Rawlings and then I was a Phillips for just a few minutes, but then I remembered that I needed to be a Fielding and then I was a Stewart . . . It’s been so confusing.”

“As long as you never forget you’re a Rawlings from now on, I’m sure everything will be just fine,” Corbin told her, pulling her close for another long, long kiss.

The End

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About Amelia C. Adams

Amelia traces her family tree right back to the settlement of the Old West—her great-great-grandmother even drove a wagon to her new home. Amelia is a wife, a mother, and a novelist. She spends her days dreaming up stories and her nights writing them down. Her biggest hero is her husband, and you might just see bits and pieces of him as you read her novels. She loves all things historical and enjoys learning about days gone by, but she's glad she was born in modern times because the Internet is awesome. She’s an eater of tacos, a taker of naps, and a dreamer of dreams.
You can reach Amelia at ameliaadamsauthor@gmail.com.

Please join Amelia on her website to learn more about her, sign up for her newsletter, stay on top of news and upcoming releases, and follow her on Facebook. In fact, you can join her readers’ group by clicking here! And if you’ve enjoyed any of her novels, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. It’s much appreciated!

Also by Amelia C. Adams:

The Kansas Crossroads Series

The Nurses of New York Series

The River’s End Ranch Series

The Mail Order Mounties Series

The Cowboys and Angels Series

The Matchmaker’s Ball Series

The Main Street Merchants Series

The Brody Hotel Series

The Pinkerton Matchmaker Series

The Kansas Cowboys Series

The Hearts of Nashville Series

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