An Agent for Fallon

by Ginny Sterling

  An Agent for Fallon

  The Pinkerton Matchmakers

  Ginny Sterling

  Contents

  Introduction

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  An Agent for Gillian

  An Agent for Meghan

  A Bride for Daniel

  Lawfully Yours

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Til’ death do us part…

  Fallon Byrne was positive that her fiancé had used every excuse in the book to keep from marrying her. Biding her time patiently, she discovers that the Denver office will hire women as Pinkerton Agents – effectively cornering the man she’s loved for years into becoming her partner and her spouse!

  Rourke accepted a job offer of becoming a Pinkerton in the Chicago office while on the run from a looming threat back home. When his headstrong fiancée announced her intention of joining the ranks – he realizes that her destination could split them in two unless he agrees to head for Denver, working for Archibald Gordon.

  The young couple is suddenly thrust into a world that requires they protect one another no matter the cost. Can their love endure the danger around them, or will upholding the law split them apart?

  Praise for Ginny Sterling

  What can I say except I absolutely loved this story, I laughed out loud and I shed emotional tears.” – Amazon Reviewer (Lawfully Gifted)

  “This series has quickly become one my favorites. Love the storyline, love the characters, love the back stories and love the sweet romance between each couple.” – Amazon Reviewer (Remember Love)

  “What an amazing start to a new series, Healing Hearts, a clean contemporary and extremely emotional tale. I loved the characters, the angst, and the honest discussions, along with the chemistry and interactions. The people are broken, but with encouragement, friendship, and the added benefit of animals, it is the beginnings for healing.” – Amazon Reviewer (Remember Hope)

  A Note to Our Readers

  Even though this book is a work of fiction, the Pinkerton Agents and their exploits are very real.

  Allan Pinkerton, a Scottish immigrant, and Edward Rucker, a Chicago attorney, started the North-Western Police Agency in the early 1850s. It later became the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

  Established in the U.S. by Allan Pinkerton in 1855, the Pinkerton National Detective Agency was a private security guard and detective agency. Pinkerton agents were hired as both bodyguards and detectives by corporations and individuals. They were active in stopping strikes, illegal operations, guarding train shipments, and searching for Western outlaws such as the James and Younger gangs.

  Pinkerton agents were known to be tough yet honest. For the most part, they followed local and state laws. However, as with most situations, a few were known to be ruthless. Local law didn’t always approve of having an agent in town since they could investigate more fully than the sheriff. Going undercover gave the agents greater leeway for investigations but could also lead to corruption and violence.

  As the West became more settled, crime increased, and local authorities were at times overwhelmed. It was not uncommon for Pinkerton agents to be hired to track down the worst of these criminals. Not encumbered by state or local boundaries, the agents followed and pursued their quarry where the clues led them.

  The Pinkerton Agency was also one of the first companies to hire women. Kate Warne led the way for the women agents that followed her.

  As the case load grew, new offices were established around the country, with the main office in Chicago, Illinois.

  We created this series with these heroic men and women in mind. These are works of our imagination and no way reflect the true cases or activities that the Pinkerton Agency may have engaged in.

  These are our stories of the men and women that braved danger and love to bring their own brand of justice.

  The Pinkerton Code

  Allan Pinkerton's agents were required to comply with a specific code of conduct while working for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

  According to the agency's records, agents were to have no addiction to "drinking, smoking, card playing, low dives or slang".

  Additionally, a Pinkerton agent …

  Could not accept bribes

  May never compromise with criminals

  Should willingly partner with local law enforcement

  Must refuse divorce cases or those initiating scandal

  Would be expected to turn down reward money

  Cannot raise fees without client’s prior knowledge

  Should keep clients appraised on an on-going basis

  The Denver Tribune Editorials

  Sat. April 22, 1871

  Female Agents to join National Detective Agency.

  Help Wanted: female agents to join the National Pinkerton Detective Agency

  Seven years ago, the National Pinkerton Detective Agency moved into the new office location at 427 Chain Bridge Road, Denver, Colorado Territory. Since then stories have swirled of brave men solving crimes and fighting for justice.

  But a new time has evolved, and the agency is now seeking able-bodied women to join the ranks of private investigations.

  We need daring women who seek adventure and are of sound mind and body. You will help the criminal elements answer for their crimes and secure safety for their victims.

  You will train with an existing agent, and after your first case, you will earn the rank of private detective. Paid training, transportation, uniforms, and accommodations will be provided. You will become a part of a noble profession and pave the way into the future.

  This editorial has been placed in newspapers throughout the nation, so the quickest responses are appreciated.

  Please send inquiries and a list of skills to Mr. A. Gordon at the above noted address. Interviews will occur on the premises the week of May 16, 1871.

  Ed.

  Chapter One

  This couldn’t be happening to her again.

  Fallon stared horrified as what was left of the town seemed to congeal like a terrifying primordial ooze around the hillside. The mine, that was central to their town and their very lives, had caved in. It didn’t happen often, but when it did-it wreaked havoc and destruction throughout the region. Fathers, brothers, friends, and neighbors were buried, alive or dead, as the dust settled around the onlookers. People were milling about, their voices abuzz, discussing what exactly to do next.

  She’d grown up in Shenandoah and the mine had always been a looming part of life, her home—but it could not take her heart no matter how many accidents or deaths it caused. She’d lost her father as a young girl, leaving her living with her brother and scrounging to make ends meet. She still had nightmares of being hungry, trapped in the dark, and alone. She hadn’t quite understood what it had meant to say goodbye at the time—but time had taught her a lesson she never expected having to learn.

  Life was hard here, and no one got out alive.

  If you weren’t a miner, you were bootlegging.

  If you weren’t a bootlegger, you were part of the Molly Malone’s.

  Criminal activity was rampant simply because it provided and paid well in the short term. Long term wasn’t something people planned for in this region. It was struggle after struggle, loss after loss. She’d grown up dirt poor and there seemed to be no other work that helped you out of the rut they seemed to be trapped in. Everything that brought income seemed to rush you headfirst towards meeting t
he grim reaper. That blasted mine… was taking away her world again.

  Rourke O’Mara.

  She would never forget the moment she fell for him. He had swept her right off her feet. Silently hoping someone would ask her to dance one evening during a celebration, she had been sitting with the other girls on a bench. Her toes had been tapping under her skirt to the beat of the music when she’d looked up and saw him.

  The dark-haired man she had been admiring from afar was breathtaking. A dark swath of curly black hair and broad shoulders. He wasn’t like the rest of the men either. Some men preferred a clean-shaven face while others sported a long beard or moustache. The only son of the late Phineas O’Mara—Rourke’s shaggy cut hair seemed to complement his unshaven jaw, giving him a rough yet debonair edge.

  Catching her breath, Fallon swallowed hard with nervousness as the man she’d been eyeing suddenly met her gaze. He put his cup of punch down on a table and cut a path directly through the crowd, walking over.

  He was downright gorgeous the way he held himself as he walked. That fun, arrogant skip to his step like he was on his way to collect a prize. Fallon glanced at Mary, Ruth, and Caroline on the bench nearby. Out of the four of them, Caroline was the most striking with her blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her own eyes were dark as the coal they mined out of the ground here in town.

  Rourke stopped in front of her, his lips curling upwards on one side of his mouth revealing a roguish dimple on his cheek. He held out his hand in front of everyone, looking directly at her. Her heart skipped a beat as she glanced around behind her. Out of all the lovely women around where she’d been sitting, the handsome bachelor had singled her out?

  “Lovely wee wren-yer toes are fair bursting with joy at the music. Come dance w’ me,” he said, smiling softly. His voice had a thick accent and a deep timbre that warmed her spirit, winding his way into her heart.

  Fallon had reached out her hand, ignoring the way her fingers trembled as she got to her feet. The moment her hand touched his was magical. He’d let out a nervous breath and pulled her into his arms happily, whisking her into the throng of people dancing. He couldn’t care who he bumped into as he swung her around. Nothing mattered but the here and now; they were alone among the crowd.

  Rourke was pure energy, fire, light, and love, all rolled into one. He had become the world to her. That beautiful soul that had captured her heart was trapped in the cave directly ahead.

  Pushing down the panic, Fallon took several shallow breaths as she surveyed the scene ahead. Gillian Malone was angrily dressing down several men standing near the blocked cave entrance. Her fiery-tempered friend had just as much to lose as Fallon-her husband, Cade, worked at Rourke’s side. Getting angry wouldn’t help things though.

  She had to be sensible, logical, cold, and calculating in order to get through this nightmare. Disconnect yourself and think! She thought, trying to keep the panic at bay.

  The hillside wasn’t sunken in, just the entryway was covered in debris. Perhaps the braces inside had held? She knew he worked farther down in the opening's mouth, along the wall with his friends. Rourke complained repeatedly about the conditions inside the mine, as they would sit together in the evenings on a small porch swing, talking about their future.

  “Wren, it’s as dark as pitch in there and smells just about as bad,” he’d told her one night. “We are killing ourselves ta make money for the folks that won’t dirty their own hands-no matter how badly it stains their souls with our blood.”

  “I know,” she’d breathed, lacing her fingers with his and reveling at how warm his hands felt. She loved the strength in him, her favorite protector. They were partners in everything and soon to be married. She supported his decisions and efforts to dig them out of a life here in the valley-including his application to the Pinkerton Agency in Chicago. It was a risk that could endanger him-but the mine did the very same thing.

  They both wanted more and craved a chance at adventure instead of dying away in poverty. She would have to focus on that glimmer of hope to get through the next few days until he was in her arms once again - alive or dead. She would never dishonor his attempts to remove them from this world by wailing like the other women were doing. No, she would proudly honor him and his memory, no matter the outcome.

  She prayed for good news.

  She prepared for the worst.

  Time seemed to crawl to by, every second a step closer to death by suffocation for the miners. Would it be the lack of oxygen or the gasses from inside the mine that finished them? Had the collapse injured Rourke? What if he was bleeding?

  Shaking her head, Fallon went back to tending the remaining men of the town as they tried to break through the wall of rubble. Gillian was hysterical and inconsolable. The woman hadn’t moved for hours, digging at the fallen rocks with her bare hands.

  Fallon understood and felt ashamed that the tiny red-haired woman seemed to be so much stronger than she was. Fallon had worked tirelessly at the rubble, but her arms were giving out. Even now, as she held the pail of water, her hands ached as she struggled to hold it. Exhausted, she couldn’t give up. She had to be a part of this somehow, but losing her mind or collapsing would do Rourke no good.

  Gillian was nearly senseless with desperation, her eyes wild as she dug and snapped orders at the men. They were all trying and everyone had a loved one inside. Fallon gave her space, realizing that Gillian must assume that her husband had passed, deep down inside, and was reacting to that horror. Fallon couldn’t allow that thought or she would be in the same boat.

  Disconnect yourself, she whispered to herself softly as fear bubbled inside of her. She had to push her emotions down and focus on the moment. Imagining what was to come wouldn’t help anyone.

  Regardless of the outcome, Fallon had a job to do. She either needed to be there to welcome her love back to their world or bury him with dignity. She could have her mental breakdown later once she was alone. She felt so cold-blooded even thinking it, but her tears would do no good.

  Hours passed into days.

  It was getting harder to fight the panic inside of her soul. The men she’d been feeding were exhausted. They’d all worked non-stop at trying to free them. Every inch closer they moved, debris would fall down and cover their progress.

  Gillian was senseless, babbling to no one and crying as she fought to reach her husband, pulling rock after rock and throwing them heedlessly to the side. It covered her skirts with dirt; her face was streaked with sweat and tears. Fallon knew she was in no better shape.

  Fallon’s own dress had salt rings where she’d worked off and on yanking rocks off the hillside, working tirelessly to make sure those that were stronger could keep going. She focused on the men, running and fetching what they asked for. Tools, food, whiskey, and water.

  Today was the hardest.

  Samuel Morrison, a drunkard with the largest still in the area, pulled her aside. His bloodshot eyes were clear from the effects of alcohol and his words sobering.

  “Fallon, you and the ladies need to fetch as much cloth as possible for some shrouds. We aren’t making much progress and we are going ta have ta take a break soon or collapse ourselves.”

  “I know,” she whispered, staggering at his words. When the town drunk could see the writing on the wall, the truth of what they could find once they finally entered the mine was sobering.

  “We are not giving up, but I’m telling you what no one else will say aloud. Me, Jimmy, Martin, and Daniel were talking it over. It’s going on another day without sleep and…well, it’s not going well at all. If we can’t get through tonight, then we might need ta try a different tactic.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, we could try blowing some powder near the opening…” Samuel began and Fallon just gaped at his ludicrous suggestion.

  “Are you poking fun at me? If you use powder, you could bring the rest of the hillside down, couldn’t you? We would never get them out of there then!”

 
“It’s looking pretty bleak as it is,” he admitted, shrugging. “It’s better than Jimmy’s suggestion of rolling a cannon down here and trying to blow a hole through it.”

  “A cannon?” she parroted, stunned, her voice rising in intensity, “Where do you think you will get a cannon? Unless you’ve hidden one in the same place it hides your still? No one has a cannon in these hills-and if they do-we’ve got bigger problems, you prattling…”

  Fallon grew silent as she saw the stony look on the men’s faces as they turned to look at her. They’d stopped digging, and that was something she couldn’t have happen. If they all stopped digging, they would never reach Rourke and the other men.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just a little beside myself,” she blurted, trying to look as meek as possible. The urge to lash out was like a bitter poison on her tongue. It galled her to cow down to these men, but nothing would be accomplished if they abandoned their task at hand. Samuel didn’t even have a family inside, but he was helping. She needed to practice grace, dignity, and appreciation.

  “You are right, Samuel. I will gather the cloth and begin on making the shrouds immediately,” she whispered painfully, looking away as tears burned at her eyes. While it felt like defeat, there was no sense in having the men argue with her when they could still be working.

  Picking up a pail of fresh water, she saw her reflection and swallowed hard. Her hair had slipped from the braid and was lying around her face. Heavy, dark rings lay under her eyes and her lips were nearly bloodless. Her face resembled one of a ghost-pale and eerie-with her dark eyes burning in her colorless face. She used to pinch her cheeks to make them pink—but what was the point?