“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.
An Agent for Cynthia Page 5