Mav pressed a hand against his chest, hoping to alleviate the pulsing pain. He stepped back into the room when Alastair and his sister stood. “Yes?”
“On second thought, I’ve a final assignment for you tonight. Take these dresses into the emporium and hang them in the women’s lounge. Alastair will be up to assist you. Then you are free to go.”
Mav nodded his compliance, all the whilst secretly plotting Sophie’s demise with more exactness.
Victoria was his for protecting—his partner, his charge, his…wife. The thought summoned another new sensation in his chest, this time an irrefutable and firm conviction. The feeling was more than concern, more than duty and loyalty.
He loved her.
An uncharacteristic smile, sloppy and broad, covered his jaw. He would tell her, after the case was won, of course.
“Larsen?” Sophie called from across the room. “Are you well?”
He scowled, ridding himself of the silly smile. “Course.”
9
Victoria arose early to a pounding headache—the type that sent one reeling back to bed. She’d hoped to join Alastair for breakfast in the emporium café, but she sent a note down instead, pleading her case and hoping he’d forgive her before their outing that evening, to the famed Ralston Summer Home.
After two hours of rest, Victoria managed a hot bath and cup of tea. She detested idleness, but given the severity of her illness, she welcomed the break. Mav would take his first shipment that night, and he hoped to prove Sophie’s guilt to the police.
Victoria sat at the kitchen table, nibbling at a cracker. Mav promised he’d spoken to the police, the ones they could trust. Whatever that meant. Victoria had so many questions for Mav. How did one ascertain whether an officer was being paid off by Sophie? Mav had assured her he’d weeded out the sell-outs.
A knock at the door sounded, and she hesitated. Though the tea had cured much of her ailment, she still struggled with balance. Her eyes had been playing tricks on her all morning.
Another knock.
She scooted to the door, her slippers sliding against the floor. “I’m coming,” she called. She grasped the brass handle at the same time as the person on the other side pushed, and she tumbled backward, narrowly catching herself against the wall.
“Are you all right?” Mav said, shutting the door behind him. His eyes shrunk to slits, and concern tugged at his brows. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head. Mav wasn’t the type to apologize. “It’s not that. I’ve just got a case of a terrible headache. I had to cancel with Alastair, and I—”
The muscles in his face relaxed, and he inhaled slowly. His lips tugged into a smile. “You’ve already cancelled?”
She nodded. “Regretfully.”
Mav took her by the elbow and led her to the kitchen chair. “I was on my way to plead for you to cancel with him. I suppose the headache was a good enough excuse.”
Victoria massaged her temples. “Mav, I don’t know why you object to my seeing Alastair. I’m not seeing him for any reason other than the case, but even then, you must know that I…” She dropped her head into her hands. This headache was clouding her judgment. She had almost confessed her feelings.
“This isn’t solely jealousy talking, Victoria. The man can’t be trusted. He means you harm.”
She lifted her eyes to his. Solely jealousy—so he was in part jealous? And he was jealous because she’d almost met Alastair for breakfast? She closed her eyes. Nothing made sense with this headache.
“Please,” he said, bending down to meet her. “Look at me. I need to tell you this, and I need you to listen.”
Her eyes fluttered, and she caught his brown eyes bearing into her own. His lashes were darker than she’d realized, and the highlights in his eyes played across her heart like flames of a fire. “I’m listening.”
“You have to stay away from Alastair. Promise me.”
Was that line near his mouth always so pronounced? She traced it with her eyes. “Alastair is a friend, despite his horrible sister.” Whatever Mav thought he knew was wrong. The pounding of her skull intensified, most likely because of her movement to answer the door. “But I told you, I cancelled this morning.”
Mav sighed. “You need to get on the first train back to Denver, for your safety.”
His directive stole her breath. Her lips parted, and, for a brief moment, the throbbing numbed. “Back to Denver? The case isn’t finished. I still have information that I can gather, that I’ve promised to gather. I won’t go crawling back to Archie.”
Mav placed his hands on her shoulder. “I have to keep you safe.”
Victoria rolled her eyes. “This is about your promise to my brother.”
“No.” He took in a slow breath and combed his hands through his hair. “This is about you—and me. I need you safe.”
Victoria shook her head. He knew her feelings then, and he was using them to manipulate her. Emotion collected at her bottom lashes, but she blinked the moisture away. “Mav, I’m not so naïve to think you mean that. You were quite direct at the beginning of this adventure—strictly business.”
Mav’s finger brushed her cheek. “You were also quite clear; you said the same. Yet…here we are.”
His touch, strong and calloused and surprisingly gentle, sent a crack in her shielded heart. She looked to his face. Was that softness shining back at her—a crack in his façade too?
Mav placed a hand at the back of her neck and pulled her effortlessly into a heart-melting kiss. His lips were warm, as intoxicating as alcohol, and deliberately tender.
Dread nagged at her. He was only playing his part in the case to get her to leave. He’d said he always did what needed to be done. Yet, the rhythmic movement of his kiss, the way his fingers laced through her hair…she was weak. She stayed there, relishing in his strength and feigned sweetness. He was as convincing of an actor as she’d ever seen. She almost believed it was real, but then she’d also fallen for Mav so hard that she didn’t even mind if the kiss was a farce. At least not in this moment.
The apartment door handle jiggled, and Sophie’s voice rang through the solid door. “Victoria, why is this locked?”
Victoria straightened in an instant, looking to Mav for guidance.
“I locked it,” he whispered before slipping out the window. He caught her hand when she moved to close the window. He smiled, and Victoria’s composure threatened once again. “First train to Denver.”
She closed the window without answering. He thought he’d won that easily. A single kiss and she would obey his every word?
She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and moved to unlock the door.
At least her headache was gone.
Mav laid against the metal grate of the fire escape for thirty minutes, until he could no longer hear Sophie’s voice and he was sure Victoria had gone to pack. He was grateful she hadn’t protested; he wouldn’t have been able to withstand her Scottish temper and stubbornness. Her feistiness was the first thing that had attracted him, but he detested arguing.
Better there were no questions; better she just left before something terrible happened.
He’d never been one to speak his feelings well. He was fine pretending. When cases required, he was able to say whatever was needed to persuade, but when it came to those he actually cared about—primarily Victoria— words escaped him. He was a man of action, not words. And kissing her was as close as he got to speaking his feelings.
The kiss. He grinned, once more surprised by the feel of it across his cheek and the warmth spreading in his chest. He scowled. Was he turning soft? He cracked his knuckles in an attempt to counteract his growing sentiment.
Back to work. He went over his plan in his head. He’d met with three officers just yesterday after blackmailing Holden once more to give him a name of the honorable men of the force. Holden—now confined to scooping horse droppings in front of the emporium—wouldn’t risk total loss, and he promp
tly provided a list.
The three officers were to meet at the port, undercover, where the shipment was to take place. Mav rolled up his arms. He was ready to head back to Denver and spend a real honeymoon with his wife.
Her kisses were worth every sentimental, soft, and silly feeling filling his robust chest. He bit back a smile and climbed through the kitchen window and down the apartment stairs to his watch at the front of the emporium.
10
Alastair was uncommonly quiet. Victoria had tried to coax him into speaking by asking him questions of all sorts, but he seemed constrained by one-word answers. Even worse, his body language had become rigid. He gripped the umbrella in his hands with a fury, his jaw muscles rising along his face. What could have possible upset him so?
“Mr. Kinley,” Victoria tried once more. “Are you quite well?”
He peered out the window, seeming to assess their progress to William Ralston’s summer home. “I will be.”
She’d already gone over her conduct for the past week, trying to determine if there was something—anything—that could have upset him. On the contrary, she’d found easy friendship between them. She pressed a finger between her brows, hoping to relieve some tension. “Alastair,” she started. “I get the feeling you’re unhappy with me. Please speak to me.”
His shoulders curled forward. “I don’t want it to be true, but yes; I’m unhappy. I’m used to Sophie’s schemes and underhanded efforts. But you? I’d thought—no, hoped—you were different.”
Bile climbed her throat. Perhaps Mav had been right; perhaps Alastair was more dangerous than he led on. She leaned and touched one of his hands in a last attempt to calm him.
He flinched.
“What have I done?” Victoria asked.
He recoiled and scooted to the other side of the carriage. “Sophie went through your things when you were out the other night, after the party at Del Mar’s.”
Victoria’s eyes widened, and the horrifying truth struck her. She looked out the window and saw only woods stretching before them. “Where are you taking me? I thought Ralston’s home was on the edge of the city?”
“Sophie showed me the papers she found, Victoria—at least that is your real first name.” Alastair folded his arms.
Victoria’s eyes clamped shut; how she wished she’d heeded Mav’s counsel to pack her pistol. “Then you know my real name is—”
“Victoria Jones.” He inhaled. “Why didn’t you tell me you were married? And why all the racket about being part of the MacGregors of highland? Are you really from Scotland, or is your accent also a farce?”
She wrung her hands together. Thank goodness Sophie hadn’t found the Pinkerton badge buried in the bottom of her trunk. “Please,” Victoria said, allowing her true worry to ring in her words. She had to tell him the truth—the parts that wouldn’t reveal her true mission. “I can’t explain all of it, Alastair, but I’m only married in name—my husband made that quite clear. I’ve come to San Francisco to make my own way. And yes, I come from Scotland. My parents died when I was a child, and I came to America to join my brother. And now…” She placed a hand on her heart. “I’m only trying to find my place in the world.”
The wrinkles near his eyes deepened to chasms of pain. His expression twisted into that of a tormented soul. “How can I believe you, when you’ve lied about your surname and your marriage?”
The carriage came to a halt, and the driver opened the door.
Victoria grasped at the strap above the window. “I won’t be getting out here. There’s no summer home to be found.”
Alastair shot her a look of warning. “You haven’t a choice.”
Horror struck her chest, and panic set into her trembling limbs. When Alastair took her arm, she felt like a bystander watching herself climb out of the carriage. Despite her desire to resist, she became strangely compliant. Her eyes flickered to his suit pocket, where the butt of a pistol stuck out. Just as she’d done when attempting to slap Mav on the train, Victoria slipped his pistol into her pocket, just before the driver abandoned them on the side of the road.
The dust settled, and silence encompassed their small part of the world. The moon peeked from behind a cloud, illuminating Alastair’s face.
“Why have you brought me here?” Victoria asked, clutching the weapon.
“Sophie is convinced you’ve come to ruin her. She told me she found papers in your belongings—notes of her schedule, conversations, lists of shipments and known customer purchases.” He ran his hands through his hair. “She’s told me to dispose of you.”
Victoria nearly choke on her own saliva. “Dispose of me?” She gestured to the trees, the dark path ahead, and gripped the weapon at her side, cocking the gun. “So you’ve brought me to die, here in this forest?”
Alastair gasped. “Victoria, I don’t think you understand—”
She shook her head. “I do.”
“No, you don’t.” Alastair put both hands in the air but stepped closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, I never would. Sophie might wish it, but if you haven’t noticed, I don’t always see eye to eye with my sister. Tell me once and for all. Who has sent you?”
“Sent me?”
Alastair laughed. “I said it before, Sophie thinks you have come to ruin her. Is that true?”
Victoria swallowed. Her heart was beating wildly, so wildly she could hardly think amidst its clamoring. She wiped her gloved hand against her brow. “And what makes you think that I could ever trust you, when you’ve brought me here, to an abandoned road at dusk?”
“Exactly that,” he said, stepping closer still. “I’ve a horse tied to a tree, for your escape. I haven’t a reason to lie to you. In the week that you’ve known me, have I given any indication that I can’t be trusted? My sister, she’s done a lot of bad in this corner of the world. She’s stolen—yes—but that’s the least of her crimes. But she’s got a hold on me, one I can’t seem to break or explain well—call it blood.” He pushed his hands through his hair once more. “I’ve tried going to the police, but her influence extends there too. The officer assigned to her case laughed in my face when I told him I had enough evidence to turn her in. And Sophie…she didn’t take kindly to my support of the law.”
“You tried to turn her in?” Victoria asked, stammering backward. “You mean, you want her operation ruined?”
His eyes glistened. “Yes.”
“Then why have you brought me here?”
Alastair shrugged. “She’s got something over my head. I can’t let her know any of my plans. She’s got men watching me, I’m sure of it. The way that Larsen fellow watches me, gives me the creeps.”
Victoria’s brows lifted, and she inhaled. A flicker of an image rolled across her mind—cream paper and black ink, typewriter letters and swirled signatures. Marianne’s file. She closed her eyes, willing the image to come clearer. Sheer will power, or perhaps adrenaline, summoned the memory. Victoria gasped. “Does your middle name start with a J by chance?”
“John. Why?”
Victoria threw her head back and laughed in relief. “AJK? Is that you?”
He started. “Course, those are my initials.”
“And have you used those initials in any recent paperwork…perhaps in a letter to a Denver office?” Victoria shook her head. How had she overlook that clue on in the file Marianne had sent?
Alastair jerked his head to the side. “How would you know that? I was assured utter confidentiality on my part as the client. Are you working for Sophie?”
She smiled and stepped forward. “You’ve hired the Pinkertons to prove your sister’s guilt?”
His breath turned shaky, and he put his hands in the air once more. “Just how do you know that?”
“AJK, I don’t work for your sister. I work for you.” She saluted him. “Agent Jones, reporting for duty.”
His jaw dropped. “But you’re a woman?”
“So my mother said,” Victoria replied. “And you are the brother
of one of the most notorious criminal fences in San Francisco. My partner and I intend on solving this case. Will you help us?”
“Your partner?”
“The other Agent Jones, whom you refer to as Larsen.” Victoria sighed. “He’s my partner.”
Alastair scratched at his head. “And your husband too?”
“Strictly business,” Victoria said, laughing. Her laughter fell to silence, and a pang of sadness ran through her chest. The longing in her heart hadn’t subsided, despite her best efforts. “At least, he told me so.”
“Then he intends to find evidence?” Alastair asked. “There’s a shipment tonight.”
“I know.”
His brows lifted to a center point. “Then you have done your research, and you’ll know that Sophie never shows at shipments—too risky. She’s always sending her handlers, men like your partner. She denies all involvement.” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “But she’ll be there tonight for the special shipment, as will I.”
“What kind of shipment?”
Alastair’s voice cracked. “Diamonds. She’s determined to transition to jewelry.”
Victoria folded her arms, leaning on her back leg. “I suppose that makes sense. There isn’t a lot of money to be had in ribbons and teacups.”
He nodded. “Just so. Are the police aware of the shipment tonight too?”
“The ones that Sophie hasn’t already paid off.” Victoria chewed the inside of her cheek, contemplating what her brother would do under such circumstances. He always forged onward in his cases, never stopping to consult his fear. “Tell me, Alastair. How good of a horse is tied to that tree?”
“Pardon?”
“The horse?” Victoria raised her voice. “If I am to ride the horse back to the port, will she be suited to the exercise?”
Alastair’s eyes bulged. “In that dress?”
Victoria nodded. “Your sister will never be the wiser. She won’t ever know your involvement.”
Alastair grabbed her hand. “We’ll make a run of it. Do you know Fisherman’s Wharf?” When she nodded once more, he continued. “If we hurry, we can still get to the port on time. I’ll ride in the carriage, you on the horse. And remember, Victoria, you’re supposed to be dead—lay low. Who knows? Perhaps we can be of service to your partner, Larsen—Jones.”
An Agent for Victoria Page 8