Leah knew there would be no way to avoid speaking to him. “I’m very busy.” Leah began to rearrange several items. “What do you want?”
“I asked where you were going. You told that old woman you’d be there. I just wondered where there might be.”
Leah shrugged. “Ayoona’s inne. I’m going to stay with her for a few days. This place isn’t big enough for all three of us.”
“Nonsense. You have families in this village who live eight and ten to an inne. You don’t need to leave.”
She made the mistake of looking into his face. How many times had she seen this same image in her dreams—wished she might once again be reunited with this lost love? She hadn’t fully realized until that moment that she was still in love with Jayce Kincaid.
He grinned as if reading her mind. “You don’t really want to go, do you? I mean”—his voice dropped low—“we’d miss you.”
“You would?” Leah was barely able to form the words.
Jayce’s smile broadened. “Nobody cooks as well as you do—especially not Jacob. I’ve lived with his cooking all this last week, and if you go, I’ll be stuck with it again.”
The words sobered Leah instantly. “You want me to stay so that I can cook for you? Maybe wash your clothes too?” She fought her anger. “Is that what this is about? I don’t see or hear anything from you in ten years and you want me to stay so I can cook?”
“Has it really been ten years?” Jayce asked. He didn’t seem to realize how he affected Leah at all.
“No, it’s actually been a lifetime,” Leah said, heading for the door. She forced herself to move past him and not give him another glance. If she stopped, she knew it would be her undoing.
Chapter Three
Helaina Beecham stared out the office window. The sight of Washington, D.C., in spring was breathtaking. She loved this city of history and wonder, but it was the abundance of flowers that caught her attention at the moment. Washington was beautiful in bloom. Even the newly planted Japanese cherry trees were doing their best to add beauty to the city, although their blossoms were nearly all gone.
“Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Helaina,” said her brother, Stanley Curtis, as he hobbled into the room.
He manages his crutches rather well, she thought as she swept across the room, mindless of the narrow cut of her skirt, to offer her assistance.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have come sooner. I just arrived home this morning and found your telegram waiting for me.” Helaina helped him to a large leather chair before adding, “I came straightaway.”
“How was England?” he asked, his voice sounding rather strained.
It was easy to see her brother was in a great deal of pain. And why not? Being thrown from a train had resulted in a broken leg, three fractured ribs, and multiple lacerations and pulled muscles. The doctors all agreed Stanley was lucky to be alive.
“Angry. People are so enraged over the Lusitania being sunk by the Germans that they hardly speak of anything else.”
“It’s no doubt worse here. A great many Americans lost their lives on that ship. I was terrified to think of you traveling the Atlantic at such great risk.”
“Well, it is an unspeakable and inhumane crime to target passenger ships,” Helaina said, remembering with great sorrow the stories of anguish and heartbreak she’d heard. “And I was more than a little nervous.”
“There is a madness that has overtaken the world,” Stanley murmured.
“Let us hope America has the good sense to stay out of it,” Helaina said, pushing aside her memories. She detested talk of war and the sorrow it brought.
“England was also beneficial to say the least. I have a feeling you’re going to be quite interested in the news I have to share.” She watched him struggle to prop his leg on the ottoman, not entirely sure if she should help or let him handle it. When he finally accomplished the deed, she breathed a sigh of relief. Stan could be so independent, and she didn’t want to make him feel less of a man just because he was injured.
“So I imagine the news pertains to our Mr. Kincaid.”
“Indeed it does. It seems he was involved with a team of experts working at the British Museum in London. While there, he apparently walked away with several prized pieces, including a most valuable gold crucifix, several ornate gold boxes, a half dozen or so odd pieces of jewelry, and a wooden box containing an assortment of gemstones that had yet to be catalogued and valued.”
Stanley shook his head and gave a whistle of disbelief. “The British Museum lost all of that to Jayce Kincaid?”
“They aren’t proud of the fact, but the man is above average in intelligence and quite cunning. I told them not to feel too bad about it.” Helaina offered her brother a smile. “After all, plenty of museums in America have fallen victim to him as well.”
“He must have pulled off his thievery there last winter and come straight here to Washington,” Stanley deduced. “The agency was on his trail from the start. It was just our good fortune to have a man spot him at a party.”
“Too bad he couldn’t have been on the Lusitania,” Helaina murmured. “It would have saved us all a great deal of trouble.”
“If Jayce Kincaid had been there, the ship probably wouldn’t have been sunk at all—he probably would have stolen it before the Germans could do the deed,” Stanley answered, the sarcasm thick in his voice.
Helaina smoothed the straight lines of her no-nonsense gabardine suit. “He’s a master. I’m truly surprised the Pinkertons haven’t found a way to secure him, however.”
“We’ve tried. I’m the result of that effort going amiss,” Stanley said, waving his arm and wincing. “I thought I had Kincaid for sure. I had no idea he would be able to pick those cuffs.” He shook his head.
The look of regret on Stanley’s face nearly broke Helaina’s heart. Her brother prided himself on his career with the Pinkerton Agency. She gazed beyond him to the company placard behind his desk. Pinkerton’s National Detective Agency framed the ever-famous watchful eye. Below the eye was emblazoned with their equally famous motto: We Never Sleep.
Helaina looked back to her brother. “We can’t sit around feeling sorry for ourselves all day. You lost your man and nearly got yourself killed. It’s done. If you sit here wallowing in regret, you’ll never accomplish anything.” She got to her feet as if dismissing any further comment. “England wants him as badly as America, so I suggested we work together. Word has it that Kincaid has attached himself to a joint Canadian-American Arctic exploration team.”
“I already know all about that,” Stanley said, seeming surprised that his sister had any idea of this.
Helaina gave him a coy smile. “I have my sources too. After all, that’s why you keep hiring me to help you.”
While the Pinkerton Agency had used women in its services since before the Civil War, Helaina wasn’t truly a Pinkerton at all. Rather she operated more as an assistant—an independent agent helping her brother. When she found her man, or woman as was often the case, there were always regular agents there to make the arrest. But the beauty of Helaina’s involvement was that no one expected this twenty-six-year-old woman of social refinement to be working as a bounty hunter of sorts.
Of course, even Helaina hadn’t considered such a duty until three years earlier, when a failed kidnapping attempt in New York had left not only her mother and father dead, but her beloved Robert with a bullet in his head. He’d died before she could return from Europe, where she was visiting friends. She’d never forgiven herself for not being at her husband’s side—to die along with him that cold February day.
Stanley had been her only comfort, as had the idea of putting criminals behind bars. Helaina had taken her desire for justice to her Pinkerton Agent brother and begged for a job. In the long run, the agency had found her more useful in a non-official role, and for Helaina, that worked just fine.
“So what are you proposing, Helaina?”
Stanley’s voice disrupted her reflective though
t. She walked again to the window and looked out on the beautiful spring day. “Probably the same thing you’ve already come up with, but I’ll let you tell me.”
“We’ve arranged for you to join the expedition. Hopefully you can catch up with the team in Seattle before they leave. That is where the American team is gathering. From there they go to Vancouver where the ship Homestead is waiting for them. You’ll have to leave immediately, of course.”
“That’s why I have my luggage downstairs,” she said, turning. She shrugged. “Although if I’m to go all the way to the Arctic, I’ll have to acquire something warmer than gabardine to wear.”
Stanley watched her for a moment, then frowned. “I’d rather not send you at all. Jayce Kincaid is not a simple crook or bank robber. He’s a killer. He’s murdered two of my best agents.”
Helaina came back to her chair. “I know.” Her tone was rather resigned. “I’ll be careful.”
“If you get hurt, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Look,” she said as gently as she could, “I’m a grown woman and am no longer your responsibility. I chose to help. Remember?”
“Don’t give me that speech. I’ve heard it all before, sister dear. You are my only living relative, and whether the law or any other person alive says I have no responsibility to you, I feel I do. I know I do.”
He grimaced as he shifted his weight and his train of thought. “The plan is for you to approach him in Seattle,” Stanley continued as if trying to set aside his fears. “You’ll meet the team and purchase supplies and such. While there, it will be your job to isolate Jayce from the group.”
“Do you have a photograph?”
“No. He’s never allowed himself to be photographed. However, I helped the agency to put together a sketch. It’s over on my desk. I wouldn’t count on him to look like this, however. He’s a master of disguises. He’s even posed as an old man before.” Helaina crossed the room and immediately picked up the drawing and held it at arm’s length. She carefully studied the attempt at capturing Jayce Kincaid. He had a lean, healthy look. His hair fell in a rather wild, unruly manner, and his eyes were dark and set in such a way that made him quite handsome. In a roguish way.
“What color is his hair and mustache?”
“Dark brown. He doesn’t always have the mustache, but given the nature of the expedition, I would imagine he does. It’s also possible that he now sports a beard.”
“And the eyes?”
“Dark blue. Very dark—almost appearing black at times.”
She never took her gaze from the picture. In her mind the colors came to life. “And his general complexion? Shallow? Pasty? Ruddy?”
“When last I saw him it was a ruddy to tan complexion. He darkens in the summer. I’ve seen this firsthand. He can look dark—take on an almost Mexican or Indian look.”
She could well imagine that. This man could easily fit in different age groups and ancestries. He had a sort of ordinary quality about him, despite his handsome appearance.
“May I have this—take it with me?” she asked, coming back to her chair. She took her seat and only then did she move her gaze from the drawing and return it to Stanley.
“Of course. I had it prepared for you. I also have tickets, cash, and some other things you’ll probably need—case file information and background. My secretary has them for you downstairs.”
“Good. What is the contingency if this expedition team sets out before I arrive in Seattle?”
Stanley sighed. “I know that the team plans to make its way to Vancouver to pick up the ship they will use. I believe they are boarding a commercial steamer for this purpose. After Vancouver, we have been told the expedition will make its way to Nome, where sled dogs, sleds, and native assistance will be purchased.”
“All right, then. I have my first chance in Seattle, the second one in Vancouver, and the last in Nome.”
“I hope it won’t come to that. I don’t know how much help you’ll have if the arrest takes place in Vancouver or Nome.”
She waved off his protest. “But we have to be prepared. It would be wise if I were to acquire a bank account in Seattle. There’s always the possibility I will need more supplies than the cash I carry will allow me to purchase. I’ll see to that before I leave Washington. What time is my train?”
“Five o’clock.”
She looked at the clock on the wall. “Hmmm, well, that gives me two hours to get to the station. I have a few things to see to.” She got to her feet. “Don’t bother to get up, Stanley,” she said as he began to struggle with his injured leg. Helaina walked to her brother, planted a kiss on his forehead, and smiled. “And don’t worry. I always get my man.”
“But Jayce Kincaid isn’t just any man. Helaina, I’m really worried about you this time.”
She could see the concern in his eyes. “Don’t bother yourself about it.” She tried to sound lighthearted. “Just because he bested you doesn’t mean he’ll stand a chance with me. I’ll turn on my womanly charm and have him eating out of my hand.”
Stanley reached out and clasped her wrist. “This man is deadly. It isn’t a game. If you suspect that he’s discovered who you are, you must get out—and get back here as quickly as possible.”
Helaina knew it was futile to argue. “I’ll do it. You know I never take chances.”
Stanley held her a moment longer, then released her. “Yes, I know exactly how you operate.” He gave her a halfhearted smile. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Hopefully in days,” Helaina said, heading for the door. “Shall I bring you anything from Seattle?”
“A new leg,” he replied.
“But of course. I hear they sell them wholesale on the docks.” She laughed lightly and pulled the door closed behind her before pausing to take another look at the sketch in her hand.
“I’ll not be bested, Mr. Kincaid. You’ve caused harm to my loved one, you’ve pillaged and robbed, committed murder, and now you’re on the run. But you won’t outrun me. I always find a way to get my man.” She folded the paper and put it into her skirt pocket.
Determination for justice had always driven Helaina Beecham—more so after her family had been murdered, but even as a child Helaina had demanded justice and responsibility from those around her. Her mother had even warned her that she lacked mercy and compassion when it came to forgiving wrongs, but Helaina couldn’t help it. If people were going to break the law—do wrong—then there were prices to be paid.
Stanley had once accused her of seeking revenge for the death of Robert and their parents. He had warned her that no amount of service to the agency or anyone else would ever ease that misery, but Helaina knew that doing something was better than doing nothing at all. With each case she told herself the world was just that much safer . . . that other families might never have to know the horror and pain she had endured.
She made her way downstairs, pulling up her skirt ever so slightly. The new war fashions from Europe sported fuller and shorter skirts, but Helaina hadn’t yet adapted her wardrobe. In London she had purchased a few older designs by her favorite couturier, Paul Poiret, but most were eveningwear that had been brought into the country prior to the start of the war.
She tried not to even think of the things she’d heard about the war. Cousin fighting cousin, entire countries devoted to the annihilation of another government and people. The labor unions were thriving on the conflict, while the women’s suffrage movement in London had lessened their focus on obtaining the vote in order to support the men they loved. They would still be a force to be reckoned with, Helaina believed, but perhaps the day of women voting would be just a little more distant than she’d originally believed.
“Hello, Mrs. Beecham,” a young man said, getting to his feet.
“Henry, my brother said you had a packet of goods for me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Right here.” He handed her a large envelope. “Tickets, cash, and all the information we could get you on Kincaid. We act
ually have some fingerprint evidence this time. It’s not in here, but we’ll have it when the time comes for Kincaid’s trial.”
“I have seen it used,” Helaina admitted. “Truly fascinating.”
“No two prints are ever alike. Kind of God’s way of making sure we were all special, eh?”
She nodded. “Henry, would you be so kind as to arrange for my luggage? I have several stops to make before I head to the station.”
“Of course. For you, anything.” The tone of his voice and look on his face told Helaina he was still quite smitten with her. Poor boy. He was barely twenty-two, but he’d been more than attentive to her needs since coming on board as Stanley’s secretary.
“Thank you, Henry. You’re a treasure.” She watched him blush and stammer for some sort of reply.
Outside, Helaina hailed a cab. She took a horse-drawn carriage rather than wait for one of the louder, smelly automobiles. Sometimes the contrast still amazed her. The carriages traveled in traffic along with the motorized cars, electric lights had replaced gas for the most part, and there was even talk that soon airplanes would dominate travel and put trains out of business for longdistance journeys.
It was a wonderful time to be alive, Helaina thought. But the shadow of war hung over them. There was no way to tell whether President Wilson would continue to keep them neutral or succumb to the pressures of the so-called civilized world. Helaina wasn’t at all sure she wanted America to remain uninvolved. After all, responsible human beings couldn’t just turn a blind eye when tragedy and inhumane actions struck another part of the world.
Still, her real concern was Jayce Kincaid. He would now be the focus of her every waking moment—likely some of her sleeping moments as well, for Helaina knew that once she immersed herself in the file on Kincaid, she would even dream about him. Oftentimes ideas would come to her in those dreams, ideas that helped her catch her prey. Her housekeeper in New York would tell her it was God’s doing—His way of furthering justice—but Helaina thought such things nonsense and often told Mrs. Hayworth exactly that. The woman was unmoved, however, because of her strong Christian beliefs—beliefs Helaina did not share. After all, if God were really all that Christians held Him up to be, He would have the power to stop injustice and evil. Yet He stood by and did nothing. That didn’t sound like the kind of God Helaina wanted to trust in.
Summer of the Midnight Sun Page 3