“I was expecting the captain,” she finally said.
Isaiah’s arm snaked behind her. “No, Annie. I’m the man you’re looking for.”
“You are incorrigible,” she whispered, turning herself toward him.
Though the light barely filtered through the trees, Annie could still see his grin. “I am just following orders.”
“As am I,” she told him. “I was told by the captain that I would get instructions on my next assignment.”
“You will. Come with me.” A moment later, he slipped out the door and pulled her with him into the garden, lit beautifully by the full moon overhead.
Out of habit, she gave the perimeter a cursory glance. The garden was a fenced area with no visible gates that might allow entry. The only access appeared to be from the doors leading to the house.
Satisfied, Annie returned her attention to Isaiah. Had she been free to pursue more than a passing friendship with the handsome Texan, Annie might have considered it. The detective was smart, funny, and an excellent dancer—as she’d learned on their last assignment together—and when he looked at her, it took all she had not to fall in love. But two significant factors contributed to her resistance.
Isaiah had no idea of her family ties to the British monarchy—no one here in America did other than Mr. Pinkerton. Instead, he believed her to be Annie Walters, an Englishwoman unable to gain entry to the all-male ranks of Scotland Yard and thus forced to do her detective work for Mr. Pinkerton instead. For that she owed a fellow Englishman, Simon Kent, a debt of thanks. But Isaiah was only half the problem.
The other factor was that her family knew nothing of her life here. The moment she was exposed as a Pinkerton detective—or presented one as a potential spouse—would be the moment her parents demanded she return home. A demand that Granny would certainly support.
“I just returned from Chicago,” Isaiah finally said. “Cap sent me down to monitor a situation here. This comes all the way from the top, and the boss is not happy.”
Her heart lurched. “With me?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Nothing any of our agents have done.”
Annie released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “All right. I thought I successfully concluded the investigation, but you had me worried.”
“The person who needs to be worried is Matthew Pinkerton.”
At the sound of the name, she made a face. “The fellow with the correspondence courses?” Competition between the agencies had been nearly nonexistent, despite Matthew Pinkerton’s best efforts to confuse the public into believing his mail-order detectives at the upstart Pinkerton United States Detective Agency were just as good as the best-of-the-best who worked for the original Pinkerton Detective Agency.
“That’s the one.” He paused. “Apparently the mayor hired them to come down here and see if they can catch the Midnight Assassin.”
Annie frowned. “Instead of us? That seems odd.”
He shrugged. “All I know is that the boss man isn’t happy, and he doesn’t want anyone to believe that his agents are subpar.”
“What is it he wants us to do about all that? If we aren’t the ones who were hired to do the job, I mean?”
“That is where discretion comes in.” Isaiah looked around the garden and turned back to Annie. “The public has been told that Pinkerton detectives are investigating. They don’t have any idea that it isn’t us.”
“The captain wants us to help them?”
Isaiah shrugged. “We’re just going to do what we always do and investigate. Quietly. If the public believes we’re working together with these other men, then let them. I doubt the mayor will complain that he’s getting extra Pinkertons for his cut-rate price.”
“He’s getting us for free,” she quipped. “I fail to see how that is a good use of two detectives.”
“Good publicity is priceless. That’s how Cap says the boss is seeing it, anyway. We can talk more about this tomorrow. I’ll meet you in the lobby of your hotel at ten.” Isaiah paused and seemed to be studying her. “Have I ever told you how beautiful you look in the moonlight?”
“Frequently,” she responded lightly. “The last time being in August whilst we were on the Fenton stakeout.”
“About the Fenton stakeout.” Isaiah reached over to entwine his fingers with hers, then lifted her hand to his lips. “I believe we left some unfinished business between us.”
The kiss that almost was.
“Yes, we did,” she said softly.
Moonlight slanted across his handsome features, highlighting the determined angle of his jaw. He released her hand and gathered Annie to him.
“I’ve missed you, Annie Walters,” he whispered against her ear.
The false name grated on her. She should tell him the truth. Tell him who she really was. But first, she should kiss him.
Chapter 4
There you are!”
Ike looked up in time to see Anna Ireland, the governor’s wife, crossing the lawn toward them.
“It’s such a nice night,” Isaiah called to his hostess, his eyes still on the lady detective. “I had to come and see the stars for myself. Miss Walters was kind enough to accompany me.”
If Mrs. Ireland had an opinion on finding the two of them in her garden, her face did not reveal it. Rather, she offered a smile. “Yes, but perhaps you could enjoy the stars later? The governor has some remarks he wishes to make before we go in to dinner. He prefers that all the guests are in attendance.”
Annie offered him a regretful look and joined Mrs. Ireland to walk back toward the house. Ike trailed a few steps behind, ignoring the ladies’ banter and considering how close he’d come to kissing Annie Walters.
Again.
She’d felt like heaven in his arms, and her eyes when she looked up at him had begged him to kiss her. If only he hadn’t savored that moment. If he’d just kissed her first and then talked about business.
Next time that was how it would happen, of that he would be certain.
Tonight he would play the proper party guest and try not to monopolize Annie’s attention. Tomorrow, however, it would be back to work for both of them, for the captain was adamant that he and Annie had best not let Matthew Pinkerton’s men humiliate the organization.
How they would manage that remained to be seen.
And so did that kiss.
As Ike expected, the governor’s speech went on far too long and evoked a hope for the coming year that involved only good things. There was no mention of the monster preying on the citizens of Austin nor any talk of other less pleasant occurrences around the state.
In short, it was a typical politician’s get-me-elected speech that ended with a request for all in attendance to return for his annual New Year’s Day open house. “Now do not let me delay this wonderful meal any longer. Won’t you join me in the dining room?”
As soon as the governor issued his request, Annie was set upon by William Swain, the state comptroller, who had his eye on Governor Ireland’s job. A strapping man of middle years, the bureaucrat was a popular man in Austin and throughout the state. In November’s election, he had garnered a massive number of votes, practically guaranteeing that the next time he ran for an office—surely that of governor—he would win by a landslide.
“I see you’ve met my friend Miss Walters,” Ike said as he ambled up.
The comptroller slid his gaze toward Ike, then swiftly returned his attention to the lady detective. “Actually, I was just about to introduce myself.”
“Let me do the honors,” Ike said with a grin. “Annie Walters, meet Comptroller William Swain, the fellow who plans to move into this mansion next. All he has to do is get past Ireland and the Ross fellow from Waco.”
“That’s simplifying things somewhat,” the older man said, “but I would welcome a chance to take the reins of this government. In the meantime, perhaps I could escort you into dinner, Miss Walters?”
Mrs. Ireland stepped into the cir
cle of their conversation and focused on Ike. “Might I trouble you to escort a young lady whose husband was unable to join us?”
Ike schooled his expression to hide his disappointment. “Yes, of course,” he said as he allowed his hostess to lead him away from Annie and Swain.
“Mrs. Eula Phillips, may I introduce Detective Isaiah Joplin of the Pinkerton Detective Agency? He will be escorting you in tonight.”
The brunette beauty, a slender woman who looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen, smiled in his direction. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Joplin,” she said. “And thank you for your courtesy. My husband was indisposed this evening, but I did not wish to miss Governor and Mrs. Ireland’s hospitality.”
“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Phillips. I am happy to oblige.”
A look passed between Mrs. Phillips and her hostess. Then the younger woman nodded.
Ike offered her his arm, and they fell into line with the others making their way toward the dining room. Temple Houston, an old friend who’d recently been elected to the legislature, bid him a hearty welcome accompanied by a slap on the back. Of all the men in the room, only Swain and Houston could stand eye to eye with Ike’s height.
“Well met,” Temple said with a chuckle. “I see the Pinkertons are on the case. You are here to solve our mystery of the Midnight Assassin, aren’t you?”
His wife, Laura, shook her head. “Truly, you do not have to answer him, Ike.”
“I do not intend to,” he told her. “Mrs. Phillips, do you know my friends Laura and Temple Houston? His father is the beloved general to whom all of Texas owes a debt. He, however, is merely a lawyer.”
Temple laughed as he affected a gallant bow. “Ignore most of what my old friend, also merely a lawyer, though a reformed one by virtue of his association with the Pinkertons, says this evening. He and I tend to jest a bit. I will, however, claim my father and agree to his glory, but I warn you it does not extend to me. I have been labeled incorrigible or worse, and I admit to being a bit proud of that.”
Mrs. Phillips appeared flabbergasted at Temple’s speech. Or perhaps she was merely a shy woman. In either case, her smile barely hid what appeared to be a great measure of discomfort.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said softly, her eyes looking past him.
The general’s son appeared nonplussed. But then, he often did. “I am acquainted with your husband, but it is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Phillips.”
Eula Phillips appeared at a total loss for words. Her expression went blank.
“Forgive my husband his many faults,” Laura Houston said with a grin. “And tell me all about that beautiful son of yours. I understand he is nearing a year old, is he not? That would be close in age to my own little one.”
Relief crossed her lovely features. It appeared Laura had hit upon a topic in which the young woman had great interest.
“Ten months,” Mrs. Phillips said. “And growing like a weed. I can hardly keep up with him now that he’s toddling around.”
“I know what you mean,” Laura told her. “I’m not sure why we encouraged walking, but now that it is happening, I’m exhausted.”
The conversation continued as they walked into the dining room. By the time they reached their seats, Mrs. Phillips and Laura Houston had become fast friends and were planning to meet again for tea the next time the Houstons were in Austin.
Ike helped Eula Phillips into her seat and took the place next to her. Twelve were at the table this evening. He’d been placed midway down from their host with Eula to his right and the Houstons across from them. After another brief speech from the governor, the first course was served.
Annie had been seated across from Swain and next to a man Ike did not recognize, and he found himself watching her rather than keeping up with the conversation swirling around him. When he finally removed his attention from her to look across the table, he found Temple grinning.
“Does she know you’re over the moon for her?” he asked.
“I might have mentioned it,” he said.
Temple studied him a moment. “Has she turned you down yet?”
“Repeatedly,” Ike admitted. “My declarations of affection have not yet convinced her I’m a worthy suitor.”
“Well, you’re not,” he joked. “But then, neither was I, and look who I landed. Chin up, my friend. Mark my words. She’ll see the wisdom in giving you a chance.”
“I hope you’re right. Annie is a smart woman. If she looks too closely, she might see that a life with me isn’t what she wants.”
Temple sobered. “If you want to have something to offer her, you’ll need to consider settling down. Maybe returning to your law practice. Or ranching. Something that will keep you at home most nights. What you’re doing now isn’t going to make for a happy life or a happy wife.” He paused. “Trust me, those two cannot exist without the other, for if the wife is unhappy…”
“Yes, I see your point, and I’m not sure whether life as a lawyer’s wife would make her any happier than being married to a Pinkerton man.” Ike considered elaborating but decided to keep his mouth shut. Any concern on his part regarding Annie’s employment as a detective had long ago been discarded after working his first assignment with her. She was whip smart, could take on just about any disguise with ease, and generally did the job as a Pinkerton employee as well as or better than he did.
But that was a fellow detective’s thinking. In his heart, Ike knew should he ever become Annie Walters’s husband, he would have a whole new set of concerns, chief among them her safety.
Another glance at the object of his thoughts—now entertaining her end of the table with a story of some sort—and he knew she was worth all the worry in the world if she would just agree to be his wife.
Annie caught Isaiah watching her and smiled. Soon she would have to decide exactly how she felt about him. The kiss would happen, of this she was certain. But then what? Would they remain fellow Pinkerton detectives who worked together on assignments and then parted ways?
She obviously did not know his thoughts on the matter, or if he even had considered these things. But taking such a bold step as to allow Isaiah Joplin into her world would never be as simple as making a decision based on what she wanted.
Or even what the two of them might want.
No, if she were to consider Isaiah as a husband, she would also have to consider her family’s reaction. When put into that perspective, the situation was impossible.
Thus there was no reason to consider it. Even if it meant forgoing that kiss.
“What do you think of that, Miss Walters?”
Annie jerked her attention toward the fair-haired man on her right. Cameron something-or-other. A reporter, that much she recalled. Thus she had said very little to him since their introduction at the beginning of the meal.
“I’m sorry, what?”
The reporter adjusted his spectacles and regarded her for a moment, his piercing blue eyes studying her with what appeared to be great interest. “Miss Walters, you’ve missed a spirited debate between me and Comptroller Swain as to whether our Midnight Assassin has been caught.”
“I see. And what was the consensus?”
“The consensus is this fellow ought to go back to New York City and stop stirring up trouble among the natives,” Swain bellowed, capturing the attention of nearby diners, who nodded.
“There was no consensus in that regard,” the reporter snapped. “Rather, I got the impression that Mr. Swain would prefer the horrific crimes perpetrated on the citizens of Austin be forgotten.”
“That’s nonsense,” Swain said. “Anyone who has spent five minutes in this town knows we all want that monster caught. What we don’t want is strangers like you coming around to tell us how we ought to think, and yes, maybe we do want to forget it all happened. Can you blame us?”
“Well,” Annie said slowly, “I am also a stranger to this city, and as such, I do have an interest as well as an opinion in the mat
ter you are debating.”
“And that would be owing to your employment as a Pinkerton detective.” The reporter gave her a smug look. “In your esteemed opinion, what is the current state of affairs in regard to the Midnight Assassin? Keep in mind that he has not been heard from for nigh on three months.”
“We are all very mindful of this, Mr. Blake,” the comptroller said. “Thanks to men like you and papers like the Daily Gazette, we are unable to forget even for a moment.”
Chapter 5
Of course. Cameron Blake of the New York Daily Gazette.
Yes, now she remembered him. Blake wrote a law-and-order column in the paper, but his real fame came in the sensational articles he wrote regarding crimes, most of which he claimed might have been solved sooner if only inept law enforcement personnel had done their jobs.
A fellow Pinkerton who had worked one of those cases had called Blake’s claims into question—privately, of course—and his methods. And now here he was seated beside her, wanting to debate a case she was unofficially working.
Annie turned to him and offered a practiced smile. Her words must be chosen carefully.
“The current state of affairs,” she said as she turned her attention from the reporter to Mr. Swain, “is that no official blame has been admitted by anyone in police custody, and no deathbed confessions have been recorded. Thus the Midnight Assassin is still at large.”
Blake regarded her over the rim of his spectacles. “And you’re certain of this?”
“There can be no other assumption until that theory is proven false,” she said. “But the constant reminder of this in newspapers and in conversations across dinner tables serves no purpose other than to inflame the fear of the locals and highlight what might be a perceived lack among law enforcement. Is that your purpose in coming to Austin, sir?”
Mr. Swain’s guffawing laughter echoed across the dining room. “I believe Miss Walters has gone right to the heart of the matter.”
Blake shifted his attention to the man across the table. “And that is?”
The Black Midnight Page 3