An Agent for Anna

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Should have just let me in when I knocked,” he said. “I was trying to be polite.”

  She didn’t reply. There was nothing to say.

  “Evening, Miss Miller,” he said, nodding toward Veronica. “Nice day for a stroll, don’t you think?”

  “Don’t come one step closer,” she said. She hadn’t been able to find anything large or heavy, but she was holding a hat pin, and if used with enough determination, one of those could be quite painful.

  “Or what? Or you’ll jab me to death?” He held his injured hand cradled against his chest, but he brought his other hand up, and he was holding a gun. “You’ll both be coming with me.”

  “No, we won’t.” From where she had landed on the floor, Anna brought her pistol up, ready to shoot. Her stomach was quailing, but her hands were steady.

  In a quick motion, the man kicked outward, connecting with the pistol and sending it through the air. It landed on the floor and slid under the bed. Anna’s gaze flew back to the man, who now stood directly over her. “We’re not coming with you.”

  He bent down and moved to grab her, but he’d reached out with his injured hand, and she took advantage of that fact by grabbing his hand and twisting it hard. He grimaced and she could tell she was hurting him, but in the end, it did her no good as he brought his other hand around and used the side of his pistol to connect with her skull. She fell backwards onto the floor, the pain so sharp, she couldn’t see or think.

  The next thing she knew, her hands were being trussed behind her, and then she was being hauled to her feet. Another man had come from somewhere, and he had a tight grip on Veronica, who had been similarly tied up.

  “Now, let’s go,” the first man said, and the women were shoved out into the corridor.

  There was no one to be seen in either direction, and the men pushed them along toward the stairs. Anna didn’t know how they expected to leave the ship without being seen—passengers were coming on board and finding their rooms, and the place would be swarming at any moment. But then the second man opened a door at the head of the hallway, and they were shoved inside. A large laundry bin stood in the middle, empty.

  “Get inside,” the first man said, pushing Anna toward it. She didn’t immediately obey, and he slapped her across the face. Reeling, she obeyed, grabbing the side of the bin and clambering inside, which was difficult with all her skirts. She closed her eyes and tried to find a piece of calm. Liam would be coming back any second, and he’d know there was something wrong. He’d start looking immediately. In the meantime, she needed to keep her wits about her—as difficult as that would be through the blinding headache she was developing.

  Veronica was forced into the bin next, and Anna tried to move over to make room for her. The lid was dropped over the top, and a moment later, they were rolling.

  “For two such petite ladies, you’re mighty heavy,” the second man said, obviously exerting himself.

  Anna could barely see Veronica in the dim interior. The girl was clearly frightened, but when she whispered, she sounded as though she was still in control of her emotions. “Your head is bleeding. Are you all right?”

  Anna resisted the urge to touch the side of her head where she’d been struck by the gun. She knew it would only distract her from what she needed to do. “I’ll be fine. Now, no matter what happens, we have to stay calm and think our way through this.”

  “Where are they taking us?”

  “Off the ship, but from there, I have no idea.”

  She leaned her head against the side of the bin and tried to think. Of all their theories, the one about organized crime was the one that now made the most sense—at least, she knew this wasn’t the work of just one person because there were two men pushing the bin, and neither were the man who had tried to steal Veronica’s bag. “Do you know either of them?” she asked.

  “No,” Veronica replied. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  So, neither of them were the kidnapper, either. That meant that four men minimum were involved—she refused to think that the incidents were unconnected. That would be far too coincidental to be believed.

  All right, they were in a laundry bin being pushed off the boat and onto the dock. The dock was crowded and noisy, and she didn’t think they’d be noticed or heard once they got there. That meant they needed to act before they reached the dock, but what should they do? She knew she only had the strength to try one, maybe two brave things. Her head felt as though she had an ax stuck clean through it, and the pain was making her tremble. Whatever they did, it had to be effective.

  She focused for a moment on the movement of the cart. It felt like one of the front wheels was wobbly. They could use that to their advantage.

  “When I give the word, throw all your body weight to the left,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” Veronica replied.

  Now was the trickiest part—finding the right moment.

  ***

  Liam’s stomach was clenched tight as he ran down the corridor, his gaze darting around as he tried to figure out where the women had gone. They had been taken in broad daylight on a ship full of people, so however they were being moved, it had to be something commonplace, something the passengers would expect to see and wouldn’t find odd. The steward had run off to alert the captain and the crew, so there were several people now looking, and the kidnapper had to expect that. He must have concocted a plan for this eventuality, and now Liam just had to figure out what it was.

  It made sense that the ladies were being taken off the ship. If the kidnapper meant to hold them on board, he could have waited until they were out on the ocean with no means for escape. The gangplank wasn’t on this deck, so Liam headed for the end of the corridor where the stairs were located.

  “Mason!” Lord Westcott called out from behind him.

  Liam spun around. Westcott was at the other end, pointing at something, and Liam changed direction to join him.

  There was a large closet at the end of the hallway, and the door was slightly open. When Liam looked inside, it seemed to be a housekeeping closet, with mops and brooms and pails stacked in the corner. On the floor was a pile of linens, haphazardly thrown as if in a hurry by someone who didn’t care.

  “They’re in a laundry bin,” Westcott said, and Liam nodded. That was the most reasonable conclusion.

  But a bin couldn’t be moved on the staircase. Liam stepped back into the hallway and looked around—there was the door to a dumbwaiter mechanism.

  “This way!” he called out, sprinting toward the staircase on this end of the corridor, trotting down them so fast, he feared he might lose his footing and tumble the rest of the way. He heard Westcott’s footsteps echoing after his.

  They reached the main deck and found that a great many passengers were now congregating here and there and everywhere, blocking their way. They pushed past, calling out for people to move, apologizing as they trod on toes. Finally able to reach the gangplank, they ran down it, then stopped and looked in all directions once on the dock.

  “How much of a head start do you suppose they had?” Westcott asked, clearly out of breath.

  “I have no way of guessing. I was away from them for fifteen minutes, perhaps, and I don’t know if they were taken immediately.”

  Liam’s heart was pounding so hard, he was starting to feel lightheaded, and he knew it wasn’t just from exertion. It was fear. Fear that he was about to lose the most precious thing in his life, the woman he had come to love and adore and admire. This had long since become much more than a case to him.

  “Look!” Westcott pointed.

  Two men were pushing a laundry cart along the dock, but they weren’t heading for the wagon where other sacks of laundry were being stacked. They seemed to be keeping an eye out around them, weaving between trunks and stacks of baggage that had yet to be loaded.

  Certainty filled Liam’s gut. “That’s them.”

  He and Westcott took off at a run, dodging hand trucks filled
with crates of food for the voyage and avoiding even more passengers who had yet to board. Even with the obstacles, though, they were able to make up the distance because the men were struggling to maneuver the cart around obstacles of their own.

  As they drew near, Liam pulled out his pistol once again and shouted, “Pinkerton agent. Let go of the cart and put your hands in the air.”

  At that moment, the cart suddenly gave a mighty lurch and tipped over onto its side. Two disheveled ladies tumbled out, knocking one of the kidnappers over, and the other raised his hands into the air. Three uniformed officers ran up just then, most likely seeing an odd scuffle from their patrol, and they grabbed the two men and put handcuffs on them. All was chaos, but the only thing Liam could see was Anna.

  He bent down and helped her to her feet, startled to see blood running down the side of her face. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled, but sagged in his arms, and he led her over to a nearby trunk and helped her sit down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Westcott offering a hand to Veronica, whose hair had come loose from its pins and was flying around as though in a windstorm.

  “Lord Westcott? What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I came to surprise you. I decided I couldn’t let you travel the distance alone—I thought I’d meet you here on the ship, and we’d have a chance to spend that extra time together onboard.”

  “That’s so sweet,” she replied. “And . . . and you saved us.”

  “Well, I only lent my assistance,” he said modestly, but she would have none of it. Liam could see by the expression on her face that she was quite besotted by the idea of Lord Westcott being a hero, and there was nothing wrong with that at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Thanks to your telegram, Agent Mason, we were able to start surveillance on Mr. Miller right away, and we noticed some strange comings and goings,” Archibald Gordon said, leaning forward and resting his arms on his desk. Anna and Liam had been reporting the circumstances of the case for several minutes now, and while the recitation of the facts was tiring and making her head ache, it felt good to look back and see all the good they’d accomplished. “We questioned Mr. Miller, and he told us everything—the pressure he’s been living under for the last several months has been overwhelming, and he was ready to make a clean breast of it.”

  “As it turns out, he’s been using his real estate holdings to launder money for men involved in underground crime,” Marianne Chapman said, taking over the narrative. “His customers, shall we call them, were blackmailing him on some other matters that are still under investigation, but they sensed he was getting ready to turn them in. So, like you surmised, they decided to scare him. He thought that sending Veronica away to England would keep her safe, but they saw through his plan and thought to make their point by targeting her. They very much enjoyed their arrangement and didn’t want to see it come to an end.”

  Liam nodded. “And where is Mr. Miller now?”

  “Awaiting word from the judge. He has testified against everyone involved, but his dealings weren’t honest either, and it’s unclear what the charges will be. In the meantime, Miss Miller and Lord Westcott are proceeding with their wedding plans. It appears that Miss Miller is somewhat more enthusiastic than was reported before.” Agent Gordon turned toward Anna. “And how are you feeling?”

  “Terrible, to be honest, but at least I’m not riding around in a laundry bin anymore,” she said with a smile. In the three days since they’d returned from New York, she’d been examined by doctors, poked and prodded by nurses, and watched over by Lillian, who had taken her under her wing as well as caring for her mother. It was the first day she’d felt well enough to report—the train ride back to Denver had nearly done her in, and if it hadn’t been for Liam’s constant support, she knew she would not have made it.

  “I understand your head was quite badly injured.”

  “Yes. The doctor in New York said there’s a concussion, and the doctor here in town agrees. I’m to take it easy for a while, but I should recover well.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Agent Gordon gave a nod. “After hearing your report, I must say, I’m very impressed with your contribution to this case. If you’d like to continue on and train to be a Pinkerton agent, we’d be delighted to have you.”

  Excitement flared up in Anna’s stomach, followed by doubt. “That’s a wonderful offer, Agent Gordon, but may I think about it? I want to be sure I’m fully healed before I make any decisions.”

  “Of course. There will be no time limit on the offer.” He then turned to Liam. “Next is the matter of the annulment.”

  Liam shifted in his chair. “About that . . .”

  “Yes?” Agent Gordon raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll get back with you about that as well.”

  Agent Gordon glanced at Miss Chapman, but didn’t say anything.

  A moment later, as Liam and Anna were leaving the office, Liam took Anna’s hand. “Will you walk in the garden with me?”

  “Of course.”

  The grounds of the Pinkerton office were quite impressive, certainly the nicest Anna had ever seen in connection with a business, and Liam led her over to a bench off to the side. “You’re probably exhausted,” he said, sitting down next to her. “How’s your family?”

  “They’ve settled in quite well, actually. Lillian is taking good care of Mother, the new housekeeper is also a talented cook, and Father doesn’t seem to hate the idea as much as he did before. My leaving actually did turn out to be a good thing—it helped him see that some changes were necessary.”

  “I’m glad to hear that things are going smoothly.” Liam turned to face her, taking her hand in his and playing with it. “Agent Gordon asked a very important question just now. He asked about the annulment.”

  Her heart dropped. “Yes, I heard,” she said softly. This was the moment when he’d tell her he only loved her as a friend, that it was time for them to part ways.

  “The truth of it is, Anna—I don’t want an annulment.”

  Her head came up so fast, it throbbed. She tried to ignore the pain as she listened.

  “I’ve fallen in love with you, and I want to be your husband. You and I are a great team, and not just as agents. Your soul understands mine. I feel whole when I’m with you. When I couldn’t find you, when I thought you were gone, I couldn’t even function. All I knew was that I needed you desperately.” He reached up and touched the side of her face so gently, it was like the breath of a butterfly. “Anna Gray Mason, will you stay married to me?”

  She smiled, so overcome with emotion, she almost couldn’t speak. “Yes,” she managed to say. “Oh, yes.”

  He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close, and she melted into his embrace. She had dreamed for years about what it would feel like to be held by him. His arms were every bit as strong as she’d imagined, and yet he held her with such delicacy, as though afraid she would break. She sensed that he was holding back because he was concerned about hurting her, and that made her heart warm even more—even in this moment, her well-being was the first concern on his mind.

  When he pulled back and looked down at her, she grinned. “Hello, husband.”

  “Hello, wife. I was just thinking—what do you say to us finding a house? We’ve probably lived with our parents long enough, don’t you think?”

  She laughed. “I love that idea. A house we can turn into a home.”

  “A home we can fill up with little Pinkerton agents.”

  She laughed again, a feeling of sheer joy bubbling up inside her. “Yes. A whole house of little Pinkerton agents. I like the sound of that.”

  He pulled her close again, and they sealed the agreement with yet another kiss.

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  About Amelia C. Adams

  Amelia C. Adams is a wife, a mother, an eater of tacos, and a taker of naps.
She spends her days thinking up stories and her nights writing them down. Her biggest hero is her husband, and you just might see bits and pieces of him as you read her novels.

  You can reach her at ameliaadamsauthor@gmail.com.

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