Sadie's Secret: 3 (The Secret Lives of Will Tucker) (12 page)

He shook his head. “There were ladies of whom I was fond. They might have become…” He seemed to be searching for the words. “What I mean is, I had the opportunity several times over, but the job…”

A look of realization came over him. Apparently the London detective had finally gotten her point.

“But the job,” she echoed. “Exactly. Which is why I cannot recommend this profession. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe it is time to say good night.”

It probably was time to say good night, but Jefferson still wasn’t ready to part ways with her. He couldn’t just say so. Not when he’d already gone well past the point where he felt comfortable in admitting he needed more time with her.

So he nodded politely and then kept up with her brisk pace as she crossed the final distance down the sidewalk toward the hotel. Had he not known that Sadie Callum was a Pinkerton agent, and an exceptional one at that, he might have mistaken her for a well-bred young lady from an aristocratic family.

Lady Sadie. He grinned at the thought. And yet she could easily pass for nobility. Even his mother, the arbiter of all that was fashionable, would have been fooled.

That thought stopped him in his tracks. A Pinkerton agent who looked like a society girl. With the bearing of a princess and the deadly aim of a sharpshooter.

The possibilities for a woman with those talents were endless. And while he could easily convince himself to take her on as a partner in the case he would be returning to, it might be a bit more difficult to convince her.

Jefferson smiled. Somehow he would manage.

He must.

Nine

T
he next morning, Jefferson gathered up his revolver and knife, the sum total of his belongings now that the suit of clothes he’d left prison in had been thrown into the trash bin, and headed downstairs.

Miss Callum met him at the same table where they had dined last night. She was reading the
New Orleans Picayune
when he walked in.

“Care to join me?” she asked, and then she lowered the newspaper to slide an envelope in his direction. “The judge was prompt in his response. This arrived last night. I think you’ll be pleased.”

The telegram had been sent to her but the subject was him. Or, rather, the funds that were owed him for the weapons that had been taken. A deposit was being held for him at a bank in Mobile. All that remained was for Jefferson to retrieve it.

Which meant he could also write to the pawnshop and retrieve his watch once he arrived there.

“There’s something else.” She reached into the side of her skirt and retrieved a small pearl-handled Remington pistol, likely the same one that had dispatched the snake last night, and then slid it across the table toward him.

“What is that for?”

“You’ll be in the company of a Pinkerton agent, but it’s always good to have some sort of weapon.” Her gaze fell to the telegram now sitting next to the gun. “Whatever you do once you’re back in Mobile, I assume you’ll need a little something to reclaim your life with.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as Jefferson sorted out the mix of emotions. That the woman was trying to take care of him irked him. He’d never been put in that sort of position before.

And yet he knew he must look at the thought behind the gift instead of the reason she expected he needed it.

“I appreciate that, Miss Callum,” he said gently, “but I have weapons enough to see me to Mobile.” He punctuated the statement with a press of the weapon back in her direction.

Then her attention went to his midsection. “Doesn’t a man with a fine pocket watch usually wear the chain on the outside of his vest, Mr. Tucker? I wonder where you might have found the money to purchase weapons.”

He schooled his expression to not give any hint that she was correct in her assumption. Instead, he searched for a diversion and found it in the date on the newspaper in front of her.

“Doesn’t a person generally read a newspaper that is less than four months old?”

Before she could respond, Jefferson snatched it up. The headline caught his attention immediately:
LOCAL HEIST HAS INTERNATIONAL CONNECTION.

There, in the first line of the report, was the name of the man he had been sent by the London Metropolitan Police to the States to find nearly a year ago. This man’s abilities as a forger were well known in certain circles in Europe, and informants had claimed he was intent on moving into a more lucrative market with his goods.

Only this time the criminal was declaring himself the victim.

“I’ll have that back now, please,” Sadie said calmly as she silently berated herself for being so careless as to read case documents in public. Mr. Tucker complied, although with far too much humor in his expression.

What she had not mentioned was that Henry had sent good news for her. Though she would still be allowed a few days respite once Mr. Tucker was handed off, which she would use for her trip back to Callum Plantation to placate Daddy, she would be immediately placed on the Astor case.

Though the message was written in code that made discerning details
difficult, Henry had been clear on one point. Owing to new information, the Astor case looked to be much bigger than one woman’s trouble with a questionable Rembrandt.

What those details might be piqued Sadie’s interest even further. Until she could arrange a meeting with Henry or, failing that, could receive more information through safer channels, she was left to wonder.

After placing an order for enough breakfast to feed several men, Mr. Tucker returned his attention to her. “Your next assignment?”

Drat!

Sadie folded the newspaper and slid it inside the valise beside her. “Did you sleep well, Mr. Tucker?”

She punctuated the question with a polite smile. As their gazes met, she could see that his humor had given way to open interest.

“My sleep is beyond the topic at hand, Miss Callum.” He paused while the waiter delivered strong chicory coffee, a sugar bowl, and a pot of honey. “However,” he said as he dipped his spoon in the honey and then drizzled it into his cup, “since you’ve been so kind as to inquire, yes, I will admit to the best rest I’ve had in a long time. Now, about the Valletta case.”

How could he have known?

“I’m sorry?” she said carefully.

“Your case. Sergio Valletta? He would be your victim in the article you’ve been reading.”

“Oh, yes. Interesting story. A suspected art thief is robbed. Or at least that’s what’s been claimed here.” She slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. “Are you familiar with this case?”

“Four months ago I was in prison, Miss Callum. How could I be familiar with the case?”

And yet he had referred to the Italian by his correct name, a name that was misspelled in the newspaper article now safely tucked away in her valise. Further questions were prevented when Sam appeared in the doorway.

Sadie beckoned him to approach with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Tucker’s breakfast has not yet arrived. Are we running late?”

“Not exactly,” he said as he held out yet another telegram. “And this is not exactly good news, either.”

The man’s habit of reading her telegrams was irritating. She fixed him with a look that let him know this and then accepted the paper he held.

“Your man’s not coming,” he told Mr. Tucker. “At least not today. There’s been an accident up the line. Derailment, they say. Probably due to tracks being underwater. Looks like our fellow’s one of the lucky ones who wasn’t seriously hurt.”

Sadie read the words.
Derailment north of Shreveport. Unharmed but no means to travel today due to floods. Have alerted Henry.

She folded the page and tucked it into her valise just as the waiter brought a platter of breakfast for her companion. The truth of the matter was that until someone arrived to relieve her of her duty, she was still the agent in charge of Jefferson Tucker. The agent required to see that the former prisoner arrived in Mobile without incident.

“There’s just one thing to be done.” Sadie looked up at the waiting driver. “Please see that my trunk is loaded onto the train with Mr. Tucker’s things.”

“But, Miss Callum, is that proper, the two of you traveling alone?”

She knew he meant well. Meanwhile, Mr. Tucker dug into his meal with the zeal of a starved man, all the while watching her.

“I am a Pinkerton agent, Sam, and as such I am bound by the need to protect my charge. In the absence of another agent, I am required to see to the safe arrival of Mr. Tucker in Mobile.”

“But you’re a lady—”

“Whether I am male or female does not matter. Whether I carry out my duties as a Pinkerton agent matters very much.” She paused only long enough to allow him to consider this. “Am I explaining this in a way that makes sense to you now?”

He swallowed hard and managed a nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll just see to your trunk.”

“Thank you.” She waited until Sam had left before facing Mr. Tucker again. When she looked over at him, she saw that he was watching her carefully.

“I am fully capable of seeing myself home,” he said as he loaded a bite of scrambled eggs onto his fork.

“I’m sure you are.” Sadie collected her valise and held it in her lap.
“However, as my duties are not yet discharged, accompanying you is my responsibility.”

How she would explain that to Uncle Penn and Daddy was another issue entirely. And yet, she truly had no choice. A Pinkerton agent did not merely walk away from an assignment because it had become inconvenient or conflicted with family schedules.