An Agent for Cynthia Read online

“It’s all right, I promise. I’m rather pleased, though, to know that you’ll always be completely honest with me, and that if you’re not, your face will give you away.”

  She gave him an impertinent look. “And how am I to know if you’re lying to me?”

  “You won’t. I never give anything away.”

  “Never? That seems unlikely.”

  “It’s part of being an agent. You must learn to be completely impassive at all times. No emotions, no reactions. Just a blank slate.”

  She tried to rearrange her face to wipe off her expression, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Corbin was tempted to chuckle, but she was trying so hard, he couldn’t mock her like that.

  “You’ll never be able to tell when I’m lying to you because I never will lie to you,” he said softly.

  “Not even to save my life or protect my feelings?”

  Hmm. That did put a new spin on things. “I might need to think about that, but under ordinary circumstances, I promise.”

  “All right. You go ahead and think about it. In the meantime, we need to leave—the train won’t wait around for us.”

  They gathered up their bags, and Cynthia took a quick look around to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. She’d left the pillowcase soaking in hopes that the blood would wash out, and Corbin had placed some money next to it on the washbasin. He hated leaving that sort of work for the maid, but given their time restrictions, they really didn’t have a choice. His bloody shirt was bundled at the bottom of his satchel, and he hoped they’d have a chance to meet up with a laundress when they got to Salt Lake City.

  The next leg of their trip was much more comfortable for Corbin, as his head was no longer throbbing with every jolt. Instead, it was a low ache, and while that wasn’t ideal, it was an improvement.

  The nap he and Cynthia had taken that morning had helped, but she was obviously still tired as her head lolled from side to side. She jerked awake a few times before he couldn’t take her discomfort anymore and shifted to sit next to her, guiding her head onto his shoulder. She settled in and fell into a deeper sleep, and he decided that even though he was pinned down and quite unable to move, he didn’t mind at all. What man would mind having a beautiful woman fall asleep on his shoulder?

  The events of the last few days churned through his head as he looked out the window, the grasses and the hills chugging past and marking the miles until they’d reach their next stop. When Archie had asked him to turn his case over to someone else and take this one instead, he’d recognized the need, but he’d also felt like he’d failed. That was a feeling he disliked above all others—if anything, he stuck with a task until it was completed. Being able to make the arrest the next morning was a glorious vindication after a long night of feeling as though he’d let everyone down.

  And getting married . . . Several of the agents had agreed to work with the new female recruits, and remarkably, nearly all of them had fallen in love. In his line of work, Corbin didn’t have time to meet women, alone having the time to court one, so he’d resigned himself to being a bachelor forever. This assignment was giving him the opportunity to correct that, but he’d just assumed they’d be getting an annulment and it wouldn’t be a long-lasting relationship. But the more time he spent with Cynthia, the more he wanted to spend with her. It hadn’t even been thirty-six hours yet and he was already completely intrigued by her.

  He didn’t know what he’d expected her to be like. He knew Archie was choosing someone pretty for this job, but he hadn’t anticipated that she’d be this pretty—or this sweet. It was that sweetness that made him fear most for her suitability. Did she have the inner strength and the gumption to stand up to the coarseness they were likely to encounter, the language and the drinking and the innuendo? She seemed far more suited to a Sunday picnic than consorting with the criminal element. And yet she believed that reading a few detective books had prepared her for this . . .

  She was looking to him for training, and he would do everything he could to ready her for what lay ahead. What he couldn’t do, and wouldn’t do, was crush her gentle spirit. Her genuine goodness set her apart from many of the other young ladies he knew, and he admired that in her. He wished he could be as good and as kind as she was, but it was too late for him—he’d lived in the real world far too long and had experienced far too much of life’s harshness to be that innocent again.

  Her influence, though—her softness—would remind him that not everything in the world was cruel. Looking at her, he remembered things like Christmases and the smell of fresh bread and the first blooms of spring. She connected him to the lovely side of life, something he needed badly.

  He also hadn’t expected himself to become so sentimental.

  She stirred, and he looked down at her. She was so trusting—she depended on him to keep her safe on this train surrounded by strangers, and he would fulfill that task with everything in him.

  And then, once this case was over, he’d see if he could convince her to remain his wife because he knew he’d have a hard time ever letting her go now that she’d been this close.

  Chapter Three

  Cynthia opened her eyes slowly. She was still on the train—the noise had been a clue to that before she was even fully awake. But she was leaning on Corbin’s shoulder now, a welcome surprise, and she couldn’t help but snuggle in a little further. She felt safe with him, safe like a child wrapped up in a blanket, and yet . . . No, he did not make her feel like a child. She remembered the way she’d felt when he touched her cheek earlier that day. The attraction she’d felt for him was strong and instant, and so sudden that it caught her off guard. She hadn’t anticipated feeling that way, and yet she did, and it was a welcome surprise.

  She sat up and gave him a smile, noticing that he looked tired too. She hoped his head wasn’t aching again.

  “I’ve thought it all out,” she said.

  “You have?”

  “I have, and it’s perfect.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Just what have you thought out, and how is it perfect?”

  “Our cover story,” she said, leaning toward him and lowering her voice. “I don’t know whether I dreamed it or if it just came to me as I was waking up, but I’m rather enthralled by the idea and I think you should be too.”

  “All right.” He chuckled. “I promise to be enthralled.”

  “Good. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as we’re alone. Oh, and thank you for letting me sleep on your shoulder. That was very kind of you.” And just a bit embarrassing for her, but she realized that he didn’t mind, so it seemed foolish for her to mind.

  “You’re welcome. As I see it, shoulders have to be good for something besides just holding our arms on our bodies.”

  She smiled. “Exactly. Everything should serve at least two purposes, or what’s the point in having them?” Turning toward the window, she tried to make out some of the passing landscape, but it was entirely dark. “What time is it, and where are we?”

  “It’s around eight o’clock, and we should actually be reaching Salt Lake City before too much longer.”

  “Already? I didn’t mean to sleep so long—did I put a crick in your neck?”

  “I’m not surprised you slept that long. You were up nearly all night. And no, my neck’s fine.”

  “That’s good.” She suddenly found herself a little shy. “I . . . I don’t snore, do I?”

  “What?” He gave her an incredulous look. “Why would you think you snore?”

  “It’s just that some people do, and I don’t want to be one of them.”

  “Like me, you mean?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Um, yes, but I didn’t mean that in a critical way. It’s quite normal and natural for a man to snore, but for a woman, well, it’s just not ladylike.” She wished she’d never brought it up—she sounded sillier and sillier the more she talked.

  “You have nothing to fear. You did let out a little sigh once in a while, but there was nothing even re
motely resembling a snore.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always wondered, but I’ve never had anyone to ask.”

  Before he could reply, the conductor moved down the aisle. “Next stop, Salt Lake City. We’ll be taking a thirty-minute break before continuing on our way to Nevada and California. If you’re leaving us here, we hope your journey was pleasant. If you’re continuing on, please keep an ear out for the train whistle so you know when to climb back on board.”

  A small shudder ran through Cynthia, and Corbin looked at her curiously. “Are you all right?”

  “I suppose—I just realized that we’re here and we’re about to do something dangerous.”

  “Do you want to change your mind? There’s still time—we can catch the very next train back to Denver.”

  It was tempting, but only for the slightest second. “No! Absolutely not. We’re going ahead with it, and we’re going to do a brilliant job.” She gave him her brightest smile, hoping it would convince the both of them. “I’m sure I’ll have several such moments where I’m a little shy, but I’ll get over them—I promise.”

  “I believe you. You’ve got a lot of courage, Mrs. Rawlings, and I have a feeling we’re only going to see more and more of it over the next several days.”

  He looked at her with so much genuine warmth, she knew he was telling her the truth. He did believe her—and he believed in her, which was different and even more valuable. It made her feel like she could accomplish anything, even if it was something that made her nervous to think about.

  When the train stopped and they disembarked, they both found it a little difficult to walk in a straight line. They’d been sitting on the train so long, they’d lost strength in their legs, and Cynthia was sure they looked like they’d just left the saloon. Were there saloons in Salt Lake City? There had to be . . . It was established by Mormons, but people of all faiths and some non-religious people lived there too. She should expect it to be similar to any other large town she might visit.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Corbin said to the conductor, who was stretching his legs on the platform. “Do you know this town well? Is that hotel across the way reputable?”

  “It’s decent enough for tonight, but if you plan to be here on any length of time, I’d be looking for a new place in the morning,” the conductor replied.

  “Thank you. That will work.” Corbin took Cynthia’s bag and led the way across the street to a building that sat on the corner, its roof tiles in disrepair but a lantern in the window. It was late, and as long as the place was reasonably clean, Cynthia didn’t care about things like roofs. She just wanted some sleep.

  They were checked in by a sullen-faced woman who didn’t look too happy to see them even though they were paying guests, and they tumbled onto the bed, almost forgetting to remove their shoes.

  “I’ve never been so tired in all my life,” Cynthia said, staring at the wall. “I can still feel the train rumbling beneath my feet.”

  “So can I. Sleep will help, though.”

  “I’m sure it will.” She paused. “One of us has to take care of the light.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The light. One of us has to get up. We can’t sleep with the light on.”

  “I can.”

  She sighed. “I’m not talking about the ability to do it—I’m talking about being responsible. It’s not responsible to leave the light on if we’re not using it.”

  Corbin rolled onto his side and looked at her. “Will anyone know? Are they going to ask at the front desk? Do we have to include it in our report of the case?”

  “Well, no, but . . .”

  “Then I don’t see what difference it makes. Light on, light off . . . Just get some sleep.”

  Cynthia tried to ignore it—she really did. But the little voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that it just wasn’t right, and she finally got up and took care of it. As she climbed back into bed, she heard Corbin chuckle.

  “That was going to bother you all night, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid it was.”

  He chuckled again. “You’re going to keep me on my toes—I can tell.”

  “Good. You need to be kept on your toes.”

  She could almost feel him smiling in the darkness as she finally drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  When Cynthia woke up the next morning, she lay there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of stillness. She knew they’d have to get back on a train to return home at the end of their assignment, but for now, she would appreciate the break and having her feet on solid ground for a while.

  Movement in the corner of the room caught her attention, and she looked over to see Corbin brushing his hair with the aid of the looking glass over the bureau. His hair looked a little damp, and he was freshly shaved—she was jealous of how tidy he looked. She badly wanted a long soak in a hot tub, but she hated the idea of doing that in a hotel. It just didn’t seem private enough.

  “You didn’t tell me your idea,” he said. He hadn’t turned to face her, so she had no idea how he knew she was awake. “I was going to ask you when we got here last night, but you’d started . . . breathing deeply . . . and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She sat upright. “Breathing deeply? Are you trying to tell me that I really do snore?”

  “No. Absolutely not. There’s a difference.” He set down his brush and finally turned. “Breathing deeply is a sign of restful sleep. Snoring is more like . . . swallowing a bee.”

  “May I remind you that you promised you’d never lie to me . . .”

  “And I’m not lying now. You weren’t snoring. You were tired, and you needed to sleep.” He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Now tell me your idea.”

  “My idea?”

  “Yes. For our cover story.”

  “Oh, right. I was distracted by that whole business about swallowing a bee.” She clasped her hands in front of her, eager to share what she’d come up with. “So, you said we needed to pose as criminals, and I needed to be a damsel in distress.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, what if . . .”

  “Yes?”

  She was enjoying watching his impatience. “What if I’ve just killed my husband, and you’re my doting brother who has promised to help me escape? My husband was cruel to me—he’d come home drunk and beat me—and one night, I just couldn’t take it anymore and I picked up his gun and shot him. Then I ran to you for help, and now we need to disappear.”

  “Hmm.” Corbin looked thoughtful. “That has merit.”

  “I knew you’d like it. It has all the elements of a great tragedy and paints me in a sympathetic light, but it shows that I’m not weak or easily intimidated. That should afford me some respect.”

  He nodded. “I like this idea a lot. You said you dreamed it?”

  She shrugged. “Dreamed it, remembered it from a book . . . something like that.”

  He chuckled. “Well, wherever it came from, I believe we can make it work. And the fact that we’re posing as brother and sister rather than a couple . . .”

  “Means that if I need to be flirtatious, I’d be more likely to get away with it,” Cynthia finished. She’d thought over that aspect, and while she knew she’d never feel comfortable acting too coy, she did need to leave a little room for the various possibilities. There was no way to know what lay ahead.

  “All right, that will be our plan. Have you chosen our names?” Corbin asked.

  “Well . . .” She grinned. “I did have some ideas.”

  “I’m not surprised. What are they? And let me guess—they’re also from books.”

  She shook her head. “Actually, they’re not. They’re my grandparents’ names—Daniel and Marie.”

  Corbin nodded. “And our last name?”

  “How about Phillips?”

  “All right. You’re hereby in charge of all our aliases—that seemed rather painless for you.”

  That surprised
her. “Don’t you like choosing names?”

  “I hate it. I’d much rather be working the case itself than inventing a backstory.”

  “Oh, but I think the backstory would be the most fun part.” She stood up and shook out her dress, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled to be worn again before it was ironed. She’d been so tired the night before, the thought of changing into a nightgown was more than she could handle.

  Corbin reached out and caught her arm. His face was serious. “I want to be certain that you understand something,” he said. “This is dangerous—not fun.”

  “I do understand that,” she replied. “I believe you passed that message along yesterday. I promise, I’m not just here looking for a diversion. I’m here to help bring criminals to justice, and I know that means facing all sorts of scary situations.” She met his gaze squarely, hoping to convince him.

  “Good. When you talk about having fun, it just concerns me.”

  “I understand,” she repeated. “But there are elements to the assignment that I’m going to enjoy—things like choosing assumed names. I always choose to focus on the things I like about an assignment. Focusing on the bad only makes the task seem harder.”

  “You’re right, and I’m sorry. Now I’m the one accusing you of not taking this case seriously—we’re taking turns.”

  “At least we’re being fair about it.” Cynthia smiled. “So, what’s next on our agenda?”

  “Next, we send a note to Harold Carlson and let him know we’re here. I memorized his address before I tore up the file at our last hotel. He’ll tell us when and where to meet. And while we’re waiting for him, I think some breakfast is in order.”

  Corbin sat at the small desk in the corner of the room and penned a note to Agent Carlson while Cynthia finished cleaning up. She supposed it was all right that she hadn’t had the chance for a proper bath—a woman on the run wouldn’t have that luxury, and her slightly disheveled appearance might convince Kade Brown that she was telling the truth about needing help. She brushed through her hair and pinned it back up, and then they headed downstairs.

  Corbin gave the note and a few coins to the bellboy, who promised to deliver the message right away, and then they entered the dining room to find some breakfast.