An Agent for Gillian

by Ginny Sterling

  An Agent for Gillian

  The Pinkerton Matchmaker

  Ginny Sterling

  Contents

  Introduction

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  An Agent for Clementine

  An Agent for Fallon

  Remember Hope

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Two wrongs don’t make a right – or do they?

  Gillian Jameson had lost her world when her husband died. Alone, scared, and desperate for something to fill the emptiness in her soul- she turns to the Pinkerton Agency for help. What she never expected was to be married again, especially to a man like Cade Malone.

  Cade had a recklessness to him that was born of sheer desperation. His wife and child were gone. He was running from memories that haunted him with every breath, and nightmares that plagued him each night. What he needed was a reason to go on- and it certainly wasn’t in the form of a new partner.

  Can two broken souls form a bond between them? Will seeing another person who is struggling to deal with the trauma in their lives be just the thing to help old wounds heal – or would falling for each other simply create another emotional scar that is just too great to bear?

  Foreword

  A Note to Our Readers

  Even though this book is a work of fiction, the Pinkerton Agents and their exploits are very real.

  Allan Pinkerton, a Scottish immigrant, and Edward Rucker, a Chicago attorney, started the North-Western Police Agency in the early 1850s. It later became the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

  Established in the U.S. by Allan Pinkerton in 1855, the Pinkerton National Detective Agency was a private security guard and detective agency. Pinkerton agents were hired as both bodyguards and detectives by corporations and individuals. They were active in stopping strikes, illegal operations, guarding train shipments, and searching for Western outlaws such as the James and Younger gangs.

  Pinkerton agents were known to be tough yet honest. For the most part, they followed local and state laws. However, as with most situations, a few were known to be ruthless. Local law didn’t always approve of having an agent in town since they could investigate more fully than the sheriff. Going undercover gave the agents greater leeway for investigations but could also lead to corruption and violence.

  As the West became more settled, crime increased, and local authorities were at times overwhelmed. It was not uncommon for Pinkerton agents to be hired to track down the worst of these criminals. Not encumbered by state or local boundaries, the agents followed and pursued their quarry where the clues led them.

  The Pinkerton Agency was also one of the first companies to hire women. Kate Warne led the way for the women agents that followed her.

  As the case load grew, new offices were established around the country, with the main office in Chicago, Illinois.

  We created this series with these heroic men and women in mind. These are works of our imagination and no way reflect the true cases or activities that the Pinkerton Agency may have engaged in.

  These are our stories of the men and women that braved danger and love to bring their own brand of justice.

  The Pinkerton Code

  Allan Pinkerton's agents were required to comply with a specific code of conduct while working for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.

  According to the agency's records, agents were to have no addiction to "drinking, smoking, card playing, low dives or slang".

  Additionally, a Pinkerton agent …

  Could not accept bribes

  May never compromise with criminals

  Should willingly partner with local law enforcement

  Must refuse divorce cases or those initiating scandal

  Would be expected to turn down reward money

  Cannot raise fees without client’s prior knowledge

  Should keep clients appraised on an on-going basis

  The Denver Tribune Editorials

  Sat. April 22, 1871

  Female Agents to join National Detective Agency.

  Help Wanted: female agents to join the National Pinkerton Detective Agency

  Seven years ago, the National Pinkerton Detective Agency moved into the new office location at 427 Chain Bridge Road, Denver, Colorado Territory. Since then stories have swirled of brave men solving crimes and fighting for justice.

  But a new time has evolved, and the agency is now seeking able-bodied women to join the ranks of private investigations.

  We need daring women who seek adventure and are of sound mind and body. You will help the criminal elements answer for their crimes and secure safety for their victims.

  You will train with an existing agent, and after your first case, you will earn the rank of private detective. Paid training, transportation, uniforms, and accommodations will be provided. You will become a part of a noble profession and pave the way into the future.

  This editorial has been placed in newspapers throughout the nation, so the quickest responses are appreciated.

  Please send inquiries and a list of skills to Mr. A. Gordon at the above noted address. Interviews will occur on the premises the week of May 16, 1871.

  Ed.

  Chapter 1

  1872

  Painfully, Gillian rubbed her raw wrists against the rope that bound her hands and ankles. She lay there on the floor, trying to keep from crying and screaming aloud. Her mouth had something putrid and musty shoved inside of it, muffling her voice. Oh yes, she remembered now – it was a bandana from one of the thieves that was ransacking their home.

  She and Michael had moved in only a few months ago and followed the railroad, taking job after job as construction moved down the line. They’d been married almost six months and after so much travelling, she’d practically begged to settle down here in town.

  Her head ached terribly as she lay there on the floor, absently thinking that she needed to sweep the wood floor again because it was dusty from the boots that had tracked in her clean home. She could hear voices, but her head spun horribly where the butt of a gun had hit her temple, knocking her out. Where was Michael and what was going on?

  “We told you that you couldn’t ever quit the Younger gang but you didn’t listen, did ya?”

  “Look, I will go with you but leave my Gilly here.”

  Shaking her head carefully, she blinked several times as she tried to clear her mind. Michael was such a sweet and loving man, always looking out for her, but she hated that nickname from everyone else but him. The way he said it, the lilt of his voice, made her feel all warm and fuzzy. She’d left home right away when he’d asked her to marry him. He was her world.

  Why did his beloved voice sound so far away right now? Dazed, she lay there hearing voices, but they weren’t making sense. Nothing made any sense right now. Why on earth was she tied up?

  “Where’s the money, Mikey?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “You’d better find it - and fast - or I’ll take it out of your sweet wife’s hide.”

  “Just leave her alone and I’ll get what I can.”

  “Get it now!”

  “It’s going to take me a bit to come up with it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I mean, its gonna take me a few days.”

  “Well you and your little Gilly don’t have days - now do ya?
”

  “Please don’t touch her.”

  “I’m gonna do more than touch her if you don’t get to moving.”

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “To give you incentive to find my money - Now!”

  Gillian saw a pair of black boots come into her line of vision and passed out cold when they made contact with her midsection. An explosion of pain was all she felt seconds before everything went black.

  She awoke with a start and realized it was dark outside. The inky blackness of the room was comforting to her aching head as she lay there on the wooden floor. Spitting several times, she finally got the nasty bandana out of her mouth and took several deep breaths.

  She was afraid to call out to her husband or anyone else for that matter. Where were those men? Where was her husband? Was she alone like he’d asked?

  Taking inventory of her body, she realized nothing was broken or injured. Her abdomen was painfully sore but her ribs were intact. She’d broken a rib before when she’d fallen off a horse as a child. It had been excruciating to breathe and this was not the same. Her hands and feet were numb from where she’d been left bound.

  “Michael?” she whispered, testing her voice. She listened to see if anyone came to check on her and see that she was awake. “Michael? Can you hear me?” she said a little louder and coughed as she breathed in the dust. The pain from coughing nearly made her faint again. Wiggling her hands, she winced at the rope burns that ached terribly.

  “Michael!” she called out and heard nothing.

  Her heart began to thump as she realized that her husband was missing. She was afraid they’d taken him as a hostage. Inching her way to the wall, she managed to inch her body up into a seated position. Butterflying her legs indelicately, she yanked up her skirt revealing her boots. Using her hands that were tied together, she impatiently worked at the knotted rope around her legs, enabling her to get to her feet.

  Listening again, she slowly moved to the counter and grabbed a knife. Putting the handle in her mouth, she maneuvered the sharp blade between her wrists and against the rope. It took her several moments of sawing slowly to finally feel the threads loosen before they gave.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, she pumped the handle several times and held both hands under the cool running water in an attempt to stop the fierce pins-and-needles sensation. She didn’t know where Michael went but she wasn’t about to abandon him. The horse should be in the stable and she knew he kept the gun under their bed in the tin box he stored their marriage license inside of.

  He’d told her sweetly that he put all the things that were vital in there, ‘matters of life and death’ he’d told her. There were Confederate bonds inside, his mother’s cameo, their marriage license, and a few other things she knew were incredibly precious to him. Gillian had left home with the clothing on her back intending to start anew with her husband.

  Okay Gillian, think! First things first, you need to see if there are hoofprints outside and the direction they went in, she surmised. Glancing up at the pale crescent moon, she knew it would be hard to follow them unless she had a trail. She didn’t dare light a lantern to illuminate the yard, because what if they were out there watching her?

  At that thought, she picked up the knife again and slowly made her way to the front door. She placed the board in the U-shaped hanger in order to secure the doorway from any intruders again from the front of the house. She needed to check the door at the back of the house and the other rooms to make sure she was actually alone as she suspected. Backing away from the front door, she stepped into their bedroom and nearly fell in the darkness as she tripped over her husband’s prone form.

  “Michael, wake up,” Gillian began urgently, knowing they needed to get away, but as she touched her husband, panic took hold and froze her where she sat. His body was cold where he lay face down on the floor.

  “Michael! Michael! Wake up!” she repeated, her voice rising shrilly in the darkness as tears welled up painfully. “Look at me, Michael!” Gillian grasped him by the shoulders and roughly turned him over, only to see an inky stain across the chest of his shirt and on the flooring beneath him.

  Her husband was dead.

  “Nooooooo!” she screamed brokenly, her hands reaching up to the sides of her head, shaking it against the sight before her. She didn’t care about the pain in her head from being knocked out or the soreness of her abdomen. Nothing matched the sunken, hollow, bereft feeling that tore through her chest right now seeing his lifeless eyes in the shadows.

  “Nooooooo!” she wailed, rocking herself in the dark, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, heedless of the blood that now stained her hands and was in her hair.

  “Michael? No, no, no! Honey? Please noooo,” she whispered brokenly.

  She saw the edge of the tin box sticking out from under their bed. The box lay open and was empty. Their marriage license, their mementos, his trinkets and memories from when he was growing up. His father’s jacket button from the war had been inside, one of the only things he’d had left from him.

  Everything was gone.

  Two days later, Gillian found herself muttering the same words over and over. Her husband was laid to rest in a bare pine box with a wooden cross for a gravestone. She sat there on the mound of dirt, numb. He was gone and she was a widow at the young age of twenty-two. She had nothing of her husband, not a memento, no children, absolutely nothing. The funeral held that day was horrifyingly short, filling her with bitterness and disgust.

  Her husband had been full of laughter, smiles, and kisses - nothing compared to the greyish frozen figure with coins over his closed eyes in the coffin. That image of him on the floor, or his blue-tinged lips that she’d kissed so tenderly, made her heart fracture into a million pieces.

  He was gone.

  She’d been so helpless, so naïve when those strange men had knocked on the door. She’d opened it and invited them into their home without a second thought. This was her fault! This nightmare was of her own making and she was just as guilty of her husband’s death as the man who’d pulled the trigger, she thought horrifically, feeling tears well up again in her eyes – eyes that she was certain couldn’t cry anymore.

  Those men hadn’t only killed her beloved husband that day. They’d killed the innocent girl who had never seen such evils in her life. She would never be taken by surprise again. She would never let down her guard. She would protect herself and those that could not take care of themselves with a passion that would make Michael proud. That naïve girl was gone and in her place was a cold, broken woman with nothing left to lose.

  Chapter 2

  1873

  Hail Mary,

  Full of Grace,

  The Lord is with thee…

  Flinching, Gillian’s prayer was interrupted once again by the people in the church whispering in the back. She clenched her rosary in her hand and tried to ignore the weeping woman’s voice. It was still all too new for her, even though today was the anniversary of Michael’s death.

  Waking up with the sun, Gillian had left her small tent and intended to spend the day remembering her husband. She’d sold the house months ago and couldn’t bear sleeping in the bed that they’d once shared. She had nightmares about waking up and seeing his beloved body nearby on the floor.

  No amount of scrubbing could erase the blood and the memories of that day. She desperately needed a fresh start because living in the past was killing her soul ever so slowly. Starting again, she tried to ignore the loving voices that were whispering together.

  Hail Mary,

  Full of Grace…

  A man’s voice broke the silence of her thoughts. His words were a blow to her system, reminding her of Michael’s voice when she’d cut her finger one afternoon cooking for the first time. She had been cutting up a potato in a paltry attempt at making stew. She could see them standing there at the table like it was yesterday as he held her hand, stroking her cheek tenderly.

  It wa
s like this stranger had plucked the memory from her mind, saying Michael’s words in verbatim from that very moment, as Michael had kissed her injured fingertip. Her husband was gone and she would never have those moments again – and this was yet another brutal reminder of the life that had been stolen from her. A life she no longer wanted and couldn’t bear to forget.

  “You are breaking my heart, darling. Don’t cry. I never wanted this.”

  Jumping to her feet brokenly, Gillian whirled around expecting something evil to be hovering close by. There was no way some man could have known Michael’s words in that moment – or the way that memory made her feel. Instead of some specter or monster, she spied a man cradling a woman tenderly in his arms.

  “I’m crying,” Gillian said brokenly, coming out of the pew she’d been occupying for the last several hours. The young woman with auburn hair darker than Gillian’s own, looked up and sniffled several times. Her dark brown eyes studied Gillian.

  “I’m sorry we bothered you.”

  Bothered? This was emotionally devastating!

  She’d been trying to ignore them for the last ten minutes. The man was obviously infatuated with the woman, as he poured out his heart to her – couldn’t this woman see that? Didn’t she realize what having a love like that could be like?