Cynthia sat near him so she could catch his whispers. “Mr. Brewster’s name never came up. I asked a few questions about Kade’s enterprise to see if I could get him talking, but no—he wouldn’t elaborate on anything.” Another thought occurred to her. “He excused himself for a few minutes, saying there was something wrong with dinner in the kitchen, and that’s when I was able to search for the notebook. But when I asked Esther about it later, she said nothing had gone wrong with dinner. If that was just his excuse, where did he go and why?”
Corbin exhaled. “We have two choices here. We can go to bed, get up and head to the train station first thing in the morning, and make the arrest as soon as Kade has provided our tickets. That gives us evidence to arrest him, and the notebook gives us the names and locations of the criminals he’s helped. All in all, an excellent job of it.”
Cynthia lifted an eyebrow. “And the other choice?”
“We can prowl around a little bit and see if we can find Mr. Brewster or any other special guests.”
“But if we have the information we need, why would we do that?”
“There’s something about that name—it’s familiar to me somehow. I didn’t think much of it at first, but something in the back of my brain is telling me it’s important.”
“I don’t know . . .” Cynthia shook her head. “We’re so close—so close. Why would we do anything to endanger the case now?”
Corbin nodded slowly. “You’re right. Whatever it is, it can’t be important enough to jeopardize everything else.” He stood up. “Let’s get some sleep. We’ll need to be on our toes in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Corbin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He was standing, but he hadn’t yet taken a step toward the door. He seemed reluctant to leave.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“I was thinking back to this morning when I shared my feelings with you,” he said. “The more time that goes by without a response from you, the more I wonder if I offended you and if I should have kept those feelings to myself.”
In her desire not to hurt him with a hasty answer, she’d hurt him anyway by not answering at all. She wished she knew more about relationships and how to navigate them—but how could she learn more without making dozens of mistakes along the way? Was it possible to get it right on the first try and not have to experience the heartache that would surely come by saying or doing the wrong thing?
She stood up and took his hands in hers, mimicking how he often reached out to her. “Corbin, I can honestly say that you’re the finest, kindest man I’ve ever met, and I can’t imagine anyone ever becoming as important to me as you are.”
“You’re about to say ‘however,’ aren’t you?”
She smiled, although sadly. “However, I’ve never been in love before, and I don’t know what it feels like. I know that sometimes my heart races when you look at me, and I know that it melts when you say something thoughtful, and I know that I enjoy laughing with you—but how can I tell the difference between love and attraction? Is there a rulebook or a set of guidelines or—”
She was interrupted as he tugged her toward him and kissed her. One minute, she was sharing her insecurity, and the next, she was in his arms, and it was completely overwhelming. Every emotion she’d been juggling, every doubt she’d had, every thrill she’d felt warred it out inside her until everything disappeared and all she knew was the feel of his arms around her waist and his lips on hers, and nothing else even mattered.
He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against her lips, “Do you still need a rulebook?” Then he brought her close again, and she clung to his lapel to keep her balance. Her knees were weak and she knew she’d tumble if he wasn’t holding her up.
When he let her go again, this time completely, she sank back into her chair, a little out of breath. “So, that’s what kissing’s all about. I always wondered why it was such a big deal.”
He chuckled. “You’ve never been kissed before?”
“Well, no! I told you I’ve never been in love, and I wouldn’t kiss someone unless I loved them.”
“There you have it! You just kissed me, so therefore, you must love me.” He gave her a triumphant look.
“Yes, but I could argue that you caught me by surprise. I didn’t know you were going to until you were doing it.”
“And your reaction was quite in the affirmative, as I recall.”
Her cheeks instantly felt hot. “Yes, it was in the affirmative.”
“Aha! There’s your proof, Mrs. Rawlings. You love me, and there’s nothing more to analyze or debate. The question is settled. Now, isn’t it nice to have that resolved? One less thing to worry about?”
“Yes, I suppose, but . . .”
He shook his head. “Are you still trying to complicate this? What more could there be?”
“I . . . I guess there’s nothing. I just hadn’t expected it to be so easy.”
“Because love is complicated?”
“Well, it always is in books.”
He laughed, although quietly. “Oh, sweetheart, so few things in real life are the same as they are in books. Falling in love can be as simple as looking at someone and realizing that you’re meant to be together. It doesn’t have to be fraught with conflict and angst.”
“So, you just looked at me and you knew?”
“Not immediately, but it didn’t take me longer than . . . ten or fifteen minutes.”
She knew he was joking, but she also recognized that he was telling the truth when he said it hadn’t taken long at all. She’d felt it in the way he treated her, that extra bit of courtesy and respect. If that’s what love was—courtesy, respect, laughter, and yes, amazing kisses, she could say it with clarity. “Then I must be falling in love with you too.”
“I knew you’d come around to it eventually.” Even his eyes smiled as he looked at her, and she knew he was about to kiss her again. Her heart sped up in anticipation and her eyes were halfway closed when a knock sounded on the door, and then it flew open and hit the wall behind it. Kade stood in the doorway, his eyes on fire. Cynthia was grateful that Corbin had leaped back at the knock and was no longer right next to her.
“Kade? What’s the matter? It’s terribly late.”
“Mrs. Fielding, have you seen my notebook?”
She’d hoped he’d have no need to go looking for it until the next day. “Yes, I’ve seen it,” she replied. “You wrote in it when we chose our new names, remember?”
He looked up at the ceiling as though trying to stay patient, although there was nothing else patient about his demeanor. “I don’t mean, have you seen it. I mean, do you know where it is now?”
“I have no idea.” She could answer that truthfully as well. What had Harold Carlson done with it? Had he passed it along, or had he ripped out the pages so he could roll his own cigarettes? There were so many possibilities.
“It was in my room when you came to dinner, and it’s missing now. What am I supposed to think, Mrs. Fielding? That it grew legs and walked out on its own?”
She motioned around. “You may search my room from top to bottom if you like. I don’t have it, I promise.”
Kade whirled on Corbin. “That’s because you have it.”
“No, sir, I do not,” Corbin replied. “You may search my room too—I have nothing to hide.”
Kade turned and called over his shoulder, “They’re admitting nothing. We’ll have to search their rooms.”
Cynthia hadn’t realized anyone was waiting out in the hallway. Now a man entered the room, shaking his head as though he was terribly disappointed. “It’s always so much easier when they simply confess. A room search can take a long time.”
Cynthia heard Corbin take in a breath. It wasn’t loud, but it was definite, and she looked to see the cause of his reaction. He and the newcomer had locked eyes on each other, and they looked like two wild animals ready to spring at each other.
“What is it, Thomas?”
Kade asked. “Do you know Mr. Phillips?”
“I know him, but his name’s not Phillips,” Mr. Brewster replied. “This is Corbin Rawlings, an agent from the Pinkerton agency in Denver.”
“And this is the man who killed my last partner,” Corbin replied evenly. “But he’s taken on the middle name of his former employer, I believe—whom he also killed.”
Chapter Nine
Too much had happened in the last few minutes for Cynthia to follow. She sank back into her chair, trying to sort through it, but Kade grabbed her arm and yanked her back up. “I want that notebook, and I want it now,” he hissed in her face, his grip on her arm so tight, she nearly cried out.
“I don’t have it,” she repeated. “I swear to you, I don’t.”
Kade brought his other hand back and slapped her sharply across the face. The impact stung and she gasped, but she brought her gaze back to his with defiance. “I don’t have it, and striking me won’t change that.”
Kade looked as though he would hit her again anyway, but then he shoved her back in her chair with a curse. A glance told her that Brewster was holding Corbin back from coming to her defense.
“We’ll search both rooms from top to bottom,” Kade told Brewster . . . or whatever his name really was. So many aliases had been floating around lately, Cynthia wasn’t sure she even remembered who she was anymore. “If the notebook doesn’t turn up, we’ll shoot her and see if that loosens his tongue.”
Brewster nodded. “Makes sense to me.”
Kade grabbed the ties that were holding back the curtains and yanked them from the fabric, then used them as ropes to tie Cynthia’s wrists and ankles to her chair. He pulled the straps so tight, they bit into her skin, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. Then he took the ties from the other window and used them to tie Corbin up similarly.
Brewster patted Corbin down once he was detained, pulling his lock-picking tools from one pocket and a small pistol from a side holster. “Well now,” he said, holding the items aloft. “You won’t need these anymore, will you? You might want them, but that’s entirely different.”
“So, you’re fleeing to Canada so you won’t be arrested for killing my partner?” Corbin asked. “Canada might be far enough away, but I doubt it.”
Brewster chuckled. “You don’t need to worry about my affairs any longer, Rawlings. Soon enough, you’ll be dead, and I’ll be a free man.” He glanced over at Cynthia. “And who’s this? Not actually your sister, I’d wager.”
“She came along to add to my cover,” Corbin said. Cynthia noticed that he neither confirmed nor denied the relationship.
“Well, you two sit tight. We’ll be back in a minute,” Kade told them. He and Brewster left the room, pulling the door closed tight and locking it.
As soon as they left, both Cynthia and Corbin started straining against their bonds, but they were too tight. Corbin bounced up and down in his chair a few times to see if he could get it to hop, but he wasn’t able to get it high enough off the floor to make it travel.
“You never told me you’d just lost a partner,” Cynthia said.
“I don’t even like to think about it, let alone speak of it,” Corbin replied. He blew out a breath. “It was about three weeks ago. He and I had been on the trail of an embezzler who was stealing money from his employer, a man who ran a manufacturing company. He made things for the government—that’s why it turned into a Pinkerton case instead of something for the regular police. His boss turned up dead—that was the real Edward Thomas Brewster—and we had evidence to arrest his killer for it, but when we moved in, he pulled a gun and shot my partner in the chest. I was able to tackle him to the side, but he hit me across the cheekbone with his pistol and ran off before I could get my bearings again. We launched an exhaustive search, but with no results, and I thought he was gone forever until I saw that name in the notebook.”
“And it didn’t make sense right away because it was an alias and not his actual name,” Cynthia replied. “And a middle name at that.”
“Correct. He shouldn’t have used ‘Thomas Brewster’—not only was that foolish, but it’s as though he thinks that murder was a joke, something to laugh about or brag about. It sickens me.”
Cynthia nodded. It did her, too. Murder was such a vile act. How could someone purposely, willfully take another’s life?
“I’m not pleased to be tied to this chair, but I’m very glad to know where Gar Holly is—that’s his real name, by the way. I like having all the loose ends tied up.”
“As I learned while waiting for you on the train platform,” Cynthia said teasingly. “It’s all right—I wouldn’t have it any other way. In case I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I admire you, Corbin Rawlings. A great deal.”
“Hmmm. I tell you I love you, I give you the very best kiss I’ve ever given anyone, and what I get in return is your admiration?”
“I said I was falling in love with you—isn’t that what you wanted? And wait a minute—just how many girls have you kissed?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Only enough to show me what I really want in a wife,” he answered at last.
“That was certainly a diplomatic answer.”
“I tried.”
Cynthia smiled. This banter was helping to keep her nerves from taking over, but in reality, they only had a few minutes until Kade and Brewster—Holly . . . whatever—returned, and they needed a plan. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
“We won’t know for sure until we see what they do,” Corbin replied. “If they just shoot us here in our chairs while we’re still tied up, we won’t have the chance to escape. However, if they untie us first so they can move us to a different location, that will give us more alternatives. Keep your eyes open and be alert for any possibility of escape. If you can pretend to faint or if you manage to wiggle free, take advantage and run.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “Listen to me, Cynthia. Don’t hesitate to get yourself away. I’ve gotten out of situations like this before, and I’ll have a much better chance of doing it again if I’m not worried about you.”
Leaving him behind was the very last thing she wanted to do, but she understood what he was saying. If leaving him meant increasing his chances of survival, she’d do it. And if that chance didn’t come or if they were shot in their chairs . . . Well, at least for the last few days of her life, she’d known what it was like to be loved.
***
The moment Corbin’s gaze had landed on Gar Holly, he’d wanted to rip his throat out. He’d never forget watching the light leave his partner’s eyes, knowing he was dead. And Gar had laughed—he’d actually laughed, as though killing someone was great amusement. All Corbin knew now was that he and Cynthia had to escape somehow—Gar couldn’t get away again.
He hoped Cynthia understood the importance of what he’d told her, that she needed to get away at all costs. Corbin didn’t know what he’d need to do in order to escape, and he neither wanted Cynthia involved or for her to see. He had plenty enough images burned in his brain he wished he could forget, and he didn’t want her to start building up a collection of her own.
Kade and Gar returned to the room sullen-faced and began ripping it apart. They were so thorough that they even sliced open the bed. At last, they stopped their search, and Kade placed the tip of his blade at Cynthia’s throat.
“I was going to threaten to shoot you, but there’s something so poetic about a knife,” he said, his voice almost soothing. “Tell me where the notebook is, and I will not leave a long, jagged scar down your pretty face.”
Corbin wouldn’t have blamed Cynthia for giving in to the threat, but she only set her jaw and refused to speak.
“Really? Well, that’s a shame. Agent Rawlings, how would you like us to proceed? I’ll leave her unscathed if you come clean right now. Otherwise, I’ll start at the left ear and make a broad motion over to the right. The knife’s quite sharp—it
will only take a few seconds.”
Corbin weighed his options, but there weren’t many to weigh. He knew that whatever he said or did, Kade was out for blood and he wouldn’t be dissuaded from spilling it. And he already knew that Gar enjoyed killing.
“You won’t find your book no matter how many beds you destroy,” he said at long last. “It’s no longer here.”
“What?” Kade’s face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. “How is that possible?”
Corbin shrugged. “It just is.” He knew this information wouldn’t save their lives, but he wanted to see Kade’s reaction before he was killed.
“Who has it? How did it leave this building?”
Corbin shrugged again. He’d said all he was going to say.
Kade turned to Gar. “We have to find that book, and we have to dispose of these two.” He slammed his hand down on the table and swore. “Do you realize what you’ve done, Agent? What you’ve destroyed? Well, you won’t be around to enjoy the fruits of your labors, will you?” He pulled his gun from beneath his jacket and trained it on Corbin. “Goodbye, Agent Rawlings. So sorry that we didn’t have the chance to get better acquainted.”
Just then, Corbin heard loud voices coming from the hallway, and the door burst inward. Kade looked up, startled, but he didn’t lower his gun as several uniformed police officers poured into the room, followed by Harold Carlson.
“Come any closer and I’ll shoot him,” Kade told them.
“Now, that’s not exactly how this works,” Harold said. He ambled toward the center of the room, where Gar stood looking completely overwhelmed. “See—I’ve got my gun pointed at your man now. We’re even except for one thing. I brought a bunch of my friends.” He nodded at the police officers. “What say you put down your gun and we end this?”
Corbin glanced at Cynthia. She still looked afraid, but she also looked determined, and he knew that she was bracing herself for whatever came next. Good girl.
Kade looked around the room. There was clearly no escape for him—he was finished no matter what. He slowly bent down and placed his gun and his knife on the floor, then put his hands behind his head.
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