An Agent for Victoria

by Kate Marie Clark

  Sophie tucked the pouch of crystals into her dress. “At last I can relax; the diamonds are accounted for. Now, about Larsen.” She walked to his side. “What’s your angle?”

  Mav straightened. “My angle? I already told you. I heard something on the beach.”

  “Yes, the police or whoever it was you notified.” Sophie sighed. “I did hope you’d turn out to be better than the last few men I employed. The pink diamond was so encouraging.” She touched Alastair’s shoulder. “I don’t think there’s anything else he could say to convince me to keep him. This one is yours.”

  Alastair sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s move it outside then.”

  Sophie lifted her chin. “However you prefer. I don’t particularly enjoy the sight of blood. I’ll watch from the doorway.”

  Alastair flicked his head toward the door. “Move, Larsen.”

  Mav stood, and Victoria bolted behind a bush. Alastair wouldn’t shoot, Victoria was sure of it, but how would he get out of this one?

  Mav repressed laughing. Sophie was sending Alastair to finish the job? Had the woman lost her mind? Mav had Alastair by a few inches and at least fifty pounds of muscle—not to mention experience and motive. If Sophie told the truth, and Alastair had in fact murdered Victoria, Mav would have more than a few reasons to turn them both into the police. There was no contest if it came down to it. But Mav had a few aces up his sleeve that he planned to pull.

  Alastair shooed him onto the beach. His mix of blond and red hair stood on end in the wind, making his head look even smaller. One fist could easily knock his front teeth out.

  “So you disposed of Victoria?” Mav asked, gritting his teeth.

  Alastair’s hand trembled. “Not now. Stand straight and face the beach, Jones.”

  Mav folded his arms. Jones? What had Victoria told Alastair? “If I’m to die, might as well go on my own terms.”

  With his back facing Sophie, Alastair shook his head. “Not what you think, Jones,” he whispered.

  A dark shadow moved across the beach, followed by another. Mav squinted just as the moonlight lit the face of the first one. His anger lifted in an instant and hoped washed over him like the waves in the distance threatened to do. The rounded helmet next to Victoria told him everything he needed to know and do. Somehow, despite his directive to return to Denver, she’d stayed. Victoria had gained a true confidant in Alastair, and together they’d nearly ensured the case; Mav only needed to coax confession.

  Mav lifted his voice. “The police’ll be awaiting your return to the emporium, Sophie. Killing me ain’t gonna change that.”

  “The police?” She started forward. Her laughter rung across the night sky. “I’ve dealt with Marty enough; we’ve come to a mutual understanding.”

  Mav shook his head. “I ain’t talking about Marty. I’m talking about the ones that you haven’t paid off—Officers Conley, Moore, and Talbot. Selling stolen and smuggled goods is a federal offense, Sophie. The pouch of diamonds in your breast pocket is as good as any proof.”

  “And what of your involvement?” Sophie lifted one brow. “I have a pink diamond that you stole from Miss Lotta Crabtree. Shall I tell the police about that too?”

  Mav threw his head back and sighed. “A small detail compared to your pouch. Besides, I’ve already recovered the diamond and sent it back to Lotta with my apologies. I think she’ll understand when I tell her it was used for official police business, especially when news of your acts are displayed in the paper. Just why did you start selling illegal goods—the money, the thrill, revenge?”

  “Shoot, Alastair.” Sophie stepped closer. “Or I will.”

  Alastair gripped the gun. His eyes darted from Mav to Sophie. Mav could see, even in the darkness, that his cheeks were flushed. Alastair’s lips puckered, and he inhaled sharply. He turned the gun on Sophie. “No, answer him.”

  Sophie scowled. “What on—”

  “Answer,” Alastair said. His arm shook, and his eyes leaked moisture.

  Sophie pursed her lips. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling a silver comb loose. She examined it, and the sharp edge—or blade of it—shimmered in the moonlight. “But you already know why, Alastair. Money, of course.” She thrust the comb at her brother.

  Mav rushed forward, narrowly knocking it away. “Then you admit you sell stolen goods, smuggled goods, in your emporium?”

  She smiled. “You already know I do. Why are you trying to make me say it aloud?” Her smile faded as she searched the darkness. “Who’s there?”

  Mav moved to lock Sophie’s arms together with his hands. “Only Officer Conley and my partner—Agent Victoria Jones.”

  The two figures emerged from the other side of a bush, Conley with his handcuffs.

  Relief flooded Mav. To see her here, in one piece. He grinned, locking eyes with her. “You disobeyed my orders, Jones.”

  She put her hands to her hips. “I thought you said rules were only guidelines, Jones.”

  Mav chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  Officer Conley shackled Sophie’s hands. “I’ve been waiting for this day for over three years.” He wiped his mustache, which had grown soggy and sandy from the wet beach, and turned to Alastair. “I hope you won’t mind coming in. I’ll need you for questioning.”

  “Will you be arresting me too?” he asked.

  “Possibly.” Officer Conley pulled Sophie by the arm toward the forest and back into the direction of the carriage. “But I’ll keep in mind your assistance in your sister’s capture. The judge is more lenient in such cases.”

  Victoria stood at Mav’s side. Her dress was torn down the center seam, her underslip dirtied and brown. Her hair was matted to her sides. She looked as cut up as Mav had felt moments earlier, when he worried he’d lost her forever.

  “Why didn’t you leave?” Mav asked. His arms ached to hold her and tell her how happy he was to see her, but he held back, waiting.

  Her eyes were misty, and Mav wondered if they were tears or overspray of the ocean. “We’re partners, aren’t we?”

  Officer Conley, already halfway through the trees with Sophie and Alastair, blew his whistle to alert the other two officers.

  Mav startled. “Found the police and everything, but how did you find me?”

  Victoria pointed to the trees. “Alastair left clues. He really is a good person, Mav.”

  A mixture of relief and humor overtook him, and he laughed until he had to bend at the hips to catch his breath. “Victoria Jones, you haven’t stopped surprising me since the moment I met you. Turns out your sympathy ended up winning us the case. Shall we see to the end of this case, together?” He held out his hand to her in question.

  She nodded, and a shy smile spread across her cheeks. She bent to retrieve Sophie’s comb and then took his hand. “Together.”

  12

  Mav opened the door before she had a chance to answer. Victoria shook her head. “I don’t know why you bother knocking at all.”

  He grinned and lifted his hat. “I figured you ought to be ready by now. The train leaves in just over an hour.”

  “Nearly. Just taking a cup of tea.” She turned to the kitchen and took the kettle from the burner and poured two cups. “How do you like your tea? With lemon?”

  He scrunched his nose. “I don’t much know.”

  Victoria bit back a smile. She rather liked the look of confusion across his features. She set the cups on the table. “Now that we’ve solved our first case, I thought we might discuss our plan moving forward.”

  “Moving forward? You mean you’re still up for being an agent?” Mav asked.

  Victoria took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes as she swallowed. The liquid nearly burned her throat. “Of course—now more than ever. I figure you recognize what I bring to the table now, and maybe you’ll listen to some of my ideas next go around.”

  He sat in the chair and fiddled with the cup. “Perhaps.”

  “Can you admit that without me, you might never have sol
ved the case, let alone survived?”

  Mav choked on the tea. He set the cup down hard, nearly smashing it. “Survived? Now, now. Without you, Mrs. Jones,” he said, leaning across the table. “I’d never have gotten in that mess.”

  “Never have gotten into that mess?” She huffed. “I’d like to know how my presence—unknown to you at the time—forced you to pull a gun on Sophie.”

  Mav swallowed, the ball of his throat rising and falling. His expression softened, and he fell to the back of his chair. “Alastair said you were ‘disposed of’. I thought they’d hurt you, that you were…”

  “Dead?” Victoria’s shoulders caved forward.

  He closed his mouth and gave a slight nod.

  Longing rose in her stomach. She wanted to smooth the crease near his lips, calm the sea storming across his eyes. He’d held her hand last night as they walked the coast back to Fisherman’s Wharf. They’d hardly spoken, but Victoria had sensed something more than relief in his touch. She’d seen his protectiveness before, but she’d never imagined it stemmed from affection.

  “I broke cover because of you,” Mav explained.

  To her surprise, Victoria rose to her feet. The movement was clumsy and hurried, and she feared it revealed how much his words affected her. She glanced out the window. “Well, thankfully things worked out.”

  Mav’s chair slid across the floor, and he stood. His steps were soft, and he stopped behind her.

  Victoria didn’t—couldn’t—look back, but she heard—felt—his every movement.

  “I hoped that would mean something to you.” Mav’s voice was low. He cleared his throat. “In my six years as an agent, that ain’t never happened before.”

  “Mistakes are made. It’s no matter.” She swallowed.

  His hand touched her side, and he spun her to face him. “Was it?”

  Her eyes widened, and she shrugged. “Was it…what?”

  “A mistake?”

  Victoria took a shaky breath. “Perhaps things worked out best. Sophie is in custody, the police have their evidence, Alastair is free of his sister’s dominion at last, and we can return to Denver.”

  His lips parted into a large grin, one that covered his stubbly cheeks and lighted his eyes. His lashes tangled at the corner like a child’s. Mav put his other arm around her. “You don’t make it easy, Mrs. Jones. I’m trying to tell you something.”

  She melted under his touch. His taunting eyes and soft lips burned into her gaze, and she struggled to keep her mind. He was bent over her, and his lips were an unsafe distance away—mere inches. She pressed a hand to his chest. “Tell me then.”

  Soft laughter rose from his lips, and he gathered an arm tighter at her waist, lifting the other hand to cradle the back of her head. “I ain’t never been one to speak well.”

  “Try.” Her voice came out raspy and below a whisper.

  Mav’s eyes met hers. For once, his defenses seemed gone, and the characteristic glint of danger in his eyes disappeared. He leaned his head against hers and released a slow breath. “Victoria, I’m afraid you made off with something that wasn’t yours again, little snake.”

  Her eyes glued to his lips, the way they rose with each word he spoke and the hint of humor on his cheeks. Her heart rose to her throat, beating wildly. “Alastair’s pistol?”

  His mouth spread into a smile once more. “No, you silly woman—my heart.”

  “Oh.” Heat suffused her face, and she pushed to her toes, effectively closing the gap between them.

  The kiss—so perfect and dreamy and sweet—ended with the chime of the wall clock.

  Victoria jumped backward, knocking against the window pane. “The train.”

  Mav pulled her back into his embrace. “The train can wait for one more kiss.”

  Archie paced the length of the desk, turning his watch in his hand. “I hadn’t expected to see you both so soon. My sister and Mav—the first partnership to arrive back in Denver… Marianne informs me you’ve completed the case, put Mrs. Kemp behind bars and likely her brother—the client in this case.” He shook his head. “Every family has their set of issues, I s’pose. Glad to see my sister’s alive.”

  Victoria exhaled. “We made quite the team, Archie.”

  Mav scratched the back of his neck, then folded his arms; he couldn’t hold still. Archie wouldn’t take the news well. In fact, knowing Mav’s employer’s fiery tendencies, Archie might throw a punch at the news of Mav and Victoria’s wedded bliss.

  “Well, Mav, how’d she do?” Archie’s lips twisted into a smirk. “Happy to see you didn’t kill each other. Victoria’s a handful, and you—you’re more pigheaded than a train. How’d you manage her?”

  Victoria covered her mouth, but Mav heard the muffled laughter.

  Mav had fought with the worst of criminals, yet standing in front of Archie—about to plead his case for Victoria’s hand indefinitely—was the most dangerous mission he’d ever attempted. He folded his arms. “We was well enough.”

  Archie’s left eye flinched. “And what does that mean?”

  “We got on.”

  “Not too well, I hope…?” Archie planted his feet, surveying Mav. His eyes transformed into slits.

  Mav’s lips parted, but he hesitated. His shoulders shrugged forward. “We got on as partners do, and…”

  Victoria stood. “Mav did well working his way into Sophie’s recognition. Why, he even stole a pink diamond for the—”

  “I’m not talking about that just now, Torie.” Archie’s voice was low and scratchy, and he cracked his knuckles. “Did you, or did you not, keep your promise to me? Victoria, did Mav lay a finger on you during your case?”

  “A finger?” She tapped a finger against her lip, seeming to contemplate. Then a shy smile spread across her cheeks. “No, not a finger in particular. His lips, though, were an entirely different story.”

  Mav groaned and dropped his face into his hands; he was ruined.

  Archie growled.

  A stack of papers came swooshing to Mav’s lap. He shot up, meeting the angry gaze of the most notorious agent West of the Mississippi—Archie Gordon.

  Archie spoke between clenched teeth, resembling a dragon. “Mav Jones. Tell me my sister’s fibbing.”

  Mav shuffled toward the door. “Now, Archie. Your sister don’t have a single scratch. I kept my promise of keeping her safe”—he paused, gulping—“virtue and all.”

  “And your lips?” Archie asked.

  Mav tilted his head from side to side. “Might have met hers a time or two. For the record, I’m in love with her, and I don’t want the annul—”

  Archie threw a clean jab across the table, knocking Mav to the floor. Mav’s world went black for a brief moment, but Mav was well aware of Victoria’s whimpering and the way she rushed to his side. Mav rolled to his side, clutching his jaw. He opened his mouth, moving his jaw up and down. At least the bone wasn’t shattered; his luck hadn’t run out entirely.

  “How could you?” Victoria screamed at her brother hovering over Mav. She showered Mav’s jaw with kisses. “Has he hurt you badly?”

  The door swung open, and Marianne came running in. “I heard the racket. What’s happened?”

  Archie grinned. “Just welcoming Mav into the family, like a responsible older brother should.”

  “Then you…” Marianne looked to Victoria and Mav. She squealed, nearly tripping over the mess of figures on the floor. “Congratulations, Mouse and Mav!”

  Mav pulled himself to a stand. “At least one of you knows how to celebrate correctly.”

  Archie grinned and offered his hand. When Mav shook it, Archie’s hand clamped tight. “No funny business with my sister, or you’ll be heading straight to the calaboose.”

  Victoria stepped between them, effectively breaking through their hands, and threw her arms around Mav’s neck. “Oh, I’ll take care of my brother. You mustn’t worry, Mav.”

  Mav exhaled. The fire spouting from Archie’s gaze wasn’t likely to
die down any time soon. He needed the protection of a partner, now more than ever. He looked down at Victoria—the glint of mischief in her eyes and the perfect shape of her lips. Mav grinned. He’d spent his whole life courting trouble; why would he expect anything different? Why would he want anything different?

  Heat spread across Mav’s chest, and a streak of rebellion overtook his momentary nerves. He took Victoria in his arms and spun her around the room, making sure to knock her feet against Archie.

  Archie retreated back a step. “Not in my office, Mav Jones.”

  Mav slowed to a stop, dipping Victoria dramatically. He lifted his chin to meet Archie’s grumpy expression. “Would you expect any different?”

  Then, Mav planted a salacious kiss on his bride, making sure Archie had a clear vision of their impassioned lip-lock. Mav scooped her up when his legs grew weak from balancing her across them, and their kiss ended only when he broke for air.

  Victoria wobbled, placing her hands and head against his chest. Her hair was disheveled, and the skin around her lips reddened from the exertion. “Shall you be granting us a small break before our next case, Archie—perhaps for a honeymoon?”

  Archie’s nose pinched, and he averted his gaze. “Take however long you need.” His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he swallowed, as if he’d just eaten a rotten fish. “As long as you don’t ever make such a display in my presence again.”

  Mav threw his head back and laughed. Perhaps he’d enjoy making Archie squirm. He squeezed Victoria around the waist, and his laughter fell to a soft smile; he’d most definitely enjoy being married to Victoria.

  About the Author

  For a complete list of Kate Marie Clark’s books or to sign up for her newsletter, visit katemarieclark.com