The Detective’s Brother: The Blackthorn Detective Agency, #1

By Rebecca Lovell

When tragedy befalls the only female detective in the Blackthorn Agency, it falls to Simon Creed to fulfill her dying wish of finding her half-brother, Quinn Donohue. Upon learning his whereabouts in the mountains of Colorado,Creed invites him to Texas to claim his sister's estate. 
 

Quinn Donohue isn't a man at all, much to Simon's chagrin. But she is able to convince him to let her fill her sister's shoes at the agency. It doesn't take long for Creed to discover Quinn's secret, but she has a long way to go before she discovers his. Quinn taking a bullet to save Creed's life makes the two acknowledge the feelings each has for the other, but can they solve the mystery of who is trying to kill Creed before they are torn apart forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frozen Flame Press
• Release date: Jan 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393797869

Book preview

Chapter 1

It wasn't so much that bullets were flying every which way; they were all used to that. It was more that for every bullet that seemed to go astray, three more came directly at the heads of Simon Creed and his team. Luckily, he'd gotten good at dodging them. It still didn't explain why someone seemed to be shooting right at him, especially since their case had involved a relatively peaceful and straightforward, if somewhat shady, land dispute.

McHenry! Creed shouted in the general direction of the fire, with his back pressed against the tree that was affording him cover. His voice, which seemed ill-suited for speaking so loudly, carried easily despite its hoarseness. You all right?

Fine, came the reply from behind the cattleman's wagon, which was now sporting a number of bullet holes. Ducked down just in the nick of time!

Good. Douglas?

Over here, a woman's voice called. Apart from being shot at, I'm all right. What's going on, anyway? What happened? In spite of their situation, Creed was sure he could hear a smile in her voice. What did you do this time?

Before he could tell her that this wasn't the time for her particular brand of sarcasm, a bullet pinged off the bark of the tree close enough to his face to make his ear burn with the noise. He knew he needed to get to more effective cover, and quickly. Judging from the direction their voices had come, Douglas was to his left and McHenry to his right. From the volume, he knew Douglas was the closer of the two and tried to picture the scene in his head. If he remembered correctly, the woman should be behind the edge of the barn. Deciding that this was the best way to go, he swung around from behind the tree and acted like he was running toward the wagon, then changed his mind at the last second and ran for the barn.

His ruse worked; whoever was shooting at him fired where he should have been instead of where he was, giving Creed enough time to dart behind the barn and out of the line of fire. A woman wearing a dark blue jacket over a brown skirt stood with one hand on her gun and the other on her hip, shaking her head with a half-amused smile.

I didn't do anything, he said, flipping open the chamber of his revolver to check how many rounds he had left. In the chaos of the surprise attack, the number had disappeared into his mind. There were two bullets left, and he fumbled replacements out of the inside pocket of his coat.

And yet, Josephine Douglas said, her voice trembling as if she was trying to hold back laughter, here we are. Creed opened his mouth to protest further, and she let her own revolver fall against her leg. In case you haven't noticed, they're shooting at you.

I had, actually, he replied, snapping shut the refilled chamber. Doesn't mean I know why they're doing it. Nodding toward the wagon, he peered around the corner carefully. We probably ought to get your partner out of there, he said.

I have to agree, Douglas said. I'd hate to have to break in a new one. She went to the other side of the barn and followed Creed's lead, moving out of the shelter of the barn just enough to make sure he could hear her voice. Shane! As soon as you can, come over here with us so we can get out of here!

I'd love to, McHenry shouted. But I'm a little busy.

Oh, for Heaven's sake. Douglas swung out from behind the barn and took aim, then fired a shot toward the top of the rancher's house. Whether it hit was unknown, but the yard was still again long enough for her partner to duck his head and run to meet her. Thank you for joining us, Mr. McHenry. Will you be requiring a drink or cigar?

Funny, Jo. You're a regular laugh a minute. Shane McHenry, a slight man with a tidy mustache, was wearing the sort of suit and tie that wouldn't have been out of place behind a bank counter. Douglas loved to tease him about it whenever possible, though not nearly as much as she enjoyed baiting Creed. Still an independent woman at 32, she wasn’t quite ready to settle down but didn’t let her relationships interfere with her work, something that suited her teammates just fine.

Now that we're both here, Creed said, talking over the comeback that Douglas was no doubt planning, let's work on figuring out a way to get to our horses instead of turning this into a spectacle. Miraculously, the pair did as he asked and started searching for a way to clear a path to the house where their horses were tied.

Since Douglas' bullet stopped the assault for a moment, they could only assume that she'd either shot or come close to shooting whoever was aiming at them, and that gave them a little breathing room to run to the house. After another quick look around the edge of the barn, he also knew there was no easy way to do it. If she hadn’t killed the man, he would start shooting again soon, and they’d be out in the open.

The only real cover between here and the house is the tree I was behind earlier, he said. Our best bet is to run for it and separate at the tree. Gives him three moving targets instead of one.

Wonderful, Douglas said with a sigh. That way only one of us gets shot.

If you've got a better plan, I'd love to hear it, said Creed, and Douglas held up a hand to stop him before he got started. Right. You and McHenry run first. I'll take another shot at the guy to try and stall him, then catch up with you.

Shall we, Ma'am? McHenry indicated that the lady should lead, and she folded her arms over her chest.

So, you want me to go first?

I don't care which one of you goes first, but one of you needs to do it. Creed looked impatiently at his two detectives, and they moved to the edge of the barn. It was still silent, and the three shared a glance. Creed raised his revolver and motioned them forward. They darted out from behind the barn at the same time, but no shots came, so Creed dropped his gun and ran after them. At the tree, McHenry broke left, and Douglas went right. When he reached it, Creed followed McHenry.

The black clothes he was wearing allowed Creed to blend in during the evening but made for a serious disadvantage in the light of day when they turned him into a dark, moving target. He pulled ahead of McHenry, who fell behind and, he hopped out of the way. As he did, he quickly scanned the roof but saw nothing.

A single shot rang out, and Creed had a moment to feel a surge of relief that he hadn't been hit before he turned to look back to see Douglas standing in the middle of the yard with a strange look on her face. McHenry had stopped just shy of the house and was staring at her, his eyes wide. Creed's first thought was to tell him to get out of the way before he got shot, but no other bullets came their way. Then Douglas stumbled forward a few steps, held a hand out and looked at it curiously.

Douglas? She turned her eyes to Creed and reached out to him, the tiny frown on her face completely at odds with what he was used to from her. When he saw the bright red blood on her palm, he broke into a run, but not in time to catch her before she crumpled to the ground. Douglas!

McHenry reached her first and fell to his knees, not caring, for once, that he was getting dust on his suit. He pushed her fallen hat aside and turned her over carefully, and Creed saw she had a hand pressed to her chest, a dark stain spreading past the breadth of it. Creed knelt beside her. Her eyes moved from one man to the other, but she didn't seem to be able to speak.

Jo, McHenry managed, his voice shaking. Jesus, look at this. At a loss for what else he was supposed to do, he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her mouth. Blood was running from the corner of it and dripping onto her neck. He looked up at Creed, and for the first time Creed realized just how young the detective was. What are we supposed to do for her?

Find him, a weak voice said, drawing their attention back to Douglas. Please.

The man who did this? You're damn right we will, said McHenry, trying to smile at her. He can't be far from here, and we didn't see any other horses. If one of us goes now—

No, Douglas said, an odd wheezing sound accompanying her voice, No, not him. It took Creed a minute to realize that the sound was her breathing, and when it hit him, he knew there was nothing else he could do for her.

Who do you want us to find? Douglas' eyes slid over to his face, and she managed a tiny shake of her head.

You, she said, her free hand motioning to Creed. Has to be you.

All right, Creed said. I'll do it. But tell me who I'm supposed to be finding. Instead of a reply, she touched the pocket of her jacket lightly. The effort seemed to be too much for her, and her hand fell back onto the ground.

My brother, she said, her chest heaving as she tried to draw breath. Please?

Of course, Creed replied with a nod, and Douglas smiled.

Thank you. One more thing? Her voice was so small he could barely hear it, and Creed frowned, leaning in more closely. Using what seemed to be the last of her strength, she sat up just enough to kiss him on the cheek. Drawing back as if her lips had scalded him, he stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. Try, she said, her voice faltering for a moment, to smile sometimes?

Creed felt like he should say something. Unfortunately, nothing he came up with would be of any help, so he remained silent and reached for her hand. Before he could take it, her head fell back against McHenry's arm, and her chest was still. The dark green eyes, so often smirking or challenging him, stared up at the late-day sun blindly, and he moved his hand up instead to close them.

While McHenry broke down into unashamed tears, Creed searched her pockets until he found a folded envelope in one of them. It was an unassuming white envelope addressed to her from someone named Beatrice Douglas, who he figured had to be her mother because she'd always said she was an only child. Knowing Douglas would not sit up and stop him from doing so, he took out the letter and read it slowly.

The sooner he got started, the less time he'd have to think about all this.

Chapter 2

On a farm just outside of Denver, a man on horseback rode along the fence line and stopped at the gate where a woman in a blue dress, who looked to be in her late 30s, was picking beans off a vine that snaked around one of the posts. She looked out from beneath the wide brim of her straw hat to see who it was, then smiled.

Good afternoon, Joe. What brings you out here?

Afternoon, Mrs. Donahue. Got a letter here. Joe handed an envelope over the fence to her, and she took it, frowning.

Really? Who'd be writing to Quinn?

Can't say as I know. His horse nibbled at the grass outside the gate, and Joe nodded at the vines. What've you got there?

Runner beans, Mary Donahue said, glancing downward. I have no idea how they made it all the way up here from the back, but once winter comes, I'll pull them up. No use in doing it now when they're producing so nicely. She tucked the envelope into her apron. Thank you, Joe.

Not a problem. Say hello to Quinn for me. He tipped his hat at her and kicked his horse, who grudgingly left behind its meal and started back down the path. Mary watched him until he disappeared halfway down the hill on which her house stood, then turned and shielded her eyes. In response to her call, a horse and rider came from around the back of the house, backlit by the sun.

There was a woman on the horse's back, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy arrangement that spoke of getting it off her neck and out of her way while she was doing other things. In one hand she held the horse's reins and in the other was a revolver. The older woman sighed and stood up from her place by the fence as the younger rode over, a curious look on her face.

What've you got?

It's a good thing Joe didn't see you with that gun, said her mother. Isn't it bad enough that you ride around like a man without dressing like one half the time?

I can't very well check the fence line in a bustle and corset, the young woman said impatiently. Though I'm sure the coyotes would think it was amusing. Who's sending you a letter? She nodded at the envelope, and Mary handed it to her.

No one. They're sending it to you.

Me? Quinn raised her eyebrows and tucked the barrel of the revolver in the waistband of her jeans before she took the letter. I don't know anyone who would send me a letter. She frowned and flipped the envelope over. There was no return address, but the postmark was from Fort Worth, Texas. Especially anyone in Texas.

Well, apparently someone knows you. Planning to open that anytime soon, or were you going to stare at it the rest of the day? Mary watched her pull open the envelope, then went back to picking the last of the beans while her daughter read her mail.

In reality, Quinn was only pretending to read it. She'd never received a piece of mail and was too fascinated with the mechanics of the thing to speed through it. Handwriting, sharp and angular, filled half a piece of cream-colored paper with The Blackthorn Agency printed across the top. The sweeps of ink indicated the use of a fountain pen, and she followed their points with fascination for several moments before deciding she'd better start reading before her mother started teasing her. Quinn was a fast reader, and it would have been strange for her to spend too much time over it. As she read, a wrinkle started between her brows and grew deeper the further she went.

---

Mr. Donahue,

I regret to inform you that your sister, Josephine Douglas, passed away almost two months ago. Her last request was that I find you, her younger brother, which proved to be harder than expected but not outside the scope of my abilities. However, I also must inform you that she left you the entirety of her estate here in Fort Worth, which includes a small amount of property and a significant amount of money. You are required to come here to claim it, at which time you can decide if you want to keep the house or sell it. I have included a train ticket to lighten the burden on you and would appreciate a telegram notifying me of the date and time you will arrive. You may give them the name of the Blackthorn Agency, and we will gladly pay the cost of the telegram.

---

Your sister was a fine woman and will be greatly missed by the community. You have my condolences on your loss, sir.

Sincerely

Simon Creed

---

I have a sister? Quinn stared first at the paper in disbelief, then turned to her mother. Ma? Is there something you haven't told me? Mary looked guiltily at her daughter and sighed, motioning for her to follow her into the house.

There's quite a bit I haven't told you, she said. Come put up the horse, and we'll talk. Still holding the letter, Quinn rode around to the small barn and dismounted. She unsaddled her horse in record time and tossed a few flakes of hay into her stall before hurrying toward the house, nearly tripping over a stray chicken in the process.

A sister, she thought, pausing by the pump at the back of the house to give it a few pushes. Cold water rushed out, and she rubbed her hands under it, then splashed some on her face. I have a sister. The thought made her smile until she remembered that the reason she'd received the letter at all was because her sister had passed away. Somber once more, Quinn dried her hands on her jeans and climbed the steps to the back porch. When she went inside after kicking the mud off her boots, Mary was searching through the cabinets above the counter in the kitchen.

The coffee's in the pantry, Quinn said. The actual coffee, not the money in the coffee tin you think you're hiding from me. Mary looked over her shoulder at her daughter with narrowed eyes as she continued to search, and Quinn pulled a chair out and sat down at the rough wooden table. You told me Father died, she said accusingly, unable to keep quiet a moment longer.

I lied, Mary replied quietly. In fact, I've lied a great many times since the day I found out you were growing inside me. First to everyone in California, then to the good people here in Denver, and to you all your life.

I never meant for such a thing to happen. You must believe me, Mary said, putting a kettle on the stove. I met him when I was scarcely a child myself, only 16. He was older and much more interesting than anyone I'd ever met. We got along well and, as you can imagine, one thing led to another. She studiously avoided looking at her daughter, as if she could feel her gaze on her back. I fully expected he would marry me, and we would be a family. Instead, he gave me a large amount of money and said he'd return for us later.

He never did, Quinn said, shaking her head. She wanted to ask her mother how she could have been so naïve but couldn't bring herself. Ever since she was a little girl, Mary had taught her not to believe the best of people, and now Quinn knew why.

No. In my heart, it didn't take me long to realize he wasn't coming back, but I held out hope. Then you were born, and people started talking. Mary shook her head. Honestly, I didn't care what they thought about me, but I couldn't bear thinking of what people might call you before you were even old enough to understand why. I moved us here, told everyone I was a widow, and haven't heard anything else about it until now.

So, my father is alive somewhere? The wood in the stove caught fire with a bright orange crackle, and Mary nodded slowly before she turned back to her daughter.

For all I know, he could still be back in California. She gave Quinn a tight smile. Thankfully your grandparents were dead before I shamed them with all of this. They were Catholic; they wouldn't have stood for my staying in their home or I would have had to give you up. For the first time since she started talking, Mary smiled. Even with everything that's happened, I wouldn't change it. She reached across the table and put a hand on Quinn's. I couldn't have asked for a finer daughter.

Quinn squeezed her mother's hand, then took out the letter and passed it across the table. Do you know anything about a man named Creed?

Creed? She took out the letter and read it. No, I've never heard the name. Nor have I heard of this Blackthorn Agency. I wonder how they found you, she mused.

Well, there's nothing for it, Quinn said, refolding the letter and putting it back in the envelope. And no sense wasting the ticket, either. I'll just have to go to Fort Worth and meet with this Mr. Creed. She looked back at her mother. Are you sure you'll be able to get by without me for a little while?

I'm perfectly capable of milking a cow and feeding a few chickens on my own, thank you, said her mother. Quinn thought she detected a hint of sarcasm. In any case, you should take as much time as you need. However, she said, her voice becoming serious again, If you decide you want to try and contact your father, please don't be too hurt if he shuts the door in your face or ignores you completely.

To be honest, Ma, I don't know that I'd ever care to find him. I'm more interested in finding out about my sister. She stood up from the table. I'm going to take Belle into town and send this Mr. Creed a telegram, then I'll be back home to pack my things.

All right. I'll be sure and have dinner ready for you when you come home. Would you be so good as to bring me a bag of cornmeal? There's enough for cornbread, but we'll be out after. The kettle on the stove was boiling, and Quinn nodded on her way to the door. There was a slouch hat on the rack by the door, and she pulled her tangled hair down and tied it back with a leather thong so it would fit underneath the hat. It fell halfway down her back, and she thought absently that it was time to have her mother give it a trim. As she went out to the barn again, her thoughts wandered in a completely different direction.

A sister, she thought. I can't believe it. All this time, I had the one thing I always wanted, and she's gone before I ever got a chance to meet her. Quinn re-saddled the confused horse and led it out of the barn before mounting up. Josephine, she reminded herself. Her name was Josephine. A crushing sense of melancholy overcame her as she let herself out the gate. She'd only found out about her sister an hour ago, but she already felt as if she'd suffered a tremendous loss.

She wasn't sure that it was possible to miss someone you'd never met, but if it was, Quinn was certain this was how it felt. She also knew that as soon as she got to Fort Worth and set foot in the city where her sister had once lived, this feeling would only intensify. A rush of anger toward her father suddenly replaced part of her sadness. Despite what her mother had said, a bit of her wanted to hunt him down, grab him by the shoulders, and shake him until he told her why he would do this to her.

The sun was going down over the Rocky Mountains, and its rays colored the sky a deep, rich orange. It was a sight she'd seen every evening since she was old enough to go outside with her mother, and, at the same time she thought about how much she wanted to see what was left of Josephine's life in Texas, she knew she would miss this. Out of all the things Quinn didn't understand about this, the one that bothered her the most was why she felt as if this was the last time she'd see it.

Chapter 3

T elegram for you, Mr. Creed.

Creed looked up from the papers he was working on to see a young man holding out an envelope to him.

Thanks, he said, standing up just long enough to take it from him. He reached into his pocket and took out a coin, handing it to the courier in its place. The young man tipped his hat to him and left Creed to open the envelope.

---

Mr. Creed

Received your letter. Will meet in Fort Worth as requested.

Quinn Donahue

---

He put the telegram back in its envelope and tossed it on his desk. It was done. It had taken awhile, searching birth certificates and tracing the trail Douglas had started, to find her brother, but he’d found a record of Mary Donahue buying land in Colorado and had the feeling she was Quinn’s mother. He wasn’t 100 percent certain, but certain enough to write the letter, and his hunch had paid off.

All he had