An Agent for Laurel: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #20

By Lynn Donovan

Laurel Wellington will do anything to get out of the family business. When her father demands she infiltrate the Pinkerton National Detective Agency as a spy to locate an artifact of his interest, she agrees. For her, it's an opportunity for freedom.

 

Ransom Williams has been a Pinkerton Agent, a man of honor, and loyal to the company for seven years. But those attributes are put to the test when he learns his next assignment includes training and protecting a new female recruit by marrying her.

 

How can Laurel gain her freedom if Ransom finds out she and her father are the very thieves he's looking for? Can she choose between duty to her father— and duty to her husband? With so many lies between them, how can she possibly continue as a Pinkerton agent?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Nov 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223794011

Book preview

image-placeholder

Laurel Wellington steadied her breathing as the Pinkerton Mansion loomed just ahead. Soon she would present herself as an operative candidate to the agency under the guise of Laurel Robinson. Using her mother’s maiden name would disassociate her from her father. His idea, not hers.

Advertised as highly-moral and upstanding private detectives, she knew their legendary yet secretive missions had saved the very lives of such pivotal people as President Abraham Lincoln and other high ranking officers of the government. Even though she couldn’t be among the first lady Pinkertons in the Denver office, that deadline had long since passed, her father had learned she still had a chance. The application process had been extended for as long as Mr. Archibald Gordon, the Denver Office’s head agent, had seasoned agents to pair with the new recruits.

She took in the ambiance of the elegant mansion. It was a lovely home at one point. Now it served as an office and dormitory for the agency. This opulence she could handle comfortably. She’d lived among the elite most of her life. It would be losing her solitary life that would be difficult to endure.

She pulled snug leather gloves from her hands and wiped moist palms against her skirt. Focusing on her heartbeat as her taxi neared the building, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Calming herself had become a talent of Laurel’s. Quieting her breathing and her heartbeat insured nothing interfered with listening to tumblers move as she opened anything from safes to door locks. There had never been a lock she couldn’t penetrate.

Closing her eyes, she focused on calming her perspiration, as well, then eased the gloves back over cool dry fingers. Appearing moistened with nerves wouldn’t serve her purpose. The carriage rocked to a halt and she took ahold of the luxurious leather satchel with her embossed initials. Inside was her guarantee of acceptance into the Pinkerton Agency, a letter of recommendation for Laurel Robinson from Governor McCook.

Her mind wandered to the other day when she first learned of her father’s ludicrous plan.

How on earth did you get a letter of recommendation from the Governor? With my mother’s maiden name to boot? He doesn’t know me from Aunt Hannah’s hat.

I simply offered him knowledge of the whereabouts of a rare and quite coveted artifact in exchange.

You did what?

His eyes twinkled with mischief. Our illustrious Governor Edward M. McCook wants nothing more than to take this Colorado Territory into Statehood. He and several governors before him have tried for the past several years to convince the President to make Colorado the thirty-eighth state. One of his strategies is to fill our museums with international treasures that will draw interest to these Rocky Mountains just for an opportunity to feast curious eyes on such rarities. I simply implied my knowledge of the whereabouts of this artifact could just as easily be shared with the Museum of History in New York… or… Breckenridge.

And exactly what rare and coveted artifact have you promised him? Laurel glared at her father, knowing their own inventory for marketable exchange.

He paused, a wide grin slowly waxed across his face. An especially devilish twinkle glistened in his eyes. He drew in a deep breath, pressing out his chest like a male bird strutting for a potential mate. The Egyptian Queen, Ahhotep, the Second’s, seventeenth dynasty jade sculpture.

Laurel’s mouth dropped open. What were you thinking? The Ahhotep-the-Second’s mummy was destroyed in 1859 by fire, it’s presumed all her artifacts burned with her… she licked her suddenly dry lips, scraping her upper teeth across her lower lip. If a jade sculpture existed, it’d be… priceless. How could you possibly—

Laurel, I know one of our own has the artifact, right here in Denver. We just need to learn where he has it hidden. With your access as a Pinkerton agent, you can find out everything we need to know to get in and out without anyone being the wiser… like always.

What? … Who? She tilted her head and squinted a glare at him. Her father could feign confidence very convincingly, but this…

Horace Tabor.

Horace Tabor! He owns hotels, office buildings, homes… everything from Sixteenth to Larimer. How could you know he has—? Why would he acquire such an artifact? It’s illegal to possess such an item!

Last month’s soirée, remember my dear?

She nodded slowly, wide-eyed with dismay. She never attended the local parties. So many people in one place gave her a headache. Besides, her mind still reeled from his suggestion she apply to be a Pinkerton agent.

Over indulging in whisky loosens the tightest tongues. One only needs to be alert to opportunities. Whispered rumors led me to suppose Mr. Tabor had underhandedly acquired the treasure and hidden it away. Pride in ownership is enough for some people, my dear. One doesn’t need to display every treasure owned.

Laurel huffed, indignant. A sculpture of that nonpareil belongs in a museum, and every curator in the world has kept his ear to the ground to find such a thing. How—

And it will be, dear, soon as you find out where Tabor has it hidden, we’ll make sure it shows up through neutral channels, so the Museum of Nature and Science in Breckenridge has the honor of displaying it. Our involvement… will be without evidence, like always.

How can I possibly? Who says I will be accepted into the agency, for one thing, and who says I will be placed on an assignment that will lead me to discover Tabor has a hidden treasure?

Leave all that to me, my dear. He placed his hand on her back and guided her from the library. Retire for the evening, my darling. You need your rest, so that you will appear bright and eager to become a Lady Pinkerton Operative in the morning.

But the advert stated the applicants were to apply by May sixteenth. It’s July! We’re too late.

"The Governor’s willingness to write a simple letter acclaiming your brilliant attributes, much needed by a Pinkerton agent, was an easy persuasion with the mere possibility of the sculpture’s presence in Colorado. Besides, I have learned that Archibald Gordon has been pleased with his first female recruits and has extended the application process. You will be welcomed to apply and accepted with this letter."

He handed her an envelope with the governor’s seal. She took it gingerly, as if it might be covered in a poisonous dust and, as if in a trance, retreated to her room. She had a lot to think over. This could be the very thing she needed to position herself to make some much desired changes in her relationship with her father. Although he suggested she get a lot of rest, she knew she’d get very little.

image-placeholder

A beautiful and sturdy woman answered the door a few moments after Laurel knocked. She introduced herself as Marianne Chapman and ushered Laurel inside. She appeared to be a very capable woman. Was she one of the Pinks? Somehow Laurel knew she was not. But she was very important to the agency, that much Laurel knew without asking.

I saw the Help Wanted advert in the Denver Tribune, Laurel calmly pulled her gloves from her hands. And I’m here to apply.

Marianne folded her hands in front of her skirts as she listened to Laurel speak. She seemed very patient and an excellent listener. Laurel sensed a hesitation—a decision-making pause in the woman. Laurel knew right away she liked this Marianne very much. A short burst of regret shot through Laurel’s heart. Under different circumstances she and Marianne would be steadfast friends. But not today. Probably never. However, if Laurel could manage to turn this whole idea of her father’s around to her own favor, it could be a possibility, as long as no one ever found out Laurel’s true background.

Very well, follow me. Marianne turned and led Laurel into a small office with a solid wooden door on the opposite end. It bore many pock marks from angry fists or perhaps, a knife. Several knives. It must lead to Mr. Gordon’s office. Laurel stood while Marianne pulled a drawer and lifted a clipboard with paper already inserted under the spring clip. She looked up, as if deciding something about Laurel, and then straightened with the clipboard in hand. Do you have a pencil?

Laurel smiled. As a matter of fact, I do.

Marianne nodded as if she had just confirmed what she had been thinking. Interesting.

Laurel took the clipboard and looked around the room.

Oh, please, let me show you to the dining room where you can sit at the table. Can I get you tea or coffee? Marianne gestured toward the other room.

Tea would be nice. Laurel preferred coffee but knew in social settings tea was a more refined thing to drink. She sat at a large polished table and filled out the form. Her penmanship was impeccable, she had spent many long hours alone in their library perfecting it. It was something she allowed herself to have shameful pride in. That and her superlative skill at getting past any lock. But that would not be listed on the application. The front door opened and closed, footsteps resounded in the entry. Marianne and a gentleman spoke quietly. His voice penetrated Laurel’s thoughts. The timbre of his tone soothed her somehow. She couldn’t place a finger on why it had drawn