An Agent for Alexandra Read online

“Ah, yes,” she replied, nodding slowly as he moved her around a produce cart. “Mr. James Dobson. Forgive me, Sergeant Dobson. On the force for fifteen years, made his way up the ranks rather quickly, and has a reputation for being a bit prickly.”

  Tucker chuckled and glanced at Alexandra’s hat. “Prickly? The man is a bulldog.”

  “I like bulldogs,” his wife replied. “I hate to see them so disagreeably referred to. Therefore, Sergeant Dobson is prickly.”

  “Fine,” he laughed. “How’d you know all that?”

  She tilted her face towards him, one brow raised. “It was in the file, Mr. Carlton. Or didn’t you think I read it?”

  He shook his head, fighting a smile. “No, I saw you do so. I just didn’t think you’d memorize it.”

  “Well, I did,” she retorted with a sniff. “I memorize most of what I read if it is of value. You should hear me quote the Declaration of Independence.”

  He grunted. “Now I know what my dinner entertainment will be.”

  He received a very sharp jab in his side, courtesy of his partner’s elbow, and he wheezed for a minute or two.

  Very quietly, of course.

  “Tucker,” Alexandra suddenly murmured, her voice very low. “Have you noticed the people out and about today?”

  Had he what? He scanned the street and sidewalks, but saw nothing at all to take note of. “Not really. Why?”

  She hummed once, then leaned a bit closer, as though she were only being affectionate. “There’s nothing to see.”

  The scent of lavender suddenly attacked his nostrils, clouding his better judgment and his air supply, and making him almost giddy for a moment, if the sudden jump in his pulse was any indication. He swallowed once, blinking to clear his mind. “What are you getting at?” he managed through the fog.

  Her hand moved up and down his arm, just as it had the day before, and the effect was the same. “If so many people have gone missing,” she whispered, “why isn’t there more fear and skittish behavior?”

  It took him a second to comprehend what she said, whispers at a close proximity being markedly distracting, but then his brain kicked on, and whirled at double the speed. He looked around them again, this time with far more intensity, and realized she was right.

  Everyone behaved as if this were a perfectly normal Thursday morning, moving with ease and, in some cases, leisure. This was not a city being terrorized, and if any of these people knew what was happening, they weren’t concerned about it one bit.

  Curious.

  “That is very strange,” he murmured back, covering her hand with his by pure instinct, nodding at a passing older woman staring at them rather frankly. “If we were called in, surely there was a fuss somewhere.”

  “Maybe they don’t know there’s a fuss,” Alexandra suggested, resting her head against his arm. “Maybe the fuss is with the prickly sergeant.”

  Tucker smiled, the feathers on her hat brushing against his fingers. “It’s been in the papers, Chickadee. We have many of the articles.”

  “Maybe Portlanders can’t read,” she quipped.

  “I doubt that.”

  “If they can be this serene under the circumstances we’re investigating,” she muttered darkly, lifting her head from his arm, leaving him feeling almost bereft, “I’m not particularly inclined to presume anything intelligent or humane on their part.”

  “Down, Chickadee,” he shushed, fighting laughter. “Let’s investigate before we jump to conclusions, hmm?”

  Alexandra cleared her throat and tossed her head slightly, somehow seeming taller for it. “Fine. You do the jumping, Mutt. I’ll just chirp away.”

  “Just so long as you chirp with your eyes open,” he told her as they approached the office. “Dobson may have some outdated ideals, and I’ll need your observation on the off-chance you have limited participation.”

  “Why don’t you tell him I’m an agent, too?” she asked with a pointed drum of her fingers on his jacket.

  He gave her a quick look and a smile as he reached for the door. “Because I don’t want him to know I have an ace up my sleeve.”

  Alexandra smiled rather slyly. “That is the sweetest thing you have ever said to me, Tucker Carlton, and I’d be touched if I thought you truly meant it.”

  He shrugged. “Until we know what the trump is, Mrs. Carlton, an ace is still an ace.” He pulled the door open and bowed slightly. “After you.”

  Shaking her head, Alexandra strode up and patted him on the cheek as she passed. “Good boy.”

  He stifled a laugh as he followed, wondering if he’d ever find his reserve again on this mission. Alexandra was effectively stripping away everything that the Pinkerton association had considered innately Tucker Waite. They would barely recognize him when he returned to headquarters.

  He barely recognized himself, come to think of it.

  But maybe that was the mission.

  It had to be.

  He patted Alexandra’s back as he passed her, moving for the lone desk in the open office where a plain, thin woman in spectacles sat. “Excuse me,” he said with all politeness, sweeping his hat off. “We’re looking for Sergeant Dobson.”

  She didn’t even look up. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Not officially,” Tucker replied, throwing a bit of firmness into his tone for effect. “But Pinkerton agents generally don’t require official appointments when their services have been requested.”

  That caught her attention. She jerked and looked up at him, her spectacles going askew. “Pinkerton? You’re a Pinkerton?”

  Tucker nodded by way of answer.

  The secretary pushed out of her seat at once, fumbling a bit. “Of course, of course. So sorry, sir. Come with me. And if your wife would take a seat… Sergeant Dobson doesn’t generally meet with women.”

  Tucker bit the inside of his cheek, not daring to look at Alexandra. “I understand. My wife will be fine, if you’ll keep her company, Miss…?”

  “Gilbert, sir. Helen Gilbert.” She bobbed quickly, then gestured for him to follow. “And I’ll do my best. Right this way, Agent.”

  Chapter 3

  “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you have responded to our request, Agent Carlton. I generally am not the sort of man to ask for assistance in our local cases, but we are barely containing the truth of the situation with the current number on our force and more immediate cases opening up.”

  Tucker nodded once. “I understand, Sergeant. I have been apprised of the situation at hand. Has anything changed since your request was sent in?”

  The balding man shook his head, his thick moustache twitching with the motion. “No, in fact. Things have been particularly quiet on that front, which undoubtedly means we are due for someone else to go missing shortly.” He dabbed at his forehead, though there was no hint of perspiration there. “The whole thing reflects badly on me, Agent, and on our force. The state will not allot us the additional funds we need to hire more men if we cannot prove ourselves, and yet we need more men to accomplish our tasks. It’s a disastrous tangle, and I find myself without shears.”

  Bit of a strange analogy, but he’d heard worse.

  Tucker grunted and crossed a leg over his knee. “Who is in charge of the investigation into the disappearance, Sergeant?”

  Dobson looked surprised. “I am, sir. Once the numbers began to climb, I thought it was only right that the most experienced officer should take it up.”

  “I will need to see any notes you have. Interviews with witnesses and such.”

  Dobson clicked his tongue. “There are no witnesses, sir.”

  That did not surprise Tucker one bit, but he wasn’t about to let the sergeant know that. “None?” he repeated coldly.

  His tone had no effect on the hardened officer. “Do you think I’d hide it if there were? One good witness, and I might be able to close this case.” Dobson leaned back in his chair and surveyed Tucker steadily. “How many years have you been a Pinkerton, Carl
ton?”

  Ah ha, bit curious about the man interrogating him, was he? Fair enough, Tucker could play this game. He practically invented it.

  “Ten years,” Tucker said easily, leveling his gaze with Dobson’s. “Three years before that as a police officer myself.”

  Dobson made a noncommittal sound. “Where?”

  “New York City.”

  The older man blinked and his expression lost some of its steel. “Bit busy over there, were you?”

  Tucker shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes. I was more on the investigative side than the enforcement side, but occasionally I did both.”

  Dobson looked him up and down in assessment. “I wouldn’t have taken you for an investigator. You’re built for enforcement.”

  That made Tucker smirk slightly. “So they tell me.”

  “You been on many cases for Pinkerton?”

  “Some.”

  “Solve any?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  Now Tucker smiled, though there was a warning in it. “Enough.”

  Dobson’s brow knitted in evident frustration, and he exhaled noisily. “You bring anyone else with you?”

  “My wife.”

  There was a slow blink of disbelief. “No other agents?”

  Tucker shrugged.

  Dobson sputtered and put his head into his hands. “The man brings his wife,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head, then looked at Tucker again. “Why in the world would you bring your wife on an assignment, Carlton?”

  “Motivation,” Tucker replied, watching the play of emotions with great interest. “Inspiration.”

  There was a dark muttering, and then, “You’re a newlywed, aren’t you?”

  “I am, sir,” Tucker admitted with a nod, smiling for effect. “Couldn’t leave her behind.”

  Disgust was evident in Dobson’s every line, and he stared at Tucker without speaking.

  Comfortable with silence, Tucker let it hang, staring back without hesitation. If Dobson was smart, he would avoid inferring that Tucker was somehow less of an agent for being married, or for bringing his wife. The slightest offense, and Tucker could be gone. There was no contract between the Portland police and the Pinkerton agency, and he knew it.

  Tucker wasn’t one to offend easily, but Dobson wouldn’t know that.

  “And where is your wife now?” Dobson asked very reluctantly.

  Tucker jerked a thumb towards the front. “In your foyer, Dobson. I believe Miss Gilbert is entertaining her.”

  Dobson grunted, his moustache twitching again. “Entertaining is not something Gilbert does, I promise you that. But she is a capable woman, and manages to keep us organized and orderly here. My wife calls her the office wife, and I cannot say I disagree, though Gilbert knows better than to try for such authority.”

  “You’re married, Dobson?” Tucker inquired with mild interest, letting the obvious note wave freely.

  There was a dark look. “I am. Twenty years, and twice as many headaches.”

  Tucker smirked. “My father told me that’s why the good Lord gave men whiskey.”

  Dobson cracked a smile. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Any children?”

  “Four. Two boys, two girls. They triple the headaches.”

  “Whiskey.”

  “Naturally.”

  Tucker nodded once, feeling a strange kinship with the man behind the desk, but hardly anything warm. More of an understanding, a bond shared by those who had endured hardship, seen horrors, and still remained in the trenches of it. The men who found adventure in the chase, and lived for mystery and chance.

  It was a very peculiar brotherhood, the world of law enforcement.

  What would it be called when the female agents took their places?

  “Right, so no witnesses,” Tucker went on, forgoing the formality he’d employed previously. “What about family of the missing victims?”

  Dobson nodded quickly. “Of course, we have thorough transcriptions of the interviews, which will, of course, be at your disposal. I had some of our younger officers go about town with likenesses to all the businesses and establishments known to be visited by each victim, so we have a fair idea of last known location.”

  Tucker chewed the inside of his lip in thought. They had a great deal, it seemed, though how thorough the notes were would remain to be seen. It was highly unlikely that there would be absolutely no trace of someone under the circumstances they were in, given what they apparently had uncovered. Yet there were no recoveries, and, if he understood right, no bodies.

  “We ruled out murders,” Dobson told him, answering the unspoken question. “We had to. No scene of the crime, no sign of blood or struggle, and no motive.”

  “What about taking them to other areas?” Tucker suggested, crossing his arms. “Into Washington, or California, even further inland.”

  Dobson shook his head before Tucker finished. “We wired every office in a one hundred mile radius, posted notices at every train station and port, even recruited deputies to watch the stations. Nothing came of it.”

  Tucker frowned. “Has anyone posted a reward for the recovery of their loved one?”

  “The first four families did,” Dobson told him, his voice lowering. “We had several false claims. After that, we discouraged anyone from doing so. It was too disheartening, and wasted all our time.”

  Made sense, but it would have been nice to have something to draw people into action, even if it was false and only for greed.

  Which reminded him…

  “Why doesn’t the general population seem overly concerned with their safety?” Tucker asked, his eyes narrowing with speculation. “No one has warned my wife and I to stay indoors at night or to avoid certain areas, or anything of the sort. Why?”

  Dobson averted his eyes uneasily. “We’ve taken great care to give the impression that all is well, and that the people are safe. We’ve made certain assurances that they are. As far as anyone on the streets knows, Portland is as safe as it ever was, the police are handling every disappearance, and there is nothing at all to be concerned about.”

  “You what?” Tucker all but barked. “Dobson, you can’t be serious.”

  Cold eyes shot to his in an instant. “What would you have me do, Carlton? The citizens of this city can’t live in fear constantly. We cannot turn the city into a battlefield, and we cannot afford to have our people moving away out of fear. The city cannot be sustained or maintained without occupants, and I refuse to have them doubt the abilities of those who have sworn to protect them. I agree, it’s a paltry thing to do to those who trust us, and I hate the deception more than you can possibly imagine, but I trust that when I reach the afterlife, God will see the truth of the situation, and not judge me too harshly for it.”

  Impossibly, Tucker found himself nodding by the end of the impassioned speech. This was clearly a man who took his responsibilities seriously and saw his position for what it was, with all the burdens that accompanied it. Yet he shouldered them and managed to still move, despite the weight of it.

  He had to respect a man like that, no matter what he thought of the particulars.

  “So,” Tucker said, breaking the silence, “if you were me, Dobson, where would you start?”

  Dobson’s mouth curved to one side, and with it his moustache. “I’d have left the wife at home, or at least at your lodgings.”

  Tucker chuckled at that. “I think you’ll find my wife does as she pleases, and it’s all I can do to rein her in.”

  “Women,” Dobson grumbled, though Tucker suspected the man was a devoted husband, despite his gruffness.

  “Normally, I don’t have them in the offices,” Dobson told him with a severe look. “Gilbert aside. She doesn’t count. If they have complaints or crimes to report, I send Gilbert to escort the woman out and take the complaint down.”

  “Do you?” Tucker asked without any real interest.

  Dobson shrugged. “I f
ind women to be hysterical in their descriptions, unreliable in their accounts, and altogether too dramatic to be taken seriously. Plus it’s a distraction to have them in the building, and I will not have my men even remotely unbalanced.”

  Tucker found he couldn’t argue with some of the points, although he wouldn’t have acted with such extremes.

  Then again, hadn’t he felt something rather similar when the announcement of the female recruits had come in? He and Wyatt McGrath had grumbled about it, and while Wyatt had physically fought the idea, Tucker had silently done so.