An Agent for Alexandra Read online

  But one could never presume with Tucker Waite.

  “Well, well, Marshall Creet,” she muttered to herself as she carefully marked his name in her potential candidate list. “You might be interesting…”

  The door to their room was flung open then, startling her into a sharp shriek that she quickly covered with one hand.

  “Shh!” Tucker insisted, his expression incredulous as he shut the door behind him. “It’s me.”

  She dropped her hand to her chest. “As if that is of any comfort to me.” She shook her head and exhaled roughly, willing her heart to resume something resembling a normal pattern. “Lord above, would you knock or announce yourself next time or somethin’? I could have been indecent, for all you know.”

  He lifted a brow. “One could only be so fortunate.” He tossed a bundle at her, hitting her squarely in the face. “Get changed. We’re going exploring.”

  Alexandra growled as she opened the bundle in sharp, agitated motions. “Infernal, good for nothin’...”

  She trailed off as she stared at a pair of simple, but obviously new trousers. She blinked, then looked up at her husband. “What in the world, Tuck?”

  He shifted almost uneasily, energy still in his features. “You said trousers for exploring. I’ve been about the town, and now it’s time my partner came with me.” He gestured towards the screen, widening his eyes. “Come on. Let’s go, Chickadee.”

  Grinning, Alexandra dashed from her chair around the screen and went to work shucking off her layers of skirts. “I should probably have a jacket, Mutt,” she called as she stepped out of the outer skirt. “This blouse ain’t gonna hide nothing.”

  “Got one,” he responded from the other side of the room. “You have shoes that won’t announce us at a dance hall?”

  She rolled her eyes as she pushed her petticoats down. “Oh my, I fear I have forgotten those in my other trunk containing items of clothing far less fashionable.”

  “Then I’ll carry you over my shoulder.”

  “Because that’s so inconspicuous,” she snapped, smiling in spite of it. “I would rather go barefoot.”

  Something that could have been laughter came from him. “That’s a sight I’d pay money to see.”

  Alexandra shook her head as she pulled the trousers up, surprised at how perfectly they fit. They were not tight enough to be scandalous, but nor was she in danger from losing them in any way. How in the world would he have known what measurements to get?

  She shook her head again, this time to force away the thought, and rummaged around for her boots, then tugging them on. She fastened them quickly, then yanked the pins from her hair and shaking it down in a mass of brown.

  “Tarnation,” she muttered as she started to plait the monstrosity, her fingers catching on a snag.

  “Trouble?” Tucker called innocently.

  She stepped out from the screen, still working at her braid. “If I had taken the trouble to brush through my hair after we returned instead of keeping it up, I’d have this troublesome mane ready in a heartbeat, but instead…” She huffed and grabbed a nearby ribbon, fastening the braid even though it was only halfway done.

  It would suffice.

  Satisfied that it would do, she nodded and looked up at Tucker, planting her hands on her hips.

  He stared at her as if he had never seen anything quite like her in his entire life, which gave him the look of a deer that found itself in a herd of cattle.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she asked, smiling a little. “Don’t tell me you’re scandalized by the trousers.”

  Tucker immediately shook his head, his brow snapping down. “Not at all. Let’s go.” He turned for the door and held it open for her, expression blank. “Mrs. Carlton.”

  She curtseyed, lack of skirts notwithstanding. “Mr. Carlton,” she replied before gracefully exiting the room. Before she could properly promenade to the stairs, her husband grabbed her arm.

  “Not that way, Chickadee,” he hissed near her ear. “Back stairs. Turn left.”

  Alexandra shivered and wrenched herself further away from him. “You could have told me that before we left.”

  “And miss your grand procession? Such a waste.”

  It was entirely likely that she would mortally wound her spouse before the night was out, just as soon as she could determine how.

  Once they were out the back of the boarding house, Tucker took her hand in his, then startled her by lacing the fingers. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Better grip,” he whispered. “I know where we’re going, but I don’t want you in front of me or behind me without protection, just in case.”

  Well, she wasn’t about to complain when there was currently warm tendrils of bliss coursing up her arm and into her chest, but his logic was sound, which just made everything that much more convenient.

  Perhaps she would hold off on his termination for now.

  “Now, no chirping,” he hissed as he started forward, tugging at her hand.

  She scowled at his broad back. Termination was back on.

  They were well into evening now, and the light was fading fast, but the city began to glow with its own light, lanterns on the streets and gaslight within buildings beginning to appear like stars in the night sky. Yet Alexandra and Tucker were heading away from all of that, venturing into darker and danker parts with less welcoming auras.

  Tucker moved with sure steps, though she could detect nothing at all resembling haste, which was some relief. One might have thought the pair of them out for a stroll, if they did not know better. Admittedly, a lady in trousers and a couple heading towards the darker side ought to have raised some eyebrows, but people, for the most part, tended to not worry about things not concerning them.

  Still, Alexandra would stay close to Tucker for the time being.

  They turned down another alley, and Tucker began to move more slowly, and Alexandra instinctively did the same. She could barely hear their footsteps over the sounds of taverns and the dripping of water, accompanied by faint animal noises she didn’t dare identify.

  “Are you afraid of rats?” Tucker whispered as though it were normal to have whispered discussions in dark alleys.

  “No,” she replied in the same tone. “Why?”

  She felt more than saw him shrug. “Just wanted to make sure.”

  Oh, good. Lovely thought.

  They passed one tavern with dim lighting, then another, the pedestrians entering and exiting turning rougher and coarser the further they moved.

  Then Tucker took her down an alley with no tavern lights, no people, and hardly any animals.

  “What are we doing?” she whispered. “Surely not everyone was taken from here.”

  “I know that,” he replied without any rancor. “I saw your map.”

  She looked up at his face, the features hazy in the fading light. “You did? You were looking all that over while I changed?”

  He nodded, the motion audible. “It was impressive. Very organized. I should have you team with Gilbert.”

  “No, thank you,” she muttered. “I like my sanity.”

  “Shh,” he said suddenly, his grip on her hand tightening.

  Alexandra bit her lip and involuntarily clutched their joined hands with her free one.

  Tucker continued to move, keeping her close to him, which she was perfectly fine with. After a few minutes of this, her fears began to fade. What attack on them would take so long?

  “So did you really look at it?” she asked him. “Or just a cursory look?”

  “At what?” he breathed, peering around, clearly not minding her.

  She rolled her eyes. “The map, Mutt. Honestly.”

  “Memorized it.”

  Alexandra blinked. “How’d you manage that? You had only five minutes, and that’s not…”

  “Shh!” he said again as he began to move more quickly.

  “Would you stop that?” she hissed with as much sharpne
ss as she dared. “I can keep my voice down and still have a conversation. Everyone we’ll see is a tavern guest, wench, or owner, and they…”

  Tucker suddenly wrenched her down a tiny alley and pushed her against the wall, his hand pressed to her mouth. His eyes were fixed on hers, and one finger went to his lips, before that hand pinned to the wall behind her.

  She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to, not with him bracketing her there, but she wasn’t sure she could have done so should she have the desire. He was so close, and her legs suddenly quivered beneath her, whether out of fear or something far more delicious she couldn’t have said.

  Tucker’s eyes moved with a particularly shaky breath she took, and suddenly he was staring directly at the hand covering her mouth.

  Merciful heavens, she’d forgotten all about that hand, and how he’d be able to feel every breath she took and the sudden trembling in her lips…

  His hand fell away, a slow, almost hesitant falling that could have stopped time.

  And then…

  His lips crashed to hers, and she caught them, and him. Her hands pressed into his chest, gripping the fabric, the skin beneath, anything her fingers could clutch into before they gave up and surged into his hair, fastening themselves there. His mouth worked tirelessly against hers, a barrage of breathless attention she couldn’t keep up with, and could barely comprehend. The need for silence only heightened her anxiety, helpless sounds of delight and need rising within her, unable to be freed.

  She pressed away from the wall, pulling herself more fully against him, rising up on her toes, arching into him, into this, into spirals of endless bliss she couldn’t get enough of. He curled her in, welcomed her, cradled her, and she felt herself growing lost and helpless.

  Then just as suddenly as he had started, it was over, and he stepped away.

  Alexandra stumbled sideways, then slumped backwards into the cold, rough brick that only moments ago could have been a raging stove.

  Tucker stared at her, eyes wide, though she could detect no sign of energy, passion, or blatant combustion, which was roughly where she was at the moment.

  Was the man alive?

  “Someone saw us,” he murmured very low, the rough timbre of his voice rippling up her spine and, strangely enough, in the soles of her feet. “Needed a cover. They’re gone now. Come on.”

  Without waiting for her, or taking her hand, Tucker Waite, the sudden focus of her combined desire and hostility, strolled out of the alley.

  She stared after him, wishing for both death and renewed life, and then, reluctantly, lungs panting and lips burning, she fumbled her way out and followed him.

  He couldn’t feel his knees.

  He couldn’t feel his neck, his toes, his chest, or the ground beneath his feet.

  Had he actually died in the throes of madness? He must have, there was no other explanation.

  He wouldn’t really have kissed Alexandra as though the world was ending trapped in an alley, would he?

  The singed feeling in his lips told him that he had, he did, and he would. More than that, he wouldn’t particularly mind doing it again.

  Shockingly enough.

  He hadn’t lied about there being someone; he’d really sensed someone behind them, heard the step, and acted out of sheer instinct.

  Then he’d felt her. Felt the length of her against him, felt the pressure of her lips on his palm, felt the rush of an exhale against the suddenly exquisitely sensitive skin…

  He’d even felt her eyes on his, and it was as though his entire soul had been bared to her view.

  But those lips… He’d had to see them, touch them, taste them…

  Why? What power did they have but to snap and chirp and drawl in the most delightful way?

  Now he knew what power they had, what power she had, and what passion.

  He ran a shaking hand through his suddenly damp hair, and exhaled as silently as he could. She was behind him now, and he could not let her know how unsettled he was. A natural response on her part was no excuse for an aggressive one on his, and it was better she not think anything of it. He could write it off as many ways as he wanted from where he stood, but there was only one logical course for her reaction.

  Instinct.

  That could not happen again. A woman of her youth and inexperience was so much more vulnerable to a lack of inhibitions, and he needed walls of stone for this task.

  So did she, if she ever wanted to succeed, but he couldn’t consider her for the time being.

  Because at the moment, her lack of inhibitions was a mighty attractive temptation, and they had a mission to accomplish.

  The mission.

  Right.

  Tucker glanced over his shoulder, afraid of what he might see.

  Alexandra followed obediently behind him, silent as the dead, her eyes somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes, her brow knitting ever so faintly in the dark light of the evening.

  He wasn’t sure what it was, but her hair hanging the way it was distracted him. Braided partly and hanging to one side, but much of it loose coming off of the plait… The ends begged to be toyed with and he wanted to be the one to do it.

  He wrenched his gaze back to the alley before him, willing his instincts to kick back in.

  He’d had a reason for taking them out on this excursion, and it hadn’t involved stealing forbidden moments in dark alleys.

  Enlightening though it had been.

  He and Alexandra had gone over the notes from Dobson over and over, and various details had stuck in his mind, but nothing that could crack the case in one direction or another. They’d debated isolating individual cases from the whole, but they had no time to investigate twenty-seven of them, and so they would look for anything that might assist them. Any clue that could give them a direction, anything that the police might have missed.

  Dobson would have gone over every single detail, but in the actual investigation, when others were involved, he could easily imagine less attention being given.

  When it had become clear that they would need more than the notes, Tucker had left the boarding house, needing air and space and perspective. In time such as those, he reverted to the one setting he felt most himself, most comfortable, and most clear.

  The dark, dank, inner city. The underbelly of progress, and the shadows most people ignored.

  Every city was the same, from New York to San Francisco, and he could find such places in them all.

  His youth and development had occurred there, and all the skills he now possessed had begun in such places.

  But he couldn’t have brought Alexandra along, not initially, not until his senses had reawakened to these surroundings. He had thought he’d inhaled a sufficient amount of stale sewer air, which was why he had gone to fetch her.

  But now…

  “Tucker.”

  He stopped, stiffening. The drawl of her soft voice on his name could have been a song, and until that moment, he’d never truly heard music at all.

  He couldn’t respond. Couldn’t face her. Couldn’t…

  He glanced over his shoulder again.

  Except Alexandra wasn’t looking at him.

  She stood some six paces behind him, staring to her right, her head tilted. “Tucker,” she said again, keeping her voice as low as he could have wished her to. “How many people went missing from this area?”

  He turned completely, shoving his hands into his trousers. The quick stock he had taken of his wife’s impeccable notes flashed before his mind. “Eight,” he replied softly. “Why?”

  Still not looking at him, Alexandra tilted her head the other way. “Wouldn’t someone taking multiple people at various times need a way to do so that would avoid witnesses, clues, and any complications?”

  “In theory, yes,” Tucker murmured slowly, closing the distance between them. “What are you thinking, Chickadee?”

  He saw, very faintly, her lips quirk at his name for her. She glanced up at him, the temptress from t
he alley not fully gone, yet no longer calling to him. “I’m thinking someone like that knows a secret. And I think the sewer might have the answer.”

  The sewer?

  He came beside her and looked in the direction she now pointed.

  The narrow alley dipped lower than where they presently were, and the sewers drained in that direction, but neither of those things were what caught his, or, he suspected, her attention.