sent him a boy who was barely out of short pants.
Gabe supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the home office’s decision. He’d grown used to fighting for every concession he could get. Despite Gabe’s abilities as an agent, there were too many men above him who remembered him from the war. It wouldn’t matter that Gabe had a sterling reputation with the Pinkerton Agency. The memory of his wartime desertion would outlive any successes he might have had in the succeeding years.
“What’s your name?” Gabe asked brusquely.
The boy blinked and shifted uncomfortably beneath Gabriel’s narrowed glare.
“P-Peterson, sir. Luke Peterson.”
“How long have you been with the Pinkertons?” Gabriel asked. A brief glance at the boy’s grip on his rifle confirmed that he was quaking.
“Th-this is my first job.”
Gabriel took a deep, calming breath, then asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Peterson blinked, clearly confused by the question. “I—I’m guarding these crates.”
“Why?”
The kid sent a pleading glance toward Roberts. “B-because they told me to.”
At the frank answer, Gabriel’s lips twitched in the beginnings of an unconscious smile, but he quickly controlled the impulse. It wouldn’t do for the boy to grow too relaxed around him.
“There may be some hope for you, Luke. Continue to do as you’re told and we’ll get along together just fine.”
The boy offered him a shaky grin. Then he drew to attention as if remembering that the job was a serious one and Gabriel…
Gabriel had a reputation of being a bastard.
Gabriel was fully aware of his reputation. He was a tough taskmaster, demanding infinite obedience from his men. Nevertheless, it wasn’t his role as a senior Pinkerton agent that alarmed Luke. Gabe could gauge the moment Peterson remembered everything he’d been told. Bit by bit, the warmth faded from the boy’s eyes, to be replaced by a horrified curiosity. Gabriel could almost read Peterson’s thoughts.
Was this Gabriel Cutter? Was this the man accused of desertion?
“Any problems?” he asked, turning his attention back to the elder Pinkerton.
“None. I doubt anyone even knows we transported the shipment of gold.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Gabriel’s tone had a hard edge to it.
To date, four payroll shipments destined for the Overland Express had been stolen en route to the construction sites in the Oregon Territory. The laborers were growing restless and threatened to revolt if they weren’t paid, leading Josiah Burton, the owner of the Overland Settlers Company, to enlist the aid of the Pinkertons in transporting the latest shipment.
“Stay on your toes. There have been four previous robberies. Whoever is responsible will be watching, have no fear.” Gabriel nodded in the direction of the shipment. “You’ll be relieved of your posts in an hour. I’ve got rooms reserved for you at the Golden Arms Hotel under the names Walters and Williams, but I’ll expect you to be here when the ship docks in the morning. At that time, you’ll meet up with the rest of the crew and see to the transfer of the crates. You’ll have little more than a few hours to rest and relax tonight, so get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
Peterson offered a muffled, “Yes, sir.”
Roberts merely nodded.
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”
As he turned to leave, Gabriel motioned for Roberts to follow. Once they were out of earshot, he asked, “How’s the boy?”
“He’s young, but he’s eager to please and he’s capable. He served with the First Pennsylvanian Battalion during the war.”
Peterson couldn’t be more than nineteen, yet he was a veteran in a war that had ended more than five years before. The fact didn’t surprise Gabriel. There had been so many boys who had run away from home to join the cause—either by serving as drummers or lying about their ages so they could enlist in the infantry.
“Keep your eyes open, Roberts, for your sake and the boy’s. He might have served in the war, but his hands are sweating—and we haven’t even docked yet. Veteran or not, he’s too wet behind the ears for my taste.”
Gabriel waited until Roberts had returned to his post. Then, tugging his hat more firmly over his brow, he wound his way through the narrow corridors to the deck again.
The sooner he left the ship, the better.
Gabe had barely climbed to the first class cabins when a door a few yards away suddenly opened.
The figure that emerged was clearly that of an aristocrat.
Immediately, he recognized her as being one of the women who’d been on deck when he’d climbed aboard. She was willow slim, with red-gold hair coiled in an artful arrangement that did nothing to disguise the natural curls that many women would have found “unfashionable.” Her indigo silk gown was simple, with stark, tailored lines. Except for a small amount of lace that circled the collar, and an elaborate strip of pleats at the cuffs, her bodice was unadorned with the usual manner of feminine frippery. The lines were tight and form fitting, ending at a skirt festooned with elegant swags of fabric that puffed over a full bustle.
In all, Gabriel wasn’t prone to admiring the latest fashions. But as this woman turned, offering her back, Gabe acknowledged for the first time that there was one clear advantage to the exaggerated silhouette. Indeed, as she moved and the bustle twitched, he found himself infinitely aware of the sway of her hips and the tiny circumference of her waist. To his disgust, he felt an immediate masculine reaction.
The thought caused him to draw back and curse his own wayward imagination. Damn it, he was exposed here in the corridor. If the woman were to turn around, she would see him clearly—and such an eventuality could lead to complications he didn’t want to envision.
But even as he berated himself for the waywardness of his thoughts, Gabe’s eyes slid back to her again.
She was a striking woman, in his opinion—although some might consider her a bit on the plain side with such pale features and that red hair. Moreover, there was a jut to her chin that showed a streak of obstinacy.
Or was it passion?
Gabe took a step forward as if to follow her. But in that same instant, another shape appeared in the doorway—another redhead, this one smaller and more voluptuous. A sister, perhaps? The similarities between the two women were astounding.
“Louisa?” the woman called from the doorway. “Don’t you think you’d better take your shawl? It’s chilly outside.”
“I’ll only be a moment, Phoebe.” The one named Louisa turned, and Gabriel shrank deeper into the shadows, praying that she wouldn’t look in his direction. “I left my drawing book and my shawl on deck. I’ll return directly, I promise.”
For one more
