Flora's Wish (47 page)

“Then I suppose we're both fortunate you're an understanding man.” She nodded to his coat. “However, if you have a badge in there, now would be the time to produce it.”

“My badge?” He shrugged. “I can't do that, Flora.”

“Because you're not a detective?” she said as her heart lurched.

“Because when I am working undercover, it would be foolish to carry a badge. You do understand, don't you?” He leaned forward as if to touch her sleeve, and Flora moved to counter him by swiping the knife in his direction. His eyes widened. “You're really upset with me, aren't you?”

She allowed her gaze to scorch the length of him. “You have caused me no end of trouble, Mr. Tucker. You have no idea what I have dealt with since you left Eureka Springs. My grandmother has questions, and my father—”

“I'm a topic of conversation? Well now, I like the sound of that,” Mr. Tucker interrupted. “So the old lady approves?”

“My grandmother trusts my judgment. Should she ever hear you call her ‘the old lady,' however, she would not only disapprove, but she would likely have your head on a platter.”

His attention went to her hand and then back up to Flora's face. “Appears to run in the family.”

“This is not the time for jokes, Mr. Tucker. I am very close to calling off our arrangement.”

Flora paused to allow herself to believe she'd just spoken her thoughts aloud. For though she was mightily irked at the man's casual attitude to their impending nuptials, she was even more bothered by the feelings she had for Lucas McMinn.

Could she truly marry another when her heart refused to allow room for anyone other than the irritating Pinkerton agent?

“All right,” he said, his tone placating. “I deserve that.”

If he expected her to respond, to make some sort of allowance for his behavior, he could wait all night. It simply would not happen.

“See, Flora, it's like this.” Mr. Tucker leaned toward her, and she once again pointed the comb at him.

“You're still in trouble, sir, so do not presume to come any closer until I allow it. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. As I said, I know I deserve this.” He paused to give her a look that should have melted her heart. “I wanted to be with you. You cannot imagine how difficult it was to attend to my duties when I had nothing but you on my mind.”

“What duties, Mr. Tucker? You've not yet proven anything regarding duty. How am I to know that you're telling the truth?”

“You just have to trust me. Yes, that's right, Flora. Trust me. That's what wives do. They trust their husbands. And you have to admit I've kept in touch. You have no idea what danger I've courted just by showing up here tonight.” He paused. “But I wanted to see you. Needed to, actually.”

A bell clanged out on the river, and he glanced over in that direction. Flora, however, kept her attention focused on her intended.

“That's my signal. Will I see you in New Orleans on Friday?”

“I think the real question here is will I see you?” she said as she retracted the blade and tucked the comb into her pocket.

“Of course you will. I'm as good as my word, and I give you my word.”

“And the license?” she demanded. “I suppose you have that already?”

He had the audacity to wink. “Of course not. But one of my men is seeing to it. A trusted associate.”

“Mr. Wilson?”

He flinched at the name. “Don't you worry, Flora. Now, dare I approach to give my bride-to-be a kiss on the cheek, or should I take my leave and be glad I am in one piece?”

Flora crossed her hands over her chest and gave him a severe look. “I think for now you'd best choose the latter. We can discuss the former once the state of Louisiana declares our marriage legal and final.”

Was it her imagination or did his confidence slip slightly? If so, the moment was fleeting, and Mr. Tucker gave her a wink and a smile. “Have it your way.” Another bell and he shrugged. “The last warning. I must say goodbye. Until Friday, sweet Flora.”

He turned to go, and only as he was disappearing into the thicket did a question occur to her. “Mr. Tucker,” she called to his retreating back.

“Yes?” he responded over his shoulder.

She was careful to move close enough to see his handsome face. “Does the name Mary-Margaret McMinn mean anything to you?”

Even in the moonlight, she could see the change in his expression. She had guessed the last name, but his face told her she'd guessed correctly.

His mask of calm swiftly returned. “Why?”

“I'm asking the questions, Mr. Tucker.”

His shoulders sagged. “All right. My associate Jack Wilson and I are investigating her death.” He paused. “We believe it wasn't an accident, given that her brother is the only witness. Now, unless you have more questions, I'll see you Friday.”

“No,” she said softly. “Nothing else.”

As Flora watched him slip away into the thicket, she tried to sort the facts from whatever fiction one of the two men in her life had created. Was Lucas McMinn searching for Will Tucker, or was the opposite true? And why did she feel completely safe in the Pinkerton's arms and ever wary in the presence of the railroad detective? It was all too confusing.

“Flora?”

Lucas.

She sighed. Of course. “I'm over here,” she called as she watched him slip from the shadows onto the path.

True to form, he was scowling. “Once again, Flora, you did not do as I asked.” He moved closer. “What happened?”

Her fingers trembled as she kept them away from the wrong edge of the comb. Anything to divert her attention from her racing thoughts. “What happened at the house? Was that gunfire we heard?”

“Candles were too close to a mirror and the heat shattered it.” He paused. “Now, please answer me. Why did you once again ignore my instructions to remain in place until I—”

“He was here,” she interrupted.

“Who was here? Tucker?” He looked around and then back at Flora. “Which way did he go?”

“That way. Toward the river.” As he turned to bolt in that direction, Flora grabbed his wrist. “Wait! I need to know something first. Was Mary-Margaret your sister?”

L
ucas ignored the question to race off in the direction Mr. Tucker had disappeared. For the first time, he left no instructions for Flora. Why bother? The infuriating woman did what she wanted anyway. And there was no telling what lies Tucker had passed on to her.

As he ran, he kept his eyes trained on the perimeter with the knowledge that Tucker could be anywhere. Even as he followed the criminal's trail, his mind returned to Flora.

He traced several paths to the river and used his personal torch to search the water's edge. Even with the help of the light, Lucas could only see a limited distance across the Mississippi, allowing for a man in a boat to have fled, given the opportunity. Donning his extra-vision glasses and fitting in the hearing device from his hat, Lucas still didn't see or hear anyone.

His frustration rose.

Putting away the hearing device, he kept the glasses in place and went back to the most likely place where Tucker could have made his escape. Another close inspection of the bank showed at least two possible places where someone could have recently launched a skiff, giving further weight to his theory.

With Tucker once again eluding capture, Lucas went back to find that Flora had actually waited for him right where he'd left her, though she was not alone. The person attending her wore the Brimm family uniform, indicating she was a servant.

“Tell her I will be in to visit momentarily,” he heard Flora whisper to the older woman. She nodded in response and slipped back inside the cottage.

“What else did he tell you?” Lucas demanded once the door had closed.

“He said you were the only witness and might be implicated in her death. Or responsible. Or something. Oh, I don't know. But he was investigating.”

Struggling to remain calm, Lucas measured his words carefully. “Who did he claim he works for?”

She handed him back the comb and shook her head. Lucas couldn't help but notice how close she remained to him. And, of course, there was the scent of lilacs. Always the scent of lilacs.

“The railroad.”

“Which one?”

“The Frisco.” Flora lifted her gaze, her lower lip quivering. “He asked me to keep that confidential, but I don't know what to think, Lucas. Truly I don't.” She put her hand in the crook of his arm and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

So Tucker was masquerading as a railroad detective. That alone would bring another host of charges to the already growing list on his warrant.

“What did he want?” He made a decent attempt at sounding gruff, but the feel of Flora next to him undid any irritation caused by her misbehavior. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That's all, really. Except that he wanted to be sure I would still meet him in New Orleans.”

Lucas slid the comb back into his pocket and put his arm around her, hugging her to him. Slowly he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Details, Flora? Trust me.”

She blinked. Twice. “Yes, I think I do. Friday at noon. Jackson Square. That's all I know.”

Studying her a moment, he knew she was telling the truth. “Thank you,” he said as he wrapped his other arm around her. “For trusting me,” he added.

She pressed her palms against his chest to lean back just enough that her eyes once again met his. “Trust me,” she whispered. “And tell me about Mary-Margaret.”

He froze.

She kept silent. A rare thing for a woman so bent on stating her opinion. Lucas would have given anything for her to start talking so he did not have to.

Tell me what to say, Lord,
was the best prayer he could manage as he looked up at the stars and then back at Flora. “She was my sister, and I failed to protect her,” he said when his voice would allow.

“But you're a Pinkerton,” she said, oblivious to the stab of fresh pain the statement caused.

“Yes. I couldn't save Mary-Margaret, but I won't fail to protect you, Flora.” He paused to wait out the lump in his throat. “You're just going to have to trust me.”

She rested her head against his chest. “More trusting?”

A chuckled rumbled in his chest. “'Fraid so.”

Again she leaned up to seek his gaze. “Come with me and meet my sister.”

Her fingers reached for his as she slipped out of his embrace and led him around the corner of the white cottage. After a quick knock she stepped inside with Lucas a pace behind. The servant he'd seen Flora speaking to before now rose to greet them.

The contrast between the humble exterior of the cottage and its elegant interior was striking. Furnishings that would have appeared right at home up at the main house filled the tiny space with a comfortable yet formal arrangement. Gaslights hung overhead and cast a soft light on the room, while the thick tangle of roses climbing the eastern side of the building was the likely culprit for the heady scent in the air. Above it all, however, was a deep feeling of peace that permeated the structure.