“Why?”
“I thought we could talk,” he said, leaning his back against the wall and stretching his legs out on the mattress.
“I’d prefer it if you return to the sofa.”
He shook his head. “The sofa is lumpy and uncomfortable,” he shared. “I’d much rather sit on the bed with you.”
“Why?”
Lincoln huffed. “You ask too many questions.”
“I do not,” she defended. “I just think it’s improper for both of us to be on a bed together.”
“It isn’t improper. We’re married,” he reminded her, smiling.
Realizing she was fighting a losing battle, she placed the case file onto the nightstand next to the oil lamp before she leaned her back up against the wall.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asked.
He glanced over at her. “Why are you obsessed with Billy Joe Campbell?”
“I have my reasons,” she said, adverting her gaze.
“Can you name them?”
She pursed her lips. “I think it would be best if we kept a professional distance between us.”
“Weren’t you the one who wanted to learn more about one another?”
“True, but there are some things I’m not comfortable discussing with you.”
“I agree, wholeheartedly. However, as the lead agent on the case, I need to know all the facts.”
“Why?” she asked, glancing over at him.
He grew solemn. “I need to know if I can trust you.”
“You can.”
“Can I?”
“I assure you that you can.”
Lincoln studied her for a moment before saying, “You should know that Archie asked me to determine whether or not your obsession has consumed you.”
“He asked you to spy on me?”
He nodded. “He did.”
Fingering the fringe on her sleeve, she replied, “If you must know, Billy Joe Campbell killed my brother as he robbed the bank in Tucson.”
“I’m sorry for your…”
She held up her hand. “Don’t finish that sentence,” she said. “I hate it when people offer me condolences.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because until I have brought his killer to justice, I feel as if I’ve failed him.”
Lincoln shifted on the bed to face her. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
She took a deep breath to gather her courage. This was the first time she had shared her story with anyone. “Two years ago, Billy Joe Campbell robbed my parents’ bank where my older brother, Mark, was working as a clerk.”
“It was your parents’ bank?”
“It was,” she replied. “Does that matter?”
He shook his head. “No, I was just curious.”
“It was the end of the day, and my brother was about to lock up, when Billy Joe Campbell ran into the bank,” she shared. “He demanded the money, but the bank only had a few hundred dollars in cash.”
She paused for a moment before continuing with her story. “Billy became irate and shot my brother in the chest. The sheriff heard the pistol discharging from his office, but by the time he arrived, Mark was bleeding out on the floor. There was no sign of Billy.”
Compassion was in Lincoln’s voice as he said, “I’m so sorry.”
Tears came to her eyes, and she swiped at them with her hand. “My brother was able to describe the man before he died, and the sheriff immediately organized a posse to search for him.”
“I assume they didn’t catch him.”
“Oh, they did,” she replied. “They caught him and arrested him, but somehow he managed to escape from his prison cell.”
“How awful,” Lincoln murmured.
“When I heard the news, I asked Mr. Pinkerton to assign me to the case, and he granted me permission. But I couldn’t catch Billy Joe, and the case grew cold. After that, I was ordered to come back to Chicago and was assigned other cases.”
“But you never stopped looking for your brother’s killer.”
“No, and I never will,” she said in a determined voice.
“Good,” he stated. “I wouldn’t either, if I was in your shoes.”
“Thank you for understanding,” she replied. “Most people think I have an unhealthy obsession with bringing Billy Joe Campbell to justice.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t think I do,” she said. “But I can’t just walk around pretending that everything is all right when my whole world was shattered two years ago.”
“I understand completely. After my brothers were killed, I had to learn to face life without them, and it was hard.”
“I can only imagine,” she murmured.
A comfortable silence descended over them as they each retreated to their own thoughts. It was only after a long moment that Lincoln broke the silence.
“Did your parents truly disown you for becoming a Pinkerton agent, or is there more to the story?”
“There’s more, but it’s a rather long story,” she replied, hoping to dissuade him.
He held up his hands. “We have all night,” he said, smiling.
Amey shifted her gaze toward the open window as music drifted up into their room from the saloon down the street. “I was always the ‘good girl’ growing up,” she admitted. “I knew what was expected of me, and I acted accordingly. But that wasn’t who I was.”
“Then who is the real Amey Barney?”
A smile came to her lips. “I prefer to wear trousers and a shirtwaist.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “I even own a gun belt.”
Lincoln looked amused. “I take it that your parents didn’t approve?”
“Not at all,” she said. “My parents wanted me to continue to be the prim and proper daughter of the mayor.”
“Your father was the mayor?”
“He still is,” she admitted, growing serious. “When I turned eighteen, my father arranged a marriage for me. He wanted me to marry his business partner’s son.”
“I take it that you weren’t pleased with this match,” he replied knowingly.
She shook her head. “Heavens, no!” she exclaimed. “Timothy was a vain, shallow man, and I wanted nothing to do with him.”
“What did you do?”
“I realized that I needed to stop pretending to be someone that I wasn’t,” she shared. “The first thing I did was inform my parents that I would never, ever marry Timothy. Then, I started wearing split skirts, riding astride, and even began carrying a pistol on my person.”
“How did your parents react?”
Amey frowned. “They were mortified, and we fought constantly,”
