Now she was being transferred to the Denver office. It shouldn’t matter what office she worked out of, as long as she was able to continue working as a Pinkerton agent. She would go to Denver and prove her worth.
Lifting her chin a bit higher, Amey strode down the sidewalk with a smile on her face and determination in her heart.
2
“Put the gun down, Henry!” Lincoln Hoyt ordered as he kept his revolver trained on the short man with blond hair. “And let the woman go.”
Henry shook his head. “I’m not going back to prison,” he declared as he pressed the barrel of the pistol tighter against the temple of the woman that he was holding captive.
The young woman whimpered as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was dressed in a silk robe, and her brown hair was falling loosely around her shoulders.
“Then you shouldn’t have killed someone,” Lincoln drawled.
“It was an accident.”
“Tell that to the jury.”
“They won’t listen to me.”
Lincoln grunted. “Probably not, especially since this is not the first time you’ve killed someone.”
“The first time was also an accident,” Henry declared, stepping behind his victim.
“How do you keep accidentally killing people?” Lincoln asked, annoyed. “Because I have never killed someone ‘accidentally’. It has always been intentional.”
“We were drinking, and things got out of hand,” Henry explained.
“Then don’t drink.”
Henry gave him a perplexed look. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“Lots of people find enjoyment without drinking alcohol.”
“That’s just asinine.”
“Just let the woman go,” he demanded with a frown. He was growing tired of this exchange. “We both know you are going back to jail.”
“But I don’t want to,” Henry whined.
“I know you don’t want to, but you were the one who pulled the trigger.”
“But he cheated at cards!”
“That’s not my concern,” Lincoln responded. “My job is to arrest you.”
Henry waved the gun in front of him. “What if I hired you not to arrest me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t make deals with criminals,” Lincoln replied dryly.
“Then I’m going to have to kill Betsy,” Henry said, bringing the barrel back to her temple.
“No, you won’t,” Lincoln asserted.
“Yes, I will.”
Lincoln lifted his brow. “Look around you,” he said knowingly. “There’s no one at this brothel who will help you.”
Henry’s eyes frantically darted around the small bedroom before he finally muttered, “It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to walk out of the brothel with my Betsy.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let that happen.”
“Then I’m going to kill her,” Henry stated.
The young woman whimpered.
“Again, I’m afraid I can’t let that happen,” Lincoln replied.
“If you don’t let me walk out of this room then I will kill her. I swear I will!” Henry exclaimed, cocking his pistol.
Lincoln kept a steady gaze on Henry. He had no doubt that he could end this altercation with just one bullet, but he didn’t want to kill again. He was tired of killing, especially stupid people. It just didn’t seem fair.
“This is your last warning, Henry,” Lincoln said calmly. “Put your gun down or I’ll have no choice but to shoot you.”
Henry laughed as he proved his cowardice by ducking behind the young woman. “No one is that good of a shot.”
“I am,” Lincoln replied confidently.
The humor was stripped from the killer’s face as he studied the man before him. “Just let me pass,” he barked.
“No.”
“Then this woman’s death is on your hands,” Henry attempted.
“No one has to die here today,” Lincoln said. “Put your gun down and walk away with your life.”
“But I will go to prison.”
“Yes, you will,” Lincoln answered matter-of-factly.
“I just came to Denver to spend time with my Betsy,” Henry complained. “How did you even find me?”
“The Pinkerton Detective Agency has eyes everywhere.”
Lincoln watched as beads of sweat trickled down Henry’s forehead.
“I won’t go back to prison!” he shouted.
The moment Henry’s finger twitched on the trigger of his pistol, Lincoln fired his revolver and hit him in the middle of the forehead.
Betsy screamed as Henry fell to the ground with a thud. Lincoln calmly holstered his weapon and approached the hysterical woman.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
The woman’s pale face stared back at him. “Is it over?”
“It’s over,” he replied. “He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”
“Thank you,” she murmured as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
“I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
Lincoln’s gaze shifted toward the dead body on the floor, and he cleared his throat. “Do you mind stepping out of the room while I remove his body?”
Betsy’s eyes filled with tears as she nodded.
After she departed from the room, Lincoln crouched down next to Henry and sighed. It didn’t have to come to this. Why did criminals always make such poor decisions?
He squatted down, grabbed the dead man’s right hand and draped it over his shoulder. After a bit of maneuvering, he pulled Henry’s body across his shoulders, being mindful to distribute the dead weight evenly.
He rose carefully and carried Henry’s body down the stairs and through the entry hall of the brothel. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to carry out a dead man from this establishment.
Many hours later, after a bath and a change of clothes, Lincoln arrived at the Denver office of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.
He opened the front door and was immediately greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies. He headed toward the kitchen, where the cook, Pearl, was transferring the cookies onto a plate.
“May I have a cookie?” he asked hopefully from the doorway.
Pearl turned toward him with a smile on her face. “Yes, you may, and thank you for asking,” she replied. “Most of the agents just come in and snatch them when I’m not looking.”
“That’s wrong of them,” he said, walking closer to the plate of cookies.
Pearl picked up two cookies and extended them toward him. “You have just earned yourself a second cookie, Agent Hoyt.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
Lincoln had just eaten his first cookie when
