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AT A LATE breakfast the next morning, Stiles was still trying to understand what had happened the night before. The fact that he had shared a lover with another man no longer surprised him. It had been one of the most exhilarating experiences of his life. What bothered him was why O’Leary had disappeared the way he had. Paul had slept on for a bit, and Stiles didn’t begrudge him the needed rest. The man had been well used. He awoke some time later, and Stiles enjoyed the intimacy of their time together. They had shared light kisses and touches as well as promises to see each other again, though Stiles knew that was not likely. His thoughts remained on Paul until a familiar face came into view.
Taking a drink of his coffee, Stiles was surprised to see Lawrence come into the dining room of the hotel. The man looked terribly upset, and when he spotted Stiles he approached him slowly, head bowed.
“Whatever is wrong with you, Lawrence? Sit down and I’ll order you a cup for some coffee,” Stiles said, standing to greet the man.
“I’m afraid I can’t. Mr. McCullough sent me to fetch you,” Lawrence said, finally looking up at Stiles. “We need to meet him at the hospital as quickly as we can.”
“Hospital? Whatever for,” Stiles asked as he stood.
Lawrence whispered, “Another body has been found.”
Stiles felt his stomach roll and panic filled his entire body. It wasn’t possible. Unless, as he’d feared, the authorities had been wrong and Lykin had not been the killer. Then a pain struck Stiles, so forceful it was as if a knife had been seared through his heart. Paul.
STILES HAD LOST his breakfast in front of McCullough and the doctor who was holding the sheet over Paul’s mangled body. As soon as Stiles’ brain registered that it was Paul—which he hadn’t wanted to believe at first—everything he had eaten earlier spilled out of his mouth.
The doctor had shown him where he could clean himself up, and he went willingly. Splashing water over his face, he saw himself in the mirror and he was shaken again. He was pale and his face had red blotches from losing his breakfast so violently. Rubbing the evidence off his shoes made him gag, but he soldiered on. Once he put himself to rights, he returned to the room where Paul’s body had been, but it was now gone.
McCullough stood by a window looking out across the city. He didn’t say anything until Stiles crossed the room to stand beside him.
“I’m sorry. Lawrence said he was a... friend of yours. We needed someone to identify the body. No one from the Velvet Rope would come. They said it wasn't their problem.” McCullough stood rigid with his hands wrapped behind his back.
“The authorities were wrong,” Stiles said, staring out the window at traffic going up and down the busy street.
“Yes.”
“What now?”
“We begin again, in time.” McCullough added, “Rossi and O’Leary have both left the area. We have teams trying to locate them. O’Leary will probably be the easier, if he shows up at his new job as he is supposed to. Rossi, however, has vanished. He did not go back to Rome, of that we are sure.”
“And what of my new assignment?” Stepping away from the window, Stiles turned to McCullough.
“We can send someone else. Wallace suggested you might need... want to take some time away.”
Stiles decided McCullough was probably right. His frame of mind was not good, and he would need his wits about him if he were to take another case.
“Maybe a week or two of quiet would do me good.”
The men walked to the door and out into the hospital corridor. Nurses, doctors, and patients walked past them, going about their business as if nothing at all had happened. Stiles was not a crying man. Not even when he had lost his father had he shed any tears. He needed a drink and some solitude.
“If no one claims his body, what will happen to it?” Why that thought had occurred to him he wasn’t sure. Maybe the memory of his father, or maybe his need to do something to make the pain go away.
“Pauper’s graveyard, I assume.”
“I’ll see to a proper burial if no one comes forward. Can you take care of that?”
McCullough pushed the door open to the sidewalk and turned to face Stiles when they were outside.
“Yes, I can do that. I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.” Stiles turned and headed up the street. Where he was going he had no idea. The only thing he did know was that it wasn’t the Velvet Rope. He would never enter that establishment again.
LATE SUMMER TURNED into fall. The leaves began to change their colors and drift to the ground. The air had a definite chill, and Stiles was finally feeling more like himself. He’d come to realize what happened to Paul was not his fault. There had been no more murders in St. Louis, and the city seemed to forget the poor boys who had died.
Stiles received a note from McCullough to come to the office one day late in September. He had a new assignment, and he was excited to be working again. He donned his hat and long leather coat and headed for the office. While he had no regrets about leaving England and Scotland Yard, he did feel more himself, somehow, now that he was back in something like a uniform.
Lawrence met him at the door with a hearty handshake and slap on the back.
“You are looking well, Mr. Long. I am happy to see you again.”
“You as well, Lawrence.” Nodding toward McCullough’s door, Stiles asked, “Sounds like he has someone in there already. Am I here at the wrong time?”
“No, go on in. They’re waiting for you.” A huge smile transformed Lawrence’s face. “Go on.”
Stiles strode across the room, knocked on the door, and opened it. McCullough stood behind his desk and motioned him in. Whomever McCullough had been speaking with was hidden by the door. Stiles stepped over the threshold and looked up to see Lizzie Ferguson grinning wickedly at him.
“Lizzie?” Stiles was shocked to see his friend. He’d written to her about Paul and what happened, but had never heard from her.
“Stiles,” Lizzie said as she wrapped her arms about him and kissed his cheek. She smelled of lavender and lilacs. She looked wonderful.
“What on earth are you doing here? I wrote to you but never heard back.” Stiles stood her away from him and looked her over. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve been studying for my new position, so I was unable to return your letter. I am sorry about what happened.” She took a seat to the left of McCullough’s desk. Stiles took the right.
“Still, what are you doing here?” Stiles motioned around the room with his hand.
“I can answer that,” McCullough said. “Miss Ferguson applied to the agency not long after you did. It is not the agency’s normal practice to accept young women as agents, but after Miss Ferguson’s detailed reasoning as to why she would make an excellent agent, Wallace and I agreed to give her a try.”
“You’re an agent?” Shock wasn’t a strong enough word for how Stiles felt. Worry felt closer to the truth. “I can’t believe your father would allow this, Lizzie.”
She had the good grace to blush before she answered. “My father is under the mistaken idea that I have run away to marry... you. I’m not sure where he got that idea.”
Stiles stared at Lizzie for several moments and then broke into uproarious laughter. His sides ached by the time he calmed down. Knowing Lizzie, this did not surprise him at all.
“Actually, that is going to work to our advantage in many situations.” McCullough coughed, regaining control of the conversation.
“How is that?” Stiles asked. He relaxed back in his seat and watched his superior as he pulled a folder from the lap drawer of his desk.
“On some assignments we could send you in by yourself. But the agency would feel better if you had a partner. Also, Miss Ferguson made a very good point when she said a woman can go places a man can’t. In some situations, an intelligent and trained woman could even deal with men better than another man.”
Stiles started to protest. There was no way he would allow Lizzie to do what he had on his first assignment. McCullough held up a hand to stop him.
“We would never put Miss Ferguson in a compromising situation, Stiles. Strike that thought from your head. Your situation was unique.”
They continued to discuss the pros and cons of the two of them working together until finally Stiles could not produce a practical argument against the idea. He still didn’t like it, but he couldn’t disagree with the suggestion any longer. Lizzie clapped her hands and laughed when he finally gave in.
“Don’t get too excited, Lizzie. These assignments can be very dangerous, and I must have your word that you will take all precautions when we are working,” Stiles took her hands in his and held them to his heart. “I couldn’t bear to lose my best friend.”
Lizzie kissed his cheek; then said, “As you will promise to do the same.”
The two of them left the agency office together, shared a meal, and caught up on what each of them had been doing. The next day they arrived at the agency office to receive their next assignment. Together they would work for the Pinkerton Agency. Both willing to go to any lengths to set wrongs right.
But in the back of his mind, Stiles never forgot Paul or the feeling that the agency had somehow failed him and the others who had died. Someday, Stiles promised himself, he would find the fiend who had killed Paul. He wouldn’t rest until he did.
