Death train, p.1
Death Train, page 1
Death Train
The Pinkerton Man Serties
C.J. Baty
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixeen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Coming in 2025
About the Author
Other Books in the Pinkerton Man Series
Also, by C.J. Baty
Copyright © 2024 C.J. Baty
First Edition August 8, 2024
Published in the United States
Cover Art by C.J. Baty
Cover content is used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted is a model.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. The Author will make known specifics in Author Notes.
The following story is set in the USA and therefore has been written in US English. The spelling and usage reflect that.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Owner, except where permitted by law. To request permission and for all other inquiries, contact cjbaty27@gmail.com by email.
Author’s Note
The train in this story is based on the original Pullman Sleeping Train with sleeping berths that became widely popular at the beginning of the 20th century. Pullman even created a special train for Queen Elizabeth I. There is a large amount of information on the web about these marvels of travel.
DEDICATION
This book would not have been possible without the help of many people. I want to thank Maryann for her awesome beta skills. As well as my long-time friend and research partner, Robyn. I love and appreciate you both.
Chapter One
The year had started out dramatically for Stiles and his lover. Michael mistaking Stiles for being dead, he was nearly killed by an insane cousin. Worst of all, they barely missed being on the ocean liner, Titanic, when it sank in April.
The country had been in a heated political battle for the presidency, which Woodrow Wilson won. The climate in Europe was set to erupt into a war like no one had ever seen before. Skirmishes were breaking out in several locations filling the newspapers with dread. Going home to St. Louis was the best thing that had happened. Though Michael wasn’t pleased that they were accepting a new assignment, Stiles knew they were needed.
Their good friend, Martin Collins contacted them before they had left New York and explained the Secret Service needed a couple of experienced agents to coordinate an assignment. He knew they were the perfect duo for the job. He sent all the information to James McCullough, the head agent in St. Louis, and he would brief them about it. Michael had been silent a good portion of the train ride home. Even more so, their first night home. He was still lying about in their bed the next morning knowing full well their appointment with McCullough was at noon.
Stiles fixed a cup of coffee the way he knew Michael liked it and took it to him.
“It’s time to wake up sleepy head,” Stiles said.
“I’m not asleep.”
“Well, I brought your coffee anyway.” Stiles set the coffee on the table next to Michael’s side of the bed.
“Then… maybe I can put a smile on your face another way,” he said. Lifting the covers on his side of the bed, he dropped his robe to the floor, and crawled under. He was naked.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m trying to put a smile on your face.”
Clearly not thinking the night before, Michael had dressed in a nightshirt instead of pajama bottoms. Stiles had access to all of Michael’s sensitive parts. Stiles heard the gasp and felt Michael jump as soon as he touched him. He gently lifted Michael’s hardening member and wrapped his fingers around it, squeezing.
“Stiles!”
“Yes,” Stiles whispered as he kissed Michael’s wrist and palm.
“I don’t…”
“You don’t what?”
Michael tried to wiggle out of Stile’s firm grip, only causing himself more pleasure.
“You know it only makes you grow harder when you try to fight me,” Stiles whispered as he began a slow rhythm with his hand up and down Michael’s shaft.
“You know I hate it when you use sex against me,” Michael uttered.
“I’m not using it against you. I’m using it to please you.”
Stiles continued his ministrations, knowing how much Michael was enjoying their play. He kept up the steady rhythm until Michael began to arch into his fist. His own member was leaking and needed attention. Though this wasn’t about him, this was fully for his lover.
“I’m… not…going to change…my mind.”
With his staggered words, Michael was close, and Stiles knew what to do. He lifted the blankets and dipped his head under to lick softly at the head of his lover’s hard member which was dripping Michael’s essence.
“Stiles!”
The fountain erupted as Michael called out his name. It flowed over and pooled in the fine hair around his member.
“You’re an ass,” Michael said between heaving breaths.
“I know and you love me.”
“I do.”
They barely had time to reach McCullough’s office, after washing up, dressing, and grabbing something to eat. They decided to take a cab, so as not to be any later than they already were.
Lawrence Whitley met them at the door with handshakes and hugs.
“So wonderful to see the two of you again. Welcome back.”
“Bah,” Michael mumbled under his breath. Lawrence didn’t hear him, but Stiles did.
“He’s expecting you. Go on in,” Lawrence said.
They entered the room to find James McCullough arguing with someone on the other end of the telephone line.
“I will not put my agents in that kind of danger. Do you understand me?”
McCullough waved them in as he continued his conversation.
“He’s not who I would have picked. He can be irresponsible, and I don’t even know the other agent. If you had told me…” The conversation was cut off and he slammed the receiver down. “Son of a bitch should have told me before they sent him here.”
A moment later, he was calmer and offering Stiles and Michael coffee. Stiles declined. Michael poured himself a cup and walked across the room to stare out the window at the busy street traffic. The door opened behind them to allow someone to enter McCullough’s office.
“I would have told them not to send you had I known,” James said.
“I know. That’s why I told them not to tell you.”
Stiles attention was quickly drawn to Michael who was suddenly choking on his coffee. He rushed to his lover’s side to pat his back. Michael pushed Stiles hand away and turned to face the new people in the room.
“This is Reginald McCullough, my nephew and one of the Secret Service agents sent to work with you on this assignment,” McCullough said stiffly.
“This is my partner, Rochelle Warrant,” Reginald said. “It’s lovely to see you as well Uncle.”
“Hello,” Miss Warrant said to the gentlemen in the room.
Reginald held a chair out for Rochelle. As she sat, his eyes drifted across the room to where Stiles and Michael stood. Surprise made his eyes widen as he looked at Michael.
“Michael?”
“Reggie,” Michael answered. The room filled with a palpable tension.
Clearly there was a past between Michael and Reginald that Stiles knew nothing about. The man was certainly attractive. Pale blond hair longer than was the style of the day. He pushed it behind his ears showing off cheekbones with a trimmed beard and mustache. Close to Michael’s height, they would have stood nose to nose. It was the man’s eyes that drew Stiles. Dark brown, nearly black, they contrasted with the rest of the man. He wondered what was hidden in those depths.
Walking up to Stiles, Reginald smiled as he said, “And you are?”
“Stiles Long,” Michael cut in quickly. “He and I have been working for the Pinkerton’s for some time.”
“Hello.”
“So, this is the amazing Stiles Long,” he said. Shaking Stiles hand, he added, “I’ve heard a great deal about you and some of your antics for the agency.”
Stiles pulled his hand away when Reginald held it longer than was polite.
“Do I detect a slight British accent,” he asked after Stiles removed his hand.
“I was born in London, but I’ve been in America for several years,” Stiles answered. “It’s my home now.”
“Shall we get down to the assignment,” James interrupted. “We’ve got a lot of information to go over.”
Lawrence brought sandwiches, sweets, and more coffee as the day wore on. It was nearly dinner time before the group finalized travel arrangemen ts and agreed on how to proceed.
“If you gentlemen, don’t mind, I’m quite tired. I’d like to return to the hotel to freshen up before a quiet dinner in my room,” Rochelle said.
“I’m sure Lawrence can hail you a cab to return you to the hotel,” Reginald said.
Stiles noted that Michael was unusually quiet during the meeting. Only speaking when someone asked him a direct question. He paid little attention to Reginald at all. Stiles didn’t like the way Michael was acting. It was clear they needed to speak about his past with Reginald McCullough and how it might affect this assignment. It was going to be difficult and possibly one of the most dangerous they had ever encountered.
The Secret Service was first created after the Civil War. Counterfeit money was being produced in the southern states, which didn’t help the already unsteady economy there. Their sole goal was to seek out and stop those who were behind it. Most of the criminals had been caught by the turn of the century. Recently, during a heated political race for the Presidency, forged currency began popping up again. The Secret Service had lost a half dozen agents in pursuit of the ring of criminals at the center of the counterfeiting. After Woodrow Wilson won the Presidency, one of his first orders was to bring the Pinkerton’s in on the case to work with the Secret Service. Neither agency was happy about it. There had been a silent rivalry between the two agencies for years.
Chapter Two
“I think I’d like to have dinner at Louie’s,” Michael said.
It was the first place that came to his mind. Being one of Stiles favorite restaurants in town, he figured it was a safe bet. Stiles agreed and didn’t ask any questions. Michael knew better. The man was biding his time and hopefully a great meal would put things off a little longer. He needed to get things straight in his mind before the topic of Reginald McCullough came up.
How could he not have thought there might be a connection between James and Reginald? Hearing that voice again after all these years was a shock to his entire system. Standing there in James’s suddenly too small office, visions of two young lads rolling around in a tiny single bed trying to be as quiet as possible in a room full of other boys, flooded his mind. Of course, the whole room heard us and the next morning we were both expelled. I didn’t see Reggie, my name for him, again until London ten years later.
I had returned to England after my father had died. Enjoying all the things a young man with certain proclivities had in a city able to supply his needs. Looking up from the young man I was kissing, I stared straight into the eyes that had haunted my dreams for years. They say you never forget your first. I hadn’t.
I don’t remember what happened to that man I was kissing, but I do remember the night Reggie and I spent together. Desire burned like fire in my veins through everything we shared. Both of us had matured in body and what we wanted from a sexual partner. But, in the morning he was gone. Not a note. No good bye. Nothing. Seeing him again in James’ office was almost too much.
Love was never anything we experienced. It was complete unadulterated lust, and we both knew it. Stiles coughed into his hand to get my attention.
“Are we going to order,” he asked. “You’ve been looking at that menu for ten minutes.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered.
Stiles waved to the waiter. They ordered their favorites and another glass of wine. Michael thought they should have ordered a bottle.
Stiles was quiet during the meal. A gentleman to the very end. Somehow, Michael wished he’d get angry. Yell at him. Anything but this quiet patience. Skipping dessert, they were on their way out of the restaurant when they spotted Rochelle Warrant entering with two gentlemen. Both looked out of place wearing suits outdated and a little damaged. One man tried desperately to hide behind a bowler hat tipped down on his eyes. Several days growth of scruff lined his face. The other man was younger, his eyes never staring at one place. They were both clearly uncomfortable. Rochelle’s eyes widened at the sight of Stiles and Michael.
“Hello,” she said and motioned to the two men to go on ahead of her.
“Making friends already. Is Reginald joining you?” Stiles asked.
“No. This is a friend of my parents and his son. I thought while I was in town I would catch up with them,” she answered.
Michael noticed the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot as she spoke. She often glanced across the room at the two gentlemen. Something felt off about the whole situation.
“Enjoy your dinner and catching up,” Stiles offered as he tipped his hat to her. She hurried away with a whispered goodbye.
Stiles unlocked and opened the door for Michael, as he did every time they entered their home. He knew that the time had finally come to share the part of his past that Stiles didn’t know about. Working with Reggie was going to be difficult enough, but he wouldn’t allow anything to come between him and Stiles.
In the parlor, he headed straight for the whiskey decanter and poured himself a stiff drink. The three glasses of wine he had at dinner hadn’t been nearly enough courage for this discussion. Stiles filled a glass for himself and sat in his chair by the fireplace. Michael sat in his chair facing Stiles.
“I think you have something to tell me,” Stiles said. “I can wait until you’re ready but know this, nothing you can tell me will change my feelings for you.”
Michael relaxed at his words. He knew how long it had taken Stiles to come to realize that they did love each other as deeply as any man and wife. Maybe more. Their life together had not been easy, but they’d come through it all and here they sat.
“I met Reggie, Reginald, in school. We were young but old enough to be curious about the feelings raging in us at the time. The first time was clumsy and silly. Being in a boarding school in a room with a dozen other boys didn’t make for much privacy. We were caught and expelled from the school. My father took me away to America and I assumed I’d never see him again,” Michael took a gulp of his drink before he continued. “When I returned to London after my father died, I saw him at a gentleman’s club. You know the kind I mean.”
Stiles only nodded. Then he said, “And?”
“We were men this time and being likeminded had a lust filled night that ended with him disappearing,” Michael sighed deeply. “I never put the name together with James. I don’t know why. Maybe because I just wanted to forget the whole situation. You know, I had lovers before us, so did you. Meeting you changed my life.”
“As it did mine,” Stiles said softly.
They sat quietly, sipping their whiskeys for a time. The fire the servants had set was beginning to burn down. Neither man made an effort to add more wood to keep it burning. It was late and they were due at the Pinkerton office early in the morning.
Stiles said, “Why don’t we get ready for bed? It’s been a long day filled with more than either of us expected.”
Michael watched Stiles leave his glass on the sideboard and head to the stairs. He wasn’t sure what was going on in the man’s head. Thinking he would give Stiles time to finish his ritual, Michael banked the fire and thought deeply about their conversation. It was one-sided at best.
Stiles was already in bed when Michael entered their room. He was wearing pajama bottoms without his shirt. His naked chest was on display for Michael to look upon. The scars from his time in Chicago and other assignments are prominent. Michael had touched and kissed them many times. He finished preparing for bed and slid silently next to Stiles. Waiting. For what he didn’t know.
Stiles turned onto his side to face Michael, a tender smile gracing his lips.
“I love you. You taught me what love was and could be for us. The past is the past. You don’t have to talk about it ever again,” he said.
