Down but not out, p.1
Down But Not Out, page 1
Down But Not Out
Pinkerton Man Book 5
C.J. Baty
Contents
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
The Secrets of Whitcomb Manor
Other Books in the Pinkerton Man Series
Copyright © 2022 C.J. Baty
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Down But Not Out (The Pinkerton Man Bk 5)
First Edition August 31, 2022
Published in the United States
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Cover Art by C.J. Baty
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Editing by Edits with a Touch of Grace https://www.facebook.com/editswithatouchofgrace/
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Cover content used for illustrative purposes only, and any person depicted is a model.
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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 inquires, contact cjbaty27@gmail.com by email.
About the Author
C.J. loves a good mystery, hot sexy guys, the mountains, and a happily ever after. When she decided to try her hand in the book world, it only made sense to combine those things. She firmly believes that love is love in all of its shapes and forms. Her books contain broken spirits that need to be mended and a mystery, often a murder, which needs to be solved, so those spirits can find love. She calls southwest Ohio home, but her heart lives in the hills of Tennessee.
www.cjbaty.com
This book and the one to come is dedicated to the readers who have fallen in love with Stiles, Lizzie, Michael, and their adventures. Without you, they would have not become who they are. Thank you.
Chapter One
“LET ME SEE THAT!”
Lizzie snatched the telegram from Stiles.
He was stunned by the words he’d just read. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be true. James McCullough had been a resolute agent and a trustworthy friend. He’d run the St. Louis branch of the Pinkerton Agency with fairness to all the agents who worked for him.
“Stiles,” Lizzie said as she gently shook his shoulder. He looked in her direction.
“This says he’s been missing for a month and presumed dead. It doesn’t mention anything about murder.”
Michael added, “I can’t believe it.”
“I don’t believe it!” Stiles shouted.
Stiles rose and walked back and forth across the veranda. The view, which had been breathtaking only a moment before, suddenly took on an ugly gray hue. Stiles felt it in his gut, there was more to this than those few words on that yellow piece of paper.
He turned abruptly to his two best friends. “Start packing. We’re going home.”
Stiles watched as Lizzie entered the villa calling for the maid. She would need help packing her trunks. Michael joined Stiles at the balcony.
They were free here to be themselves. Showing affection to each other had become second nature in this place. Going home meant they would have to hide that side of themselves again.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said as he grasped Stiles hand. “He was a good man.”
Stiles pulled his hand away and stared at Michael. “He was more than that,” he growled. Softer, he added, “so much more.”
The stunned look on Michael’s face tore at Stiles’s heart. He had never withdrawn from his lover like that. He watched as Michael shuffled his feet and stared at the ground.
“He was forward thinking. Accepting my nature when others would have said I was an abomination. Realizing a strong woman like Lizzie could be a great asset and competent agent was really telling of his thought process.”
Michael only nodded his head in agreement.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Go into the village and check the train schedule. We need a day to prepare, then we’ll head for London. Once there, we’ll contact the White Star Line and see if we can change our passage to an earlier date,” Stiles said. Then added, “I’m sorry. This has me jumbled. It will be fine once we get home.”
Michael wrapped his arms around him and gently pressed his lips to Stiles’s. It was sweet and tender. Stiles offered his lover the only thing he could at the moment, a smile.
Once Michael left him, his mind began to wander. These weeks at the villa had been wonderful. Nights with Michael had been passion filled and more than he could have hoped for. Returning home, under this cloud, felt daunting. They had to be careful there, not showing their feelings in public. What if the new director wasn’t as open minded as McCullough had been? He had a dreadful suspicion that things were about to change and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
His mood was no better when they retired for the night. Michael’s warm body did nothing to improve his temperament.
“What’s bothering that mind of yours?” Michael asked softly. “You know I’ll listen.”
He wished he could explain what was going on with him. He knew Michael cared, there was no doubt of that. But explaining what was going on in his head seemed out of his grasp. It was so foreign.
“Everything is fine,” he lied. He pulled Michael’s willing body closer to him. “I hate to leave the peace we’ve experienced here. It will be different in St. Louis.”
“I know,” Michael whispered, as he reached for Stiles’s member. “Let me love you.”
It had never happened before. His body didn’t respond to his lover’s touch. Stiles felt Michael tense beside him.
“I’m tired, that’s all it means,” he said. Michael relaxed.
He tipped Michael’s face to kiss him. He let the kiss linger on the man’s soft lips. He clung to his lover a few moments longer.
“Good night.”
“I love you,” Michael murmured as he tucked into Stiles’s side.
Stiles placed a kiss on Michael’s forehead and closed his eyes. He felt the bridge between them crack as sleep came. What the hell was he doing?
Stiles didn’t remember the train trip to Liverpool. He spent the ride in a fog. He listened to Lizzie’s and Michael’s chatter but didn’t comprehend anything they said. The only time he came to life was when one of them would mention home or McCullough. He didn’t know what they thought of his behavior, nor did he ask? They had sleeping berths, but he sat up all night in the dining car, sipping on whiskey and staring out the window into the darkness. He did fall asleep sometime during the night in his seat and awoke to the sound of passengers entering the dining car for breakfast. The crease in Michael’s forehead as he approached Stiles was a clear indication of his concern for his lover, though he said nothing. Lizzie couldn’t be content to do the same.
“I have no idea what the hell,” she whispered the last word. “you think you are doing, but I’ve had enough.” She slipped into the seat next to him, then continued.
“Stiles, you’ve got us worried to death. You are not only not talking, but you’re also not eating or sleeping. If you keep this up, who knows what shape you’ll be in after a nine day voyage home.”
“Lizzie,” Michael said. “Go get us a table and order the coffee. We’ll be there in a moment.”
Lizzie stood and walked away without another word. Michael took her place in the seat next to Stiles. His voice soft and laced with concern, he spoke as he looked past Stiles out the window.
“When I was but a lad, my mother took to her bed. She stayed there for close to a year. I didn’t know until I was much older that my father had begun to deal with some very rough and troublesome men in a nearby village. His gambling was getting out of hand and financially he was going broke. My mother couldn’t deal with the situation. She stopped eating, seldom drank anything, laid in her bed talking to no one for days on end. I overheard the doctor tell my Uncle James that it was a case of melancholy. I was a child and had no idea what that meant. Uncle James was a widower with two small children of his own. He moved into the house and took care of my mother and me.”
Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. He was sorry for Michael’s mother and for him. It must have been a terrible way to live for a young boy.
“I’m telling you this because I believe you could be suffering the same thing,” he said tenderly. “My mother shut herself off from everyone and everything. I didn’t know if my mother would ever return.”
“Did she?” I asked.
A soft smile broke across his lips. “On my ninth birthday, she woke as if she had been in a long sleep. Like the past year had never happened. My father didn’t know what to make of it, nor did Uncle James.”
“So, she was fine after that,” Stiles asked.
“No. The rest of her life, she would have these periods of melancholy that would last a few days or a few months, but she always returned to us,” Michael answered.
“I now know that my father’s gambling and other activities caused her to slip into a place where she didn’t have to deal with him,” Michael’s eyes filled with tears as he spoke. “She died after father took me to America with him.”
“Michael,” Stiles said. “I’m not going to die. I won’t lie to you and tell you I’m fine, but I know I’m not dying. I don’t know how to explain what is going on in my head. I know you and Lizzie are concerned but I must work this out on my own. Please give me the space to do that.”
Stiles brushed the tears out of his eyes, then stood.
“I’m here and when you’re ready, I’ll still be here.” Michael said.
Stiles felt the rift he had begun at the villa grow deeper with the one man who had ever loved him. The realization that he could push Michael out of his life only made the darkness inside him grow.
They arrived in Liverpool and boarded the ship without Stiles doing anything to help. Michael and Lizzie had taken over the tasks that he usually took care of. This only added to the guilt that was beginning to eat at him.
This time the ocean voyage was uneventful. No murders or black mailers with alternative motives showed their faces. No storms to rock the ship. No whispered words of love or nights filled with passion. Just a feeling of cold dread that surrounded him at all times.
They were walking the deck, he and Lizzie, after another unmemorable dinner on board the ship. Suddenly, she dug her nails into his arm. He could feel them through his clothing. It was a sure sign she was very angry with him.
“That’s it!” she said firmly.
“Talk with me, Stiles,” she pleaded, changing her tactic.
How could he explain the deep dark well he was in? His thoughts dropping into it beyond his reach. The more he grabbed at them, the farther they would drop. It was a thick gray fog enveloping him and he couldn’t find his way through it. He didn’t understand why it was happening, and he had no idea how to stop it.
“If I could explain my mind, you would be the second person I’d explain it to,” he said as he patted her hand. “I have no idea why this is happening or how to stop it. I’m sorry that I’m hurting Michael, and you. I truly am.”
“Try,” she begged. Her voice cracked on the word.
“I’m walking in a foggy terrain that allows me to chase my thoughts, only to fall into a deep dark hole of nothing.”
“Oh Stiles,” Lizzie sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eyes.
“I’m sure I’ll be better once we get home,” he knew he was lying as he spoke the words. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be the same.
“This isn’t fair to him,” she said. He knew she meant Michael. “You should talk to him. If you love him, don’t push him away.”
It wasn’t a question of whether he loved Michael or not. He’d never experienced anything like this, and he wasn’t sure anyone could help him. Anger boiled up from inside him.
“This isn’t about him or us,” he growled the words at Lizzie.
Pulling away from her, he stomped toward the rail.
“Leave me alone! I’m not good company right now.”
Lizzie turned to leave him in his solitude but stopped.
“I don’t know what it is that’s happening to you or why. But I do know you’re letting it happen. Stiles Langberry Long, Pinkerton Agent, would not wallow in this…this… whatever it is. He would fight and he wouldn’t let the man who loves him die from heartbreak.”
Lizzie left him to his melancholy. He watched the waves crash against the hull as the ship sped them on their way home. Home?
Would it be different at home? Back to his own bed, the one he shared with Michael. Back to work, though the mystery of James McCullough was yet to be solved. That had to be it, this emptiness inside him. A new assignment, some criminal to hunt down, that’s what he needed, but there would be a new director to meet. Could he work for someone new when his thoughts were all jumbled up with what happened to his friend, James McCullough? Home didn’t sound so important now.
Chapter Two
Compared to the quaint villages and quiet countryside the trio had enjoyed over the last six weeks, New York was crowded, loud, and filthy. Stiles was determined to get past the need for solitude and pushing Michael and Lizzie away. He wanted more than anything to be his old self again. Their train to St. Louis wasn’t due to leave for three days. That meant staying two nights in the city.
Seeing the dejected look on Michael’s face weighed on his conscious. He really didn’t mean to hurt him. Stiles knew his feelings for Michael hadn’t changed, at least he didn’t think they had. He was just having a hard time finding them in that hole where his soul had disappeared.
They’d taken separate rooms at the hotel, so the knock didn’t surprise him. It was dinner time, and he knew he should eat. The easiest thing would be to join Michael and Lizzie. He just didn’t want to leave the solitude and darkness of his room. The knocking stopped and he relaxed in his bed. Eventually, a fitful sleep overtook him.
When he woke, he had no idea what time it was. His room was in total darkness, and yet, he knew he wasn’t alone. Laying perfectly still he waited for whoever it was to move. His revolver was in its holster on the chest of drawers; he was unarmed. Relaxing his body for what was coming, he tried to remember the number of steps to the door. The floor creaked as the intruder took a step forward. The man’s voice was a hoarse whisper when he spoke.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll not go looking for McCullough. It’s too late for him and it will only get you – and them – killed.”
Hurried footsteps crossed the floor and opened the door. Thinking he could see who the person was, Stiles lifted his head opening his eyes. The light from the hallway was so bright the only thing he could make out was the shape of the man. He heard the door slam as it closed and footsteps running down the hall away from his room.
It was the first time Stiles was grateful he had fallen asleep completely dressed. He dropped to the floor as soon as the door had closed, grabbed his revolver, and followed quickly after the retreating footsteps.
He reached the elevator to discover no one had summoned it. The man’s only escape would have been down the stairs. Stiles followed. When he reached the first floor, he threw open the door and caught a glimpse of the shadow he had been following in the lighted lobby. He was facing away from Stiles, but he got a good look at his coat. It was dark brown, looked new and fit the man perfectly.
Taller than Stiles, but not by much, the man was fast. He barely slowed down, knocking the doorman aside as he rushed outside to the street. Even at this late hour, the street was busy. The man was pushing his way past people causing the distance between them to grow. At the crosswalk, the man stopped and turned toward Stiles. He was under a streetlamp, but Stiles still couldn’t get a clear look at his face. What he did see was the gun the man had pulled from his pocket. He took aim and fired the gun. Someone behind him shouted his name.
“Stiles!”
Michael? Turning, he saw Michael grab his shoulder and drop to his knees.
The shadow called out, “I warned you,” as he ran down a dark alley between two buildings.
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“You’re very lucky, young man. It’s just a flesh wound,” the hotel doctor said as he finished applying a dressing to Michael’s arm. “It will be sore for a day or two but will heal just fine.”
