Page 3 of Equalizer
“Breathe.” Owen bent to press a kiss to Calvin’s hair. “Relax your jaw. You could crack a tooth.”
“I don’t know why this job has me jumpy,” Calvin confessed. “It just feels like there’s too much we don’t know.”
“Which is why we won’t do anything without more information,” Owen reassured. “While we’re at the morgue, we’ll see what we can find out about the accident. And I’m sure Winston will get all the details about the ghost from the workers at the station. We can reach out to Ida and see if any of her contacts might have details.”
“Ida Tarbell knows everyone,” Calvin agreed. The feisty journalist had made a name for herself with fearless reporting about corruption in high places. Her deep web of connections had proved helpful with another case, and Ida loved sussing out a good mystery whether she could publish the story or not.
“Seems like all the good journalists are named Ida,” Owen said, remembering their friend Ida Hardin who had helped them out in St. Louis.
Winston returned with a triumphant smile. “I had several fascinating conversations with the chaps at the station. Let me get the roast in the oven, and I will share the details. In the meantime, why don’t you gents relax with some port. We’ve still got a while until it’s time to eat.”
Calvin and Owen murmured their thanks. They closed the curtains in the sitting room for privacy and turned up the lamps.
“At this rate, we’re not getting into Chicago until morning,” Calvin groused, taking a seat on the sofa.
Owen sat next to him, a bit too close for propriety’s sake. Their thighs touched and shoulders bumped. “Don’t be in such a hurry. There will be plenty of time for us to chase down awfulstuff once we get there. It’s nice to get a bit of a breather before we go headlong into another bloody mess.”
“You’re right. I feel…twitchy,” Calvin admitted.
Owen stretched up and brushed a kiss over Calvin’s lips. “I can take care of that…after dinner.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Calvin grinned.
Their partnership and romance were still new, starting when they were assigned to work together and headed to St. Louis to tackle their first case. That success ensured that their pairing as agents was made permanent, along with using the Pullman car and Winston’s services.
Falling in love hadn’t been in the plan.
Their chemistry sparked from their very first meeting. Calvin had already been in the Supernatural Secret Service for three years, having served in the War Department before that. Back in Boston, Calvin honed his fighting skills with street gangs. His father, fearing that Calvin would end up dead or in prison, gave him an ultimatum: to enlist or be turned over to the police.
Calvin knew how to use charm and wit to make friends quickly and warm up reluctant contacts. At six feet tall with a trim, athletic build, Calvin stood out in a crowd even without his raven black hair, plush lips, and bright blue eyes with long, dark lashes.
Owen stood two inches taller with a rangy swimmer’s build. His blond hair, fair skin, and green eyes were a striking contrast to Calvin’s darker good looks. Owen’s grandfather had opposed the Civil War and fled the South for Baltimore. A stint with the Army in the County Seat Wars and the Cattle Wars had been good preparation for Owen joining the SSS.
Chance threw Calvin and Owen together, and the spark between them burned brightly from their very first meeting. They learned to trust each other under fire and deepened that bond beneath the covers.
Calvin’s stomach growled. “That roast smells good. I’m starving.” He poured a glass of port for himself and one for Owen, and then they settled on the sofa as the car lurched to a start. Muted grumbling from the direction of the kitchen told Calvin that the jerky start had vexed Winston.
“Looks like they got the rails cleared.”
“Let’s hope the rest of the way to Chicago is less exciting,” Owen remarked.
Calvin picked up his book from the side table and glanced toward Owen. “Didn’t you just finish something?”
Owen nodded. “The Time Machineby H.G. Wells. That man has quite an imagination.” He frowned, trying to glimpse the title of Calvin’s book. “Did you start something new?”
Calvin chuckled. “I usually have two or three books going, depending on the mood. I started this one a week or so ago.The Adventures of Sherlock Holmesby Doyle—a British guy. Solid mystery, even if there isn’t anything supernatural about how he solves the crimes. Brilliant, but a bit insufferable.”
“I liked that book, but you’re right—Holmes would be irritating as hell in real life.”
“Hats off to anyone who solves crimes the hard way—without magic or being able to talk to the spirits,” Calvin added. “Of course, Holmes has the benefit of being a work of fiction with an author who figures everything out behind the scenes. Must be nice.”
Calvin felt the port warm him and loosen his tight shoulders. Despite Owen’s excellent massage, Calvin still felt tense and feared that it was a harbinger of things to come. Much as he liked his book, he struggled to stay focused. His thoughts flickered back to the railway accident and his sighting of the headless ghost.
Could there be any connection to the new case? Seems like a stretch. Then again, things aren’t always as random as they seem.
Winston summoned them for dinner, and Calvin startled at the interruption, having gotten thoroughly lost in his thoughts. He and Owen joined Winston in the dining room, where a roast with boiled potatoes and carrots waited in the center of the table.
“That looks as good as it smells,” Owen told Winston, and Calvin agreed.
