An Agent for Serafina: Pinkerton Matchmakers, #46

By Lynn Donovan

Already an agent for the Mexican Secret Service, Serafina Rose de la Verde encounters Pinkerton Agent Todd Smith when they escort their countries' presidents to a secret meeting in Denver, Colorado. Impressed by her extraordinary beauty and professionalism, Smith brings her to the Pinkerton Mansion to meet Archie Gordon.

 

Archie needs a fresh face for an undercover investigation into a Whiskey Ring Tax Evasion scandal in Missouri. She's perfect for the job and Archie asks permission to borrow her for this investigation. She's willing to help the famous agency, except there's just one hitch— she has to marry Agent Smith in order to solve the case with him.

 

When things go horribly wrong and they return by the skin of their teeth, will their reputation as excellent agents be ruined? Will Serafina have a job to go back to in Mexico or will the humiliation ruin everything she has spent her career developing. Can Smith convince her that he loves her and wants her to stay in America, because he's the right agent for Serafina?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barr26 Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Feb 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223619857

Book preview

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Here it comes. Agent Todd Smith watched the northbound train pull into the station. Agents Mav Jones and Jed Green stood with their backs to him. Their job was to watch the crowd of people gathering to guarantee the extraordinary client they were meeting was protected from any potential political enemies. The mass of people hurried toward those disembarking from the passenger cars. Few looked more than twice at the elaborate Pullman car at the head of the train or the three Pinkerton Detectives who lingered alongside it.

So far, no one suspicious had been spotted. Mav turned to follow the engine while the other two stayed even with the Pullman. Their instructions stated President de Tejada would be arriving in the custom-made Pullman, escorted by the Mexican Secret Service Agent S.R. de la Verde. But no movement indicated anyone was preparing to exit the gilded private unit. Smith tossed a curious glance to his fellow agents. Where was their client?

The Mexican political leader and the American political leader, Ulysses S. Grant, were discretely meeting at the Tabor Hotel in Denver City, Colorado to discuss an alliance against the Indian infiltration in Texas and Northern Mexico. It was hoped with a combined effort from the two countries the raids could be stopped and the nuisance contained.

The Pinkerton Agency had been commissioned to not only escort and protect President Grant to the western territory, but to meet and assist the Agente del Servicio Secreto, the Mexican equivalent to the Pinkerton Agency, who traveled with President de Tejada. It was imperative the meeting remained out of the press for both political leaders’ safety. De Tajada had political problems in Mexico that threatened his life, as did Grant, who was in his second term of office. With some recent scandals, he too had people who wanted him out of the White House. Plus, the Comanche Wars had allies who would consider it a great victory to kill either leader. Having them both in one location made them essentially fish in a barrel.

Agent Smith’s eyes darted to the shaded Pullman. No movement could be seen inside. He stepped up to the platform and checked the door. It was locked. He knocked. There was no answer. El Presidente?

He knew some of the language— enough to call out to the client.

Soy Agente Smith, El Presidente.

He pressed his forehead to the glass and cupped his hands around his temples. But he couldn’t see any silhouetted figures moving about inside the private car. He turned to Mav and Jed. They were still scanning the crowd, but glancing his way often enough that he caught Mav’s attention.

Smith shrugged and stepped down off the platform.

No one is inside? Mav glanced once more at the crowd.

Doesn’t appear so. Smith looked again at the door. Still no one exited. He caught the arm of a steward. Excuse me. We were meeting an important client who was supposed to be in that Pullman. Have you seen anyone or served anyone in there?

The steward looked to the Pullman. No sir. That car has been empty since it was added to this line in El Paso, Texas.

Really? Agent Smith turned to his partners. Was it a decoy?

Jed shrugged. Looks like it. Sounds like this Mexican Secret Service is as shrewd as our Archie Gordon. He chuckled.

The passengers moved away from the train, greeting those who had come to meet them, or hurrying to the horse taxis to get on with their business. The three Pinkerton agents stood near the Pullman, determining what to do next.

"Perdóname." A tall woman wrapped in a dark, ragged shawl drew a feeble looking man along with her. Beggars. Todd dismissed them immediately.

Señores? The vagrant insisted. Are you gentlemen with —she pushed her shawl off her head, revealing silky black hair that cascaded in swirling curls down her back. Alabaster combs pulled her hair back from her face— Mr. Archibald Gordon’s company?

Her incredible eyes were a vibrant violet. Her nose had a slight upturn. As Smith’s gaze swept down her face he was mesmerized by her full ruby red lips that were crowned with a sharp cupid’s bow. They were the most kissable lips he’d ever seen. His heart slammed against his ribs and he thought it stopped beating all together until she spoke again.

I’m sorry to bother you. I am looking for Mr. Todd Smith. Might you be he? Her English was perfect, with very little lingering accent. She was beautiful. Todd swallowed against the shock of her beauty. Such a contrast from her ragged clothing. He had thought her a beggar. But now…

He was certain she was not what she seemed.

Yes. I am Todd Smith. He glanced at his partners. Mav and Jed stood motionless, staring at the woman.

The man on her elbow cleared his throat. Peering out of his monk-brown loosely woven, hooded cape. I am Lerdo de Tejada. You are the gentlemen with the Pinkerton Detective Agency, no?

All of a sudden to dawned on Agent Smith. This was the Mexican president and his secret service escort! A woman! Just like the Pinkerton agency, Mexico had employed the ingenuity of female agents who defied convention to serve as slick infiltrators.

Agent Smith forced his mouth closed. You are… Agent S.R. de la Verde?

She smiled. "Sí, I am Serafina Rose de la Verde."

Todd’s heart skipped a beat when she smiled, but her voice— like satin ribbons touching his ears, made his heart slam to a halt. He stared at her, trying to breathe naturally. Words could not form in his mouth.

Welcome to America. Mav shoved Todd aside and took the president’s hand. He spoke quietly so no one could hear, although the crowd had long since dispersed. We have enclosed transport right over here. Your companion is waiting for you at the meeting place, sir. Do you need anything before we go? Again he did not want to use President Grant’s name or the Tabor Hotel in public.

No. President de Tejada shook his round, balding head. Serafina remained at his side while the Pinkertons casually surrounded the two and walked them to the waiting transportation. Serafina smiled when she saw the enclosed Hack passenger wagon with an ordinary pair of chestnut bay horses. Smith had intentionally rented a discrete mode of transportation rather than a fancy carriage with elaborately adorned horses that would draw the curious attention of the public.

Serafina continued to scan her surroundings even though three Pinkerton Agents flanked her and el presidente. Todd appreciated her diligence. He did the same. A rifle shot, ricocheting off the Hack wagon with a zinging sound. The three Pinkerton agents yanked out their guns and turned to where the sound had come from.

A swift, sweeping movement in Todd’s peripheral caused him to turn to Serafina, she had reached into her hair and yanked one of the alabaster combs from her hair, while shoving her charge into the carriage. The president went in on his knees and remained very still. Had he been shot?

In one singular motion, Serafina snapped the comb in two, but it stayed together, she bent it into a circular shape and with a flick of her wrist, she threw it toward a balcony. Smith could not see anyone, it was why he had not fired his Colt .44.

The alabaster thing twirled and curved in the air, like a well-thrown curve ball, turning and disappearing onto the upper terrace. A man screamed in pain and staggered forward, clutching his bloody throat. Alabaster reflected the sunlight between his fingers. He folded over the rail and dropped. Dust billowed as his body hit the dirt hard. A gurgling sound faded and the man lay still, except for an occasional twitch of his boot. She’d killed him… with a comb!

Smith spun back to Serafina, Is the president alright?

Yes, I think so. She scrambled to climb into the carriage, stepping around President de Tejada, who still crouched on the floor. "Presidente, ¿estás