Master of disguise,
Adam Skelding, is a Pinkerton agent on assignment. His mission: Find the missing
gold and stop the secretive Knights of the Golden Circle before they gain power. The future of the country depends upon it.
All Marilla Logan
wanted was a way to escape from her life as a tavern wench. A dark stranger with the piercing blue eyes offers her only chance.
Swept up into a life of intrigue, she becomes ensnared in a tangled web of clues, danger, and emotion to break the code.
Excerpt
from "Adam's Treasure"
1867
Richmond,
Virginia
It
was dirty and ugly. Yet it shone like a beacon, calling her toward it without hesitation. Its owner was playing cards with
his friends, too drunk to notice the departure of the enticing package from his haversack. Marilla Logan smoothly positioned
her skirts over the object, while carefully balancing her loaded tray of drinks. Her heart pounded. This could be worth some
money, and she really needed some. The package belonged to a man who was one of those filthy ex-Rebels who regularly drank
themselves silly in this dank brick building they called Symthe Tavern. She had heard that this man, Dawson, was once an important
officer in the war. It was hard to see any admirable qualities in the man now.
How
long had she been looking for just this kind of thing? It seemed forever. Life was an endless cycle of waking, serving drinks
and food all day to unsavory characters, then sleeping in a dismal room, only to get up and do it all again. Hope bloomed.
Could this possibly be her ticket out?
A
sharp tug made her look down irritably. A man was on his hands and knees, lifting up her skirt!
“Sir,”
she whispered. “What are you—?”
He
raised his head and gave her a sheepish grin. A pair of sapphire blue eyes held hers clearly for a split second before the
unfocused, inebriated gaze returned.
“’Scuse
me, Miss,” he slurred, “Seems I dropped mah fork.” His groping hand touched the toe of her boot and moved
up to her ankle. Drawing her foot away, she stomped on the fingers with her heel.
His
hand jerked out from under her dress, but surprisingly, he merely grunted softly. She expected him to howl with pain. How
disappointing.
Moving
swiftly, Marilla set the tray on the man’s vacated table, bent, retrieved the packet, and stuffed it in her large apron
pocket before picking up the tray again.
“It’s
mine,” she said.
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