Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts by Regina Jennings (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

until she felt the wall behind her. Work in Joplin? Was it possible? She’d assumed that secrecy was required with all cases. Although she’d grown up in Kansas City, which was one hundred and fifty miles from Joplin, her family’s presence would make it impossible for her to work there incognito. On the other hand, she’d have connections available that she’d never had before. Working in Joplin would change the game.

As Mr. Seaton elaborated on the events that led him to them, Calista couldn’t tear her eyes from the picture of Lila. According to her father, Miss Seaton had gone on a shopping excursion with her mother and an aunt. One minute she was trying on hats in a crowded haberdashery, the next she’d vanished. For weeks the Chicago police had taken notes, patrolled neighborhoods, and questioned Jinxy’s foes, but they hadn’t found anything. It wasn’t until a business associate—Calista knew not to inquire as to what kind of business—told Jinxy that he’d seen Lila inside a Joplin brothel that they knew she’d survived and was still in danger.

“Who was this witness?” Mr. Pinkerton leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers over his chest. “Can we interview him?”

“He’s not keen on talking to detectives. Besides, he’s currently unavailable.” Jinxy lowered his eyes.

Calista shot a glance at her boss before asking, “If she’s alive, why doesn’t she contact you?”

“She’s kept captive,” Jinxy replied. “What else?”

“In Joplin, Missouri?” Pinkerton raised an eyebrow. “Compared to Chicago, that seems as wholesome—”

“You don’t know Joplin,” Calista interrupted. Joplin was a mining town that had sprung up out of the dirt. The quick money had attracted the most unsavory of characters and industries, creating a wild reputation in the region. Now, decades after the first zinc was discovered, the newly wealthy were trying to create a society out of rough parts, yet many of the homes considered respectable were funded by others’ miseries.

As a child, Calista had spent every summer at Granny Laura’s ranch, but when they went to town, Granny Laura guarded them like a mother hen marching her chicks through a snake pit. Calista would admit that her head got turned by the luxurious clothing the fancy women wore as they paraded right down Main Street, but she would never forget the girls tucked away in darker alleys. No one would voluntarily submit to the anguish she saw on their faces. If someone was going to profit from Lila’s capture, Joplin was the logical place to take her.

“You know it will take time,” Mr. Pinkerton said. “Our operatives have to create their characters. They have to integrate into society. Miss York won’t walk into town, announce that she’s a detective, and pass your daughter’s photo around. Our methods yield results, but you must be patient.”

“When I think of what she’s enduring . . .” Mr. Seaton reached for the photo but stopped short, resting his hand on the desk. “I’ll be as patient as I’m able. I just want her to know that no matter what she’s done, or what’s been done to her, we love her and want her to come home.”

An admirable sentiment from a despicable character. But Lila was no gangster. She was an innocent girl, and she needed help.

And despite Mr. Pinkerton’s misgivings, Calista considered herself the perfect person to rescue her.

JOPLIN, MISSOURI

If a young lady had been forced into a life of depravity and bondage, she wouldn’t be staying at the Keystone Hotel. The six-story luxury hotel at Fourth and Main was respectable, which meant Calista had to get away from her apartment to search for Lila. But she didn’t have to go far.

In the shadow of the great hotel was the most notorious establishment in town. The House of Lords purported to be a café. That was what was on the ground floor, but everyone knew what went on upstairs. Calista had only arrived yesterday, but she was ready to storm the castle. She’d never heard of a case where they’d gotten such specific information about a missing person. If Lila was being held at the House of Lords, that was where Calista would start looking, albeit carefully. If the people holding her got spooked, the girl could disappear again, never to be found.

Calista cruised by the brothel’s building again, wondering how to proceed. Before she’d left Chicago, Pinkerton had extracted a promise from her that she wouldn’t pose as a soiled dove to get inside, that she wouldn’t overestimate her skills, and that she would tell no one about her mission. If she didn’t succeed within the month, he would insist that Jinxy replace Calista with a more experienced operative. In fact, Pinkerton was already making arrangements for her failure.

One month. If she couldn’t find Lila Seaton by then, Calista would be recalled in disgrace, and her probation period with the agency would come to an end. She held her head high as she passed the shoeshine boy for the third time. Perhaps she should have thought up a strategy before leaving her apartment that morning.

Since this was only her third case and her first as the primary operative, her briefing with Pinkerton had been thorough. Together they pondered the inconsistencies of Jinxy’s story. How could Lila be held in plain sight? Why hadn’t she asked anyone for help? The kidnappers must hold some power over her. Maybe they’d drugged her until she was reliant on them, or perhaps mere threats against her family were enough to keep her compliant—her sister’s recent murder made such threats believable. Whatever the situation, Calista would be dealing with dangerous men, but she had faith. God had called her on this path. Whatever she faced, it was better than her pointless existence as a debutante in Kansas City.

She needed to do the job and find Lila before Pinkerton talked Jinxy Seaton into replacing her.

But she couldn’t bring herself to cross the threshold of that demon’s lair. Once, when she was young, she’d asked to eat at the restaurant, and Granny