Page 1 of Equalizer (Sharps & Springfield #2)

Chapter 1

Calvin

G rave robberies? Doesn’t it seem strange to send two federal agents to look for missing bodies?” Owen Sharps reached for a slice of warm bread. The rocking of their Pullman car gently sloshed the tea in his cup.

“Seems they think there’s more going on than medical students getting cadavers to study.” Calvin Springfield added a liberal smear of peach jam to the butter on his toast and paused to take a gulp of some coffee.

“Plenty of creatures steal corpses, but they usually dig up the coffins after burial. They don’t snatch bodies out of morgues without a trace.” Calvin savored another sip of coffee, hoping it chased away the last vestiges of a poor night’s sleep. “Headquarters must have had an inkling that this was our sort of problem.”

Owen gave him a look. “Or they’re still annoyed with us for breaking the rules on the last case.”

Calvin sighed. “Or that. Although it was all for a good cause, and we did end up being right, after all.”

“I guess if they wanted to give us a slap on the wrist, they’d send us to some god-forsaken cattle town in the middle of Wyoming instead of Chicago,” Owen replied.

“Although Chicago is probably the biggest cattle town in the country,” Calvin observed.

Winston, their butler, assistant, and bodyguard, appeared right on time to refill their cups and remove the plates. “I’ve checked the wire several times—no new telegrams, although that might change once we’re in Chicago. I have to admit, I’m intrigued,” Winston said.

The Pullman’s gentle rocking contrasted with its speed as it hurtled down the tracks toward Chicago. The luxury private coach served as their cover as traveling businessmen and investors, hiding Calvin and Owen’s work as agents for the Supernatural Secret Service. Although he took on the role of butler, Winston Smith was a highly-trained operative with experience in research and a dead-eye shot.

The Nighthawk-series sleeper car cut a handsome profile, gleaming black with chrome accents. Its generous observation platform opened into a well-appointed parlor with dark wood walls, a hammered tin ceiling, and furnishings in emerald green velvet, as befitted two wealthy gentleman investors.

Inside, the car featured a parlor with velvet-tufted couches and armchairs, side tables, and a large poker table. Three sleeping cabins each had a full-sized bed with a chair, desk, and private bath. A library with a telegraph station and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves provided opportunities for research as well as relaxation, and a hidden corkboard helped them organize information. A well-equipped lab accommodated medical, scientific, and arcane needs.

Large windows provided plenty of light in the dining room, with a mahogany table, dark green velvet draperies, matching upholstery, and glass-fronted cabinets filled with bottles of liquor and wine.

Winston presided over the kitchen and pantry, a well-qualified butler and bodyguard. Hidden shelves scattered throughout the car concealed racks of guns, knives, and other weapons.

Like its owners, the private car was more than it appeared, with steel walls and ceiling reinforced to stop most gunfire, and the window glass was an experimental prototype that would fracture but not shatter from bullets. A special air filtration system protected them from a gas attack, and the undercarriage could survive driving over a significant TNT explosion.

Given that their work dealt with the supernatural, every room except the laboratory had pipes of salted holy water with iron filings built into the window and door frames. Warding sigils against demons, dark magic, and an exhaustive list of supernatural nasties were worked into the steel behind the wood paneling.

The train lurched, nearly sending their cups into their laps. All three men grabbed for a handhold to keep from being thrown from their seats, and the train’s brakes screeched.

“What the hell is going on?” Calvin shouted above the din.

“Don’t know, but it looks like we’re making an unexpected stop,” Owen said.

Calvin went to the window. “I can’t see anything from here.”

“Must be serious—this is the express. It doesn’t do extra stops,” Owen said.

When the train finally stilled, Winston looked out the door. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told them and hopped down to the siding. Through the window, Calvin saw Winston talking to three men in railroad uniforms who pointed in the direction of the engine.

Finally, Winston returned to where they waited. “We hit an automobile that was straddling the tracks. They’re clearing the wreck. Made a mess of things. They think the driver was thrown clear—there’s no body in the car.”

Owen’s eyes took on a distant glaze, and Calvin knew his partner was tuning in with his abilities as a medium to search for the spirit of the dead driver.

“He was gone before the accident,” Owen said in a far-away voice as he listened to the voices from the other side. “Dead when someone put his car on the tracks.”

“Does he know who killed him or why?” In the brief time he and Owen worked together, Calvin had gotten more comfortable with his partner’s ability. Now Calvin thought of the ghosts as just another type of witness, although their appearance still sometimes gave him a fright.

Owen stared into the distance at things only he could see. “He didn’t see his killer. He’s very confused about why anyone would want him dead.”

“That’s an elaborate setup for someone without a motive,” Calvin pointed out. “Can you get a name? Does he know where the killer left his body? We can follow up with the morgue once the police are through.”

“Arthur,” Owen said. “Arthur Simpson. He’s still quite unsettled. It takes the newly dead a while to collect themselves. Dying is traumatic.”

“There’s a surprise,” Calvin muttered. “Anything else?”

Owen shook his head. “He thinks his body is in the woods. Maybe he can tell us more later, but he’s lucky to know that much.”

Winston was ready with a fresh cup of hot tea laced with plenty of sugar to help Owen gather his wits and replace the energy of reading a spirit. Calvin sat with him, noticing the way Owen’s hand shook and how he had paled with the exertion of communicating with the dead.

“Thank you. I know it costs a lot to do that.” Calvin placed a hand on Owen’s thigh in support.

Owen closed his eyes and sighed as he sipped the fragrant tea. “Every effort has a cost. Mine is just a little weirder than most.”

“The railroad people will need time to clear the tracks before the train can move on, and then we still need to have the car put on a siding once we arrive,” Winston pointed out. “We won’t get settled until after everything is closed. You have time to rest before there’s any chance of going to the morgue.”

“Let’s get some fresh air and have a look,” Calvin suggested.

Calvin and Owen walked a short distance up the tracks, watching steam tractors haul away the wreckage as railroaders examined the tracks for damage. Night was falling, and the workers used torches to light the cleanup effort.

Trees lined the path of the tracks, set back from the easement. Calvin saw movement near the shadows and squinted for a better look, then caught his breath, eyes going wide.

The translucent figure of a headless woman in a gray dress stood at the edge of the shadows.

I’m not the one who usually sees ghosts. I’ve got to be imagining things.

“Owen? I need you.” Calvin’s voice sounded higher than usual, even to his own ears.

“I hope so,” Owen replied cheekily, coming up behind him, then quickly sobering. “What’s wrong.”

“I saw a ghost. A headless woman. Out there.” Calvin pointed toward the dark fringe of the forest, but the apparition was gone.

“There’s no one now.” Owen moved to stand next to Calvin.

“I don’t think I just imagined it,” Calvin said, still shaken. “Did I?”

Owen frowned. “People see ghosts all the time, regular folks who aren’t mediums. Certain ghosts have enough energy to make themselves visible while others need someone with the right power to see and hear them.”

“How are you so calm about this stuff?” Calvin stared into the darkness as if he could will the ghost to reappear.

Owen shrugged. “I’ve always had the Sight, and so did my mother and grandmother. Runs in the blood. The Church might not have liked it, but the neighbors believed.”

“Why do you think she showed up?”

Owen led him back inside. Calvin sat, and Owen moved behind him to massage his tight shoulders.

“She probably haunts this stretch of rail from a long-ago accident and it’s just a coincidence about her showing up now,” Owen replied. “Or maybe the energy of the wreck drew her. When we get to Chicago, Winston can dig into the local lore. I’m sure there’s a story to go with the haunting that’s partly true.”

“Do you think she caused the wreck?” Calvin tried to relax under Owen’s firm touch, just realizing how tight his shoulders were from stress.

“Maybe. Depends on whether she has a reputation for harming people or whether she’s just a harbinger. My bet is on the second choice. A lot of ghosts show up to warn the living about impending danger.”

“She’s a little late for the driver of the car.”

“Maybe he wasn’t who she was warning,” Owen pointed out. “You’re the one who saw her.”

“You think we’re in danger?” Calvin leaned into Owen’s hands, trying to ignore how the connection affected him.

Owen chuckled. “We’re government agents. We’re always in danger. The question is—is it a supernatural threat or one from regular people?”

“Usually both,” Calvin said with a sigh. “That’s how it goes.”

Owen shifted his hands to stroke the cords of Calvin’s neck, then moved to rub at the tight muscles of his clenched jaw.

“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 awful stuff 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 Machine by 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 Holmes by 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.

“We need to keep you both in fighting form, and a good dinner goes a long way toward that,” Winston replied, clearly pleased at the praise.

By agreement, they rarely talked about cases over meals unless the situation was dire. Winston made sure to pick up at least one newspaper at one of their stops throughout the day, and they competed to find the most interesting or unique tidbit to fuel their discussion.

Much of the news centered on the war with Spain or England’s battles in the Sudan. It became a challenge to find stories that weren’t related to either event to keep the conversation lively.

“It’ll be interesting to see what that new Antarctic expedition discovers,” Owen said. “Though I doubt we’ll hear anything for quite some time. I can’t imagine being at the very bottom of the world.”

“No thanks,” Calvin said. “What we do is risky enough. I have no desire to go somewhere entirely uncharted and freeze to death doing it.”

“Chicago in late Fall isn’t exactly toasty,” Owen pointed out.

Calvin gave him a look. “It’s not Antarctica.”

“Admit it—you’re curious,” Owen teased.

“Curious enough to read an article or visit a traveling exhibition when—if—they get back? Yes. But I see enough strange things every day in this job without going to the ends of the earth.” Calvin suppressed a shiver at the thought.

Winston refilled their drinks and served an apple pie for dessert. Calvin savored the smell of fruit and cinnamon mingled with the scent of fresh coffee. “You spoil us, Winston.”

“Nonsense. Hard work deserves good food,” Winston replied, although a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Calvin had worried that Winston might reveal his and Owen’s relationship to the authorities, which would get them fired and most likely jailed. To his relief, Winston supported them and kept their secret.

Winston was in his forties, about fifteen years older than Calvin and Owen, and a powerful witch and a skilled field medic, as well as a semi-retired field agent, chemist, and jack-of-all-trades. He played the part of their butler willingly, a ready cover for his presence. Winston stood a few inches short of six feet with a stocky build. His round face and spectacles gave him a bookish look, and gray tinged his beard and thinning brown hair.

Together the three men had proven to be comfortable traveling companions, taking on whatever unusual paranormal cases the SSS assigned them. After proving their mettle by thwarting vampires and stopping an attempt to open the gates of Hell, they had gained commendations and the notice of the top brass.

“In much less exciting news, there’s a new cola,” Calvin said, going back to their discussion of the news. “The inventor is calling it ‘Pepsi-Cola.’ Odd name, but I’d still try it if we happen upon a bottle. It’s got me curious.”

“You like all the soda fountain drinks,” Owen teased. “You’re like a kid with a sweet tooth.”

Calvin shrugged. “Something different to try that isn’t alcohol. It’s a nice change, but I don’t know that they’ll ever really catch on.”

“There’s a galvanism exhibition at the big university,” Winston remarked after a pause, keeping the conversation going. “I’m not sure how I feel about that type of thing, making severed hands and dead frogs twitch with electricity.”

“Pretty creepy,” Owen agreed. “But maybe something good will come of it. I’m not a fan of cutting up corpses, but doctors have learned a lot by doing it.”

“You two have a strange idea of suitable dinner conversation,” Calvin noted.

“We’re hardly polite company,” Owen smirked.

Winston shooed them out of the dining room once everyone was done eating, and they returned to the parlor for a nightcap of brandy. The train kept a steady speed to make up for lost time, and Calvin suspected their arrival wouldn’t be delayed much despite the circumstances.

Calvin and Owen returned to their books, sitting close in easy silence as the brandy put the finish to a fine meal.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Winston popped in to tell them. “If not, have a good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, Winston,” Calvin replied.

“Goodnight,” Owen added. Minutes later they heard the snick of the door to Winston’s room. Owen tossed back the rest of his brandy and leaned toward Calvin.

“Ready to turn in?” He pressed a kiss to Calvin’s neck.

Calvin turned toward him, guiding Owen’s head with hands on either side until they were kissing on the lips. The kiss started light but quickly deepened.

They maintained separate rooms for deniability’s sake since they dared not admit the truth to any but a few trusted allies. Most of the time, Owen slept in Calvin’s room. While Winston willingly kept their secret, both men made sure to conduct themselves carefully in public. It helped that their roles as government agents kept them at a distance from most people and shrouded their lives in secrecy.

“Love you.” Calvin’s fingers traced Owen’s sharp cheekbones and then the curve of his lips.

“Love you right back.” The lightness of Owen’s tone didn’t hide the deep feeling in his blue eyes.

Tomorrow, they would be in Chicago and would need to take precautions to keep their secret, minding their tone and body language so that no one would suspect. Calvin knew that they needed to stay on the right side of the law and, more importantly, not give their supernatural enemies a weapon to use against them.

But right now, in the privacy of their rail car, hurtling down the tracks in the darkness protected by weapons and wardings, Calvin planned to wrap himself in the arms of his lover and pray for protection and deliverance to a god he wasn’t sure was listening.