Garrett grimaced. Yes, he’d originally thought it was going to be that simple as well. “Evidently this was a ship-shod job and most of the items were sold in lots. The woman owned dozens of watches and they were sold off in lots of three.”
Payne sat there for a moment, seemingly absorbing what Garrett had just shared. Predictably, he came to the same conclusion Garret himself had. “So the watch--provided it even exists--could be anywhere.” He shrugged. “It could have been given as a gift, auctioned off on eBay, hoarded away. It could be anywhere.”
Exactly, Garrett thought. He looked away and quaffed the rest of his bourbon. “I’m confident you can find it.”
* * *
Then that only made one of them, Payne thought, resisting the pressing urge to grind his teeth. Given Jamie’s favor, Payne had known that trying to anticipate Garrett’s next request was an effort in futility, but he had to admit, never in a million years would he have expected Garrett to send him on a freaking treasure hunt for a fabled pocket watch.
Which had supposedly belonged to Robert E. Lee.
Which may or may not even exist.
It was madness. Payne inwardly frowned. And it was going to be extremely time-consuming.
“If it exists, then I will find it,” Payne said, bristling at having his Ranger training squandered on such a frivolous task. “However, I cannot afford to devote more than a week away from work.” Not altogether true, he supposed, but Jamie had set a precedent and frankly, Garrett wasn’t getting anymore out of him than absolutely necessary. He’d agreed to one favor and he would deliver to the best of his ability. It was not in his character to do otherwise. But clearly the Colonel had been on this quest for many years and Payne had no intention of getting sucked into an indefinite search.
“I’m a reasonable man, Payne. If you can’t find it within a week, then you can give me what information you’ve gathered up to that point and I’ll take it from there.”
Fair enough, Payne thought with an internal shrug. For reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, he got the distinct impression that the Colonel was holding out on him. “Is there anything else I should know?” he asked, more to gauge Garrett’s response than to mine for a real answer.
“Just this,” Garrett replied after a blinking hesitation. He pulled a folder from his briefcase and handed it to him. “This has the necessary information. Contacts, a map of the area, your plane ticket and reservation. I’ve booked you into a bed and breakfast rather than a hotel. Better service at a B&B and the owners are generally more informed of local history and whatnot. This particular one is called The Dove’s Nest and has been in the same family for several generations. Oral history is becoming a forgotten art, but by all accounts this family is one of the better-informed in the area.”
Be that as it may, he’d have more anonymity at a hotel than a B&B. Furthermore, what about modern conveniences? He had no desire whatsoever to share a bathroom with anyone and he grimly suspected he’d be forced to depend upon a dial-up connection versus the high-speed cable version he could expect from even the cheapest hotel chain. Because he’d mastered the art of keeping his emotions completely in check--easier to keep a potential threat from using them against him--Payne didn’t so much as grimace at this idea, though internally his organs were beginning to twist with dread.
He did not want to do this.
It was a pointless waste of time--his--because if the damned pocket watch existed at all, he was certain some other Civil War Robert E. Lee buff would have snatched it up ages ago and would currently have it on display for other Civil War Robert E. Lee buffs to salivate over.
Though many collectors would probably state otherwise, the purpose of possessing items worthy of collecting wasn’t to satisfy some personal need, but to showcase what other collectors wanted but didn’t have. A cynical view? Probably. But it was his opinion and he was certainly entitled to it.
Furthermore, that telling pause he’d noticed when he’d probed for more information told him that Garrett wasn’t being completely honest with him. Something else was at work here. He didn’t doubt that the Colonel wanted the watch. Clearly adding it to his cache of Confederate Memorabilia would be a coup. But he wanted something else as well.
The million-dollar question, of course, was...what?
Oh, hell. What did it matter? Payne thought, his lips curling into a vague smile. So long as he wasn’t guarding another grand-daughter, he should thank his lucky stars. Women, he knew from personal experience, tended to complicate things and he’d just as soon avoid complications.
And since women and complications tended to go hand in hand, other than to scratch an occasional itch, he typically avoided them as well.
Too much trouble, too little reward, too little time.
Furthermore, women tended to make the men in his family do stupid things, like forego prenuptial agreements and crash their cars and drink too much. They made them miserable and weak and out of control. And for what? Good sex? A handy dinner companion? Another body in the bed? He smirked. Hell, he could get all of that for free, usually in the course of one night and, other than a paying the tab for a meal, his portfolio was still in good standing, not to mention his pride.
Payne had watched both of his parents barter their pride for the so-called sake of being in love to the point where he wondered how they had any respect for themselves left at all. He certainly didn’t, that was for damned sure. All he had left was pity and contempt, limited fond memories of a lonely childhood and a snarled up obligation of parental devotion he wished he could let go of.
Both Guy and Jamie--his brothers of the heart, comrades and current business partners--called him a cynic, but what the hell.
Being a cynic was better than being stupid any day.
CHAPTER 1
“So what are we selling next? The fine china or the Faberge egg collection?”
Emma Langsford smiled at the droll comment and shook her head, but didn’t look up from the scarred desk in her mother’s beauty shop where she was currently working on the books. A piercing throb had developed behind her right eye and an empty hollow feeling of dread had commenced in her belly.
It felt like...broke.
Unfortunately, she recognized it.
Point of fact, in an effort to keep the bank from foreclosing on the family home, they’d sold off everything that hadn’t been deemed an absolute necessity months ago. Continuing care for her grandfather until his death had been a huge drain on her mother’s already strained finances and it had taken every last penny in her mother’s woeful collection to make sure that her grandfather hadn’t suffered. Cancer, Emma thought bitterly. Damned miserable disease.
Rather than re-up for another four years in the military, as much as they’d needed what little money she could send home, Emma had left the Army and had returned to Marble Springs to be there for her mother. Lena Evans might have needed money, but when going through the last stages of losing her father, she’d needed her daughter more.
Unfortunately, aside from coming home and helping her mother, Emma hadn’t made any additional plans. She’d gone to work at the local grocery store to help make ends meet, and planned to cash in on her military service for college, but unless a windfall landed in their lap, she couldn’t see being able to enroll anytime soon. Emma had a reputation for making rash decisions, but usually she managed to come out on top. She frowned.
In this instance, she’d definitely landed sideways.
“We’re not going to sell anything else, Mom. There’s nothing else to sell.” With the exception of her body, that is, Emma thought with a grim smile, but as much as she loved the old home-place, she wasn’t willing to make that sort of sacrifice. At least...not yet. She reached down and absently stroked Moses’ patchy fur, feeling as much like the stray as the old dog who’d adopted her immediately upon her return home. “I’m going to see if I can pick up some extra work.”
Shears poised over Mrs. Wilkins smoky-blue hair
, her mother stilled and stared at her. “More work? Absolutely not. You’re already picking up every hour of overtime you can at the store and I know that you’ve been going over helping Darcy Marcus at This Bud’s For You.”
Damn. “She needed help pulling a few arrangements together for Decoration Day.”
He mother glared at her. “Darcy Marcus made your life living hell all through school. She made fun of your clothes, purposely excluded you from every party and what about the Prom? She hijacked your date!”
Emma grimaced. All true, still... “He wasn’t much of a date to start with.”
“Be that as it may, you don’t have to work for her.”
She knew her mother would react that way, that’s why Emma hadn’t mentioned the extra work with Darcy. But honest work was honest work. She’d also picked up a couple of cover shifts at the video store for Dwight Allen. Dwight had stolen her peanut butter and jelly sandwich in Kindergarten, but that hadn’t kept her from working for him, had it?
They were too poor to be too proud and as long as she was off the street corner and someone was willing to pay her to do honest work, she’d do it. Hell, she’d made it through basic training and had thrived in the military. She could withstand a little degrading company in exchange for the cash they needed. Was it galling? Of course. She wouldn’t be human otherwise. But Emma had to keep the greater good of things in mind and if that meant swallowing a little pride in order to put food on the table, then so be it.
“Well, I don’t care how bad we need the money, we’ll sell the Victrola before you work another minute for Darcy Marcus.”
“Ouch!” Mrs. Wilkins yelped with an angry glance up at her mother. “You’re pulling my hair.”
“Sorry,” her mother mumbled contritely.
“We’re not selling the Victrola,” Emma said, repressing a weary sigh. That Victrola had belonged to her grandparents and represented the last bastion of a life that they used to know. Even Emma could remember her grandparents breaking the old album player out, moving the furniture back against the walls and dancing around the living room. There were dozens of happy memories associated with the old piece and she would not--absolutely would not--let it go.
They’d lose the house before they lost the Victrola.
“Emmaline,” her mother began, using her full given name. “I want you to promise me that you won’t--“
Thankfully the telephone rang cutting off the beginning of an extorted promise Emma had no intention of keeping.
“Lena’s On Main,” Emma answered.
“Emma?” a familiar voice, but one she’d never expected to hear again, asked.
“Colonel Hastings?”
“Ah, it is you,” he said happily.
She sincerely doubted her old boss needed a hair cut or a manicure, so to say that his call was unexpected would have been a huge understatement. “Er...yes, sir. It’s me.”
“Excellent, Langsford. I have a business opportunity I’d like to run by you and I wondered if you were available at the moment to talk.”
“Sure, sir,” Emma told him, struggling to keep her jaw from hitting the floor.
“Excellent. I’m outside in the black Town Car. I’ll wait for you.”
Flabbergasted, Emma felt her eyes widen. She craned her head toward the front of the store and peered out the window. Colonel Hastings was here? In Marble Springs? But--
“Is something wrong?” her mother asked, evidently noting the shocked look on her daughter’s face.
“Er... I’ll be right out, sir.” Emma replaced the receiver, then stood and glanced distractedly at her mother. “Colonel Hastings is here.”
Lena’s perfectly arched brows furrowed. “Colonel Hastings? But isn’t that--“
“It is,” Emma confirmed grimly.
Her brows rose. “Well, what does he want?”
Now that was an excellent question, Emma thought as she made her way to the door. She had absolutely no idea.
Emma ordered Winston to stay--he followed her everywhere, bless his old grateful heart--then slid her suddenly sweating palms over her thighs, pushed through the door and out into the biting winter air. Exhaust streamed from the muffler of the Town Car idling at the curb. The rear passenger window powered down, revealing the Colonel’s smiling face. “Ah,” he said. “Now aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come on, child.” He opened the door for her. “Climb on in.”
Still a bit rattled by his unexpected visit, Emma slid into the roomy back seat and savored the warmth which instantly enveloped her. The heat in her old Ford had played out and she was typically an icicle before she made it into town.
“It’s er... It’s nice to see you sir,” she finally managed for lack of anything better. A more relevant response would have been “What the hell are you doing here?” but she didn’t see herself asking that question.
Not to him.
“Oh, and you, too,” he said, looking as though he really meant it.
She knew that he’d had high hopes for her and had been disappointed when she’d decided to leave the military, but... Well, she never dreamed he’d actually look her up.
“Is there a café or anything nearby where we could talk?” he asked.
“Sure. There’s a little diner up on the corner.”
The Colonel instructed the driver to take them there, then turned once more to her and smiled. “I’m sure you have to be wondering what I’m doing here.”
Emma felt a grin twist her lips. “I’m curious,” she admitted drolly.
“Such cheek,” he enthused, seemingly charmed. “That’s what I always liked about you, Langsford. Wit, courage, smarts. You should have stuck with me. You had a promising career.”
Emma swallowed. “I know, sir. I--“
“No worries,” he interrupted soothingly. “We all do what we have to do,” he said. “I understood it then and I understand it now, and that’s part of the reason I’m here.”
Now that was certainly an enigmatic comment, Emma thought, growing increasingly intrigued as to the reason of his visit.
Five minutes later they were ensconced in a scarred booth with patched vinyl seats. Curiously, though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, the Colonel looked right at home. He calmly sampled his coffee, smiled at the overweight waitress who delivered the brew and idly glanced around the room, seemingly charmed by the worn décor.
“So this is home,” he said. “Quaint, but nice. I can see why you’d want to come back here.”
Emma nodded. Granted there were lots of things about Marble Spring which got on her nerves--the busy-bodies minding everyone’s business, for starters--but overall it was a nice town. Three generations of her family had been born and raised here. There was something to be said for that kind of heritage. Roots, Emma decided. Roots were important.
“Sir, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but...why are you here?”
He smiled. “And that’s another thing I always liked about you. You’re direct.”
As nice as this all was, she’d really appreciate it if he’d get to the point. “You said you had a business proposition for me? What sort of proposition?”
He finally leaned forward in his seat, a silent indicator that he was ready to get down to business, the business that had evidently brought him all the way from Fort Benning, Georgia to her little population five-thousand Mississippi town. “Since you appreciate directness, Langsford, I’m going to get right to the point.”
Emma nodded, encouraging him to go on.
“There’s a piece of Confederate history which has recently surfaced in Gettysburg and I want you to go get it for me.”
Emma frowned. Why did he need her to go and get it? Why couldn’t he do it himself?
“The whereabouts are a bit murky,” he said, evidently anticipating her next question, “and it’s going to take someone with your...particular set of skills to acquire it for me.”
“My set of skills?” she asked.
“Precisely. You�
�re quick, you’re uncannily lucky and, when you want something, you’re ruthless.”
Emma internally recoiled. She wasn’t ruthless, dammit--she was determined. There was a difference. Granted it might be subtle, but it was there. Had other people seen her that way? she wondered, suddenly alarmed. Had her comrades thought she was ruthless? She’d always been competitive, but ruthless?
“Sir, I think--“
“--and when I finish telling you about this mission, Langsford,” he continued, warming to his topic, “you’re going to want it. Badly.”
“Want what?”
“The pocket-watch I’m sending you after.”
Emma resisted the urge pull her hair. “Pocket-watch?”
“This particular pocket-watch belonged to General Robert E. Lee. I want it. In fact, I want it so badly that I have bet a fellow officer--a fellow collector--that you can get to it first. Before his guy.”
Patience had been a virtue she’d always lacked, so as much as she respected the Colonel, she didn’t mince any words. “Sir, this makes absolutely no sense. I, uh-- I don’t have time to look for a pocket-watch, whether it belonged to Robert E. Lee or not. And frankly, I have too much to do and too much to worry about to discuss this any furth--“
“Ten-thousand dollars,” he said calmly.
Emma drew up short. “I’m sorry?”
“That’s what I’m willing to pay.”
“Me?” she squeaked, gobsmacked.
“That’s right. If you get to the watch first and deliver it to me, I will pay you ten-thousand dollars.”
Emma chewed the inside of her cheek, leaned back into the seat and regarded him seriously for the first time since this bizarre conversation began. She could do a lot with ten-thousand dollars. Satisfy the back taxes, take care of the mortgage. Start school. “Brief me again, please.”
He did. “You will have an advantage because I’m relatively certain that Garrett didn’t share the terms of the bet--or even mentioned it, for that matter--to Major Payne. Are you familiar with him?”
Men Out of Uniform: 6 Book Omnibus Page 16
