Behind him, skirts rustled.
“Jessie?”
“No,” a woman answered. Her British accent could be heard in that single word. She laid a delicate, feminine hand on his arm.
He’d always marveled at her skin, skin so soft he had once wondered if harsh words would damage it. What he hadn’t known at the time was that her soft skin and upper-crust accent covered a spine of steel and a heart of iron.
“Lizzie.” His mouth was dry and cottony, his voice strained even to his own ears. His vision cleared just as she sat down in a swirl of black satin and white silk. Beautiful, expensive clothing, so unlike the simple buckskin dresses Jessie seemed to favor. A lot less interesting, too.
“Good to see you, Luke. You gave us quite a scare.” She hit him on his good shoulder. “You only get to get away with calling me Lizzie the once.”
“Right. You prefer Elizabeth these days.”
“Or Mrs. Jameson. Either way, I’ve always preferred Elizabeth. I only let you call me Lizzie because I like you.”
His muscles screamed in angry protest as he sat up. He looked over at the door, at the drawn curtains. Elizabeth sat in one chair, and his bags sat, untouched, on the other.
“Where is she?”
She touched his hand. “Who?”
“Jessie. Jessica White.”
“Ah, yes, her. She’s safe. Keeping the boys entertained, so I hear.”
His heart clenched, the stab of jealousy both unfamiliar and unwanted. “Where, Duchess. Tell me where she is.”
Elizabeth brushed her blonde curls over her shoulder. “She’s fine. We’ve got her in a safe house, just like we planned.”
“I don’t recall discussing that.”
She lifted a single shoulder. “I don’t think we did. We’re just following protocol. You extracted her, now she becomes someone else’s problem. What do you have for me?”
Luke nodded in the direction of the chair that should be Jessie’s and wasn’t. “In the bag. Where’s Jameson?”
Elizabeth rummaged through the bags and pulled out Jessie’s father’s papers. She settled them into her lap and didn’t look at them, but he knew she would. “Around here somewhere. Tell me what happened.”
“I’ll tell you in debrief, Duchess. Get me Jameson.”
Her skirts whispered as she stood. She rapped once on the door and returned to her seat. Keys rattled in the lock and Luke’s team leader entered the room.
Luke had met Mordecai Jameson not long after he’d joined the ranks of the Army, a mountain of a man from West Virginia with the world-weary spirit of one who has seen too much and lived too hard a life. He had recruited Luke directly out of the Army into Special Services and been his team leader ever since. He was, by far, the toughest man Luke had ever met.
Except where Elizabeth was concerned.
Luke frowned at the woman sitting next to him. “You locked me in.”
Elizabeth cocked her head to the side in a gesture somewhere between a shrug and a nod. “You’ve been… restless.”
“Shit.”
“Language,” Jameson warned.
Luke shot him a dirty look.
Soft light filtered underneath the curtains. All Luke remembered were vague flashes of Jessie’s face in the light of early dawn, followed by an endless night. “How long have I been here?”
“A few days,” Elizabeth said.
“Got yourself pretty banged up,” Jameson added.
“A few days?” Luke swung his legs over the side of the bed, and got shoved back. “I’ve got to get Jessie.”
“Not like that, you won’t.” Jameson gestured to Luke’s lap.
“Get me my clothes.”
“No.” There was a finality in Jameson’s tone that warned him to keep quiet.
But he couldn’t.
“Goddammit, Jameson, don’t do this. Jessie should be here, not in some safe house.”
“She’s all right. Parker and Whitfield have her right now.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Luke threw off the blankets and stood up, not caring that he was in the presence of a woman and wore nothing but his short clothes.
If he had to choose two men to trust with Jessie’s life, it would be Parker and Whitfield. If he had to choose two men he didn’t trust with her body, it would be the same two men.
“Sit down, Bradshaw. Try to leave this room, and I will have you brought up on charges of insubordination.” Jameson’s voice was low and dangerous. “You came in wounded, you haven’t been debriefed, and by God, you will not leave this room until your reports are completed to my satisfaction and filed. Do you understand me?”
“Get me a graph. I’ll send them by gram to Chicago.”
Elizabeth’s brown eyes scanned his face. “There’s no hurry. Take a few days to rest. Then you can file your reports.”
Luke sat back in the bed, and forced himself to relax. “George White is alive.”
Jameson threw Luke’s duster at him, covering the majority of his short clothes, and dumped the remaining contents of the chair onto the floor, flipped it around, and sat. Rested his forearms on the back of the chair.
“Talk, Bradshaw.”
As quickly as he could, Luke told them what he knew—about Jessie’s father, about the Rebel pursuit of Jessie in Virginia City and how they’d killed Hiram Andersen, and the airship attack.
“So you see why I need to get to her. I promised Jessie I’d keep her safe.”
“And she is,” Jameson said. “I understand if you think you have feelings for this girl—”
“She’s my wife.”
Several heartbeats passed. Jameson’s eyes widened marginally, the most intense expression of shock Luke had ever seen on him.
“Beg pardon?” he asked.
“She’s my wife.”
Jameson regarded him for a long time, his dark eyes interested and cautious, then exchanged a long look with his wife. “Headquarters won’t like this. Violates team charter.”
“Like you give a damn about the team charter.” Luke jerked his head in Elizabeth’s direction. “And I don’t recall you caring much about Headquarters when it was you and Lizzie.”
“That was different.”
“Different?” Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought the urge to attack his team leader and take the keys from him. He had to get out. “Different how?”
“Jessica White is an asset. Use her, seduce her, do whatever you need to do to get the information we need, but don’t develop feelings for her. Goddamn it, Bradshaw, you’ve gone and compromised yourself and this mission.” He stood up gestured at the door.
The look Elizabeth gave Luke radiated disapproval as she passed. A few weeks ago, her disapproval would have shamed him.
“I saved this mission.” Luke ground his teeth, his entire body tensing for the coming fight. “We know George White is alive and in Rebel hands because of me. Without me, Jessie would be dead and you wouldn’t have any clues about your scientist. So don’t lecture me about being compromised.”
“You also needed a sudden and rather public extraction from Fort Bastion. Don’t even get me started on the amount we’ll have to pay out in bribes, so don’t try to convince me you’re not compromised.”
Luke couldn’t, so he didn’t try. “I promised her I’d keep her safe.”
“You have. Let her go, Bradshaw.”
Luke’s fists clenched until they ached, and he stood up. “No.”
Jameson raised himself to his full height, maybe an inch or so taller than Luke, but broader and more muscular. “Sit down, Bradshaw.”
“No. You want my reports, you’ll get them, but get me Jessie first.”
“Sit down, Bradshaw.” With his fingers, Jameson jabbed Luke hard in the sternum.
He didn’t flinch. “Fuck you, Jameson.”
A needle stung as it pierced his flesh. “No, Luke, that’s my job.”
Elizabeth held a pneumatic syringe in her hand—a syringe he had
n’t even noticed until after she’d used it on him.
He was losing his touch.
“Dammit, Lizzie, you know I hate that sh…”
The world went black.
* * * *
Jessie opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling.
When she’d first awoken here several days ago, she hadn’t known what to do. She’d lain for hours in the thickening dark, watching shadows move in the pale light filtering in from beneath the door, listening to the cries of children, barking dogs, shouts and breaking glass coming in from outside.
Even now, the air inside this room carried a faint hint of smoke, and while it didn’t bear the hellish scent of sulfur, it invaded her lungs all the same.
She wanted to believe the ache in her chest was from the smoke, but it wasn’t. With each passing day, though everything remained the same, the pain got worse, building until she thought her ribs might crack.
Luke.
The men who guarded her never told her what had happened to him, and the wondering had become its own special brand of torture.
She got out of bed, opened the door and followed the light into the front room, where she found a man she thought of as “Snakeskin Boots” reading the paper. The first time she’d encountered him, he’d chloroformed her when she got too excited.
“You’re awake.” He didn’t look up from the paper.
She stopped just short of entering the room. “Where’s Luke?”
“You’re on that again?” he asked, in a voice as low and grave as a preacher’s. “I’ve already told you, I can’t tell you anything. Why don’t you have a seat instead?” He gestured to the seat beside him.
“You can’t tell me or you won’t tell me?”
“Not much of a difference, I suppose,” he replied amiably.
Jessie went to the window and pushed aside the heavy drapes.
“Move away from the window.” His voice was low and dangerous.
“Why?”
“It’s not safe.”
Jessie snorted. “You’re here to keep me safe?”
He picked up a cigar and lit it. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. Why are you here, then?”
“To make sure you don’t fall into enemy hands.” Puffing on his cigar, he blew lazy smoke rings. “I don’t much care whether you live or die, but I do care if the Rebs get you.” His bright blue eyes met Jessie’s levelly.
She recognized the truth when she heard it. “I understand.”
He blew another smoke ring, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “You seem bright enough, so I’m sure you do. But you needn’t look at it like you’re a prisoner here. Think of this as an extended rest. I understand you and Agent Bradshaw had quite the adventure.”
The mere mention of Luke’s name set her heart to racing, and she moved to the door to put her hand on the doorknob.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Jessie froze, but she didn’t move her hand. “So I am a prisoner here?” She didn’t turn to face him.
“I wouldn’t call it that, but you are not free to leave. Move away from the door.”
They’d already gone through this same scenario twice, and Jessie knew how it would end. Still, she held her ground, despite the fear surging through her veins and the desire to apologize and submit. She rested her forehead against the door, weary of the fighting.
“What if I don’t?” she asked.
“I don’t want to play this game with you again. You are trying my patience. Move away from the door, or I’ll shoot you.”
She stayed motionless and silent.
“I hope you’re not laboring under the delusion that I’m a gentleman and have a problem shooting a woman in the back,” he snarled. “I don’t. I don’t care if you live or die, but you aren’t leaving this house.”
Jessie didn’t turn, and she didn’t obey. “Answer a question for me.”
“Move away from the door.”
“Tell me where Luke is.”
Snakeskin Boots groaned. “Why can’t you forget about him and move on?”
“Because I can’t.”
“If I answer your question, will you promise to be a good girl and behave?”
No. “Yes.”
He was quiet for a long time. “He’ll survive. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s been resting, and from what I understand, he’ll be fine. Better now?”
“And what do you plan to do with me?”
“Once Headquarters decides what to do with you, we’ll put you on an airship and send you someplace else. Move on to the next assignment.”
“What if I don’t want an airship? What if I want Luke?”
“What if he doesn’t want you?”
What if he didn’t? What then? She steeled herself. “If he doesn’t want me, he can tell me himself.”
Cloth rustled as he stood up, and he took her by the arm. “Come now, what makes you so sure he’ll do that?”
Suddenly, he anchored her body to the wall with his elbow and plunged his hand into the pockets of her skirt and turned them out. They’d been through these spontaneous searches before, too.
Finding her pockets empty, he released her.
His voice was gentler when he continued. “You wouldn’t be the first woman who fell for a man who helped her out of a tight situation. Wouldn’t be the first time a girl’s thought she’s fallen for Bradshaw, either. Do yourself a favor. Forget him and move on.”
Logic said he was right, that she was nothing more than an asset to be used and tossed aside. It had already happened once. She should be afraid, should question what Luke was willing to do for the government he’d once abandoned her for.
Her heart no longer yearned for the lost boy from long ago. She’d fallen in love with the man Luke had become, and she believed in that. Believed in him. In them.
She wasn’t afraid anymore.
Maybe it made her fool, but she’d take that chance.
She squared her shoulders. “If that’s the case, then Luke should be the one to tell me.”
“That’s not how this works, sweet. He brings you in and moves to the next assignment. Leaves you with us. We take you someplace safe, and make sure you don’t find yourself in the wrong hands. In the end, you’re safe, and you can’t be used against your father. Isn’t that what’s important?”
Jessie closed her eyes. “You know about my father?”
He moved around her, and the fluid way in which he moved as he placed himself between Jessie and the door reminded her of Luke, powerful and confident and agile. “Yup.” His bright eyes bored into hers. “Listen, if you value your life, you will turn around and go back to your room. You’ll forget about Agent Bradshaw and do what we tell you. I don’t want to hurt you. I will if I have to.”
Jessie didn’t have the energy to fight him. She took a hesitant step back, and he followed, giving her a none-too-gentle shove toward her door. She stumbled and stalled, and he gave her another shove. Before she knew it, she was standing in the tiny room she’d begun to hate, with its plain single bed and a window so dirty it let light in but she couldn’t see out.
He pulled the door closed behind her. “I’m in no mood to play nursemaid to a woman. I don’t want to play this game anymore. You come out again, and you mention Mr. Bradshaw even once, I’ll tie you up.”
She stared at the door for a long time, unable to move, her heartbeat thudding heavily in her ears. She wanted to defy him, but she wouldn’t.
Mostly because she knew men like him didn’t make idle threats.
Sitting on the lumpy, aging mattress, she tugged her bags out from underneath the bed, rummaged through them, and pulled out a skirt she’d been working on in secret.
Over the course of the last few days, she’d sewn several hidden pockets into the underskirt. She took the travel papers from the bag and put them into one of the pockets, found a long knife and Luke’s money clip and placed it in another. The weight of the money clip i
n her hand reminded her of him, and she touched her lips as the memory of Luke’s kisses flooded her, kisses that had marked her heart and branded her soul.
She pushed aside the image of Luke the last time she’d seen him, with his hand dangling limply from a stretcher as they loaded him into the back of the cab.
If it was the last thing she did in this life, she would find him.
But she had to get free first.
* * * *
The next morning, Jessie slipped on her skirt and prepared herself for her escape. Down the narrow hallway, she found the other man lounging in the same chair Snakeskin Boots had been in.
He grinned at her as he idly twirled a knife in his fingers.
Maybe this one would talk to her, and really listen. Of the two men guarding her, this one had been the more receptive to her. Granted, he’d also chloroformed her, but she was pretty certain he’d only done so because Snakeskin Boots had been nearby.
This time, the house seemed empty and quiet, besides the two of them.
So instead of making a dash for the door, as had been her original plan, she sat down in the chair next to him. “I’m Jessie.”
Dimples played across his cheeks. “Jonah Whitfield.”
Finally, she had a name. “Pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Whitfield.”
He grinned again, his eyes cautious and amused, like a man who half-expected her to stab him, but thought her social graces were sweet. “Likewise.” He looked at her for several seconds. “What are you doing out here, Jessie?”
“I’m bored.”
“Parker said he left you a book to read.”
Indeed he had. When he’d unceremoniously dumped a tray of food outside her door, he’d left a copy of some treatise on war she hadn’t been interested in. She’d read it anyway, out of sheer boredom.
“Yeah, but it’s not for me.”
Whitfield laughed. “I’m not much of a reader, either.”
She let him believe whatever he wanted, and lifted a shoulder half-heartedly. “So, Mr. Whitfield, where am I?”
“A safe house in Great Salt Lake City.”
“What am I doing here?”
“Oh, I think you know the answer to that.”
Jessie inclined her head, the only acknowledgement she’d give him that he was right. “How long are you planning on keep me?
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 20
