For a goddamn rich boy, Whitfield packed quite a wallop.
Luke was about to launch himself at Parker again when he noticed Jessie. She stood silent at stone, her hands immobile, her face set. He stopped midstride and went quiet, too.
Her eyes were dry, her expression closed.
This was the Jessie he’d encountered in Virginia City, not the wife who’d chosen him the night before. The love he’d seen in her eyes earlier was gone, replaced by an impenetrable distance.
“Out.” Jameson roughly pushed Parker out of the room.
“She needed to know,” Parker said as he passed Luke.
“Fuck you.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Don’t bet on it.” Luke watched them leave, and the moment Parker was out of the room, he went to Jessie. He reached out and touched her face.
She took a step back. “Was he telling the truth?”
“Jess, please understand.” He started over. “It’s not what you think.”
“No?” She pushed past him and put her hand on the back of couch. “I’m pretty certain Mr. Parker just said your orders are to kill my father if you can’t get him free. Who’d do the deed, Luke? You?”
“Jess…”
“How about you try telling me the truth, for a change?” She walked away from him, down the hall toward the room they shared. She jerked open the door and grabbed her coat.
His chest started to ache, and he spread his hands in a conciliatory manner. He wanted her to forgive him, but he didn’t deserve her pardon. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me the truth.” She paused, and when he was silent, she continued. “What are your orders? What, precisely, did you agree to do?”
“It’s no different than any other case.”
“You’re lying to me. It’s not any other case, is it? This is me, Luke. My life. My father’s life. Tell me the truth.”
He swallowed against the ball forming in his throat. From between clenched teeth, he gave her what she asked for. He gave her the truth.
“The orders are to not allow your father to remain in Confederate custody, if we can determine he’s still alive. But—”
“And me?” she interrupted. “What are you supposed to do with me?”
“Jess.” Her name was a protest dying on his lips. She’d either forgive him or she wouldn’t. He’d survive if she didn’t.
He just wouldn’t want to.
“Mr. Parker told the truth, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” he said.
“You lied to me.”
Luke shook his head, just once. “No. You didn’t need to know.” The words rushed out of him. “I won’t let it come to that. It’s not an option for me. So I didn’t tell you about something I have no intention of doing. I shouldn’t be forced to tell you about everything I don’t plan on doing.”
She swallowed. “Like my father used to say, omission or commission. The punishment’s the same.”
“Right back at you,” he snapped. “You didn’t tell me what you knew. You lied to me. So I left some stuff out. I never lied to you.”
“You didn’t? For years you let me believe you were dead. Did you know, I put up a marker for you next to Gid’s?” Her voice rose and broke. “Now you wonder why I didn’t tell you everything I knew the moment you walked through my door? If we’re going to compare whose sins are bigger, I think you win.”
He hated the pain in her voice, hated the way her words twisted and curdled in his gut, making him feel like a trapped animal. She’d loved him enough to erect a monument in his honor, and place it next to her brother’s. The thought pained him, and he had only his anger to fight it.
“You’re right, Jess. I’m the bad guy.”
She snorted derisively. “You don’t believe that.” Pushing past him, she reached for the doorknob.
He grabbed her arm and forced her to turn around. He might be angry with her, and she with him, but he wouldn’t let her leave him like this. “Jess, don’t go.”
“I can’t.” Her voice sounded strangled. “You made me think you cared for me, Luke.”
“I do care.”
“But you’re under orders to kill Pop. To kill me, if the Rebs get to me. Did the same apply if I just refused to help you out?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth. His orders had been clear, and if she’d run to her mother’s people, she’d have become a danger they couldn’t afford.
They would have sent assassins after her if she’d run to her grandfather.
He’d given up so much to ensure that didn’t happen.
“Listen, Jess—”
“Not right now.” She reached for the doorknob. “Let me go.”
Never.
He put his hand on the door to prevent her from opening it. “Stay. Let me explain.” Though even he realized no explanation he could offer her would be good enough.
“I need to think, Luke.”
“I would never let it come to that.” His chest tightened. He wanted to say, I’d die first, but the words caught in his throat and refused to come out.
“I can’t be certain of anything anymore. You chose them over us once. Who’s to say you won’t do the same again? Only this time, it’s my life you’d take from me, and not just my heart.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Let me go.”
He had little choice. If she stayed in the area, she should be safe enough. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
The silence stretched between them. “I need time to think.”
Pain flashed in his chest.
She’d set him free once, when he’d gone to war. He needed to do the same.
He moved away from the door and opened it for her.
“Come back, Jess.”
She walked out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The frozen ground crunched beneath Jessie’s feet, the bite of cold bitter against her skin. She studied the surrounding landscape and considered all that had happened in the last few days.
The government Luke had abandoned her for had ordered her death, if it meant she couldn’t be used against her father. Even she recognized the bond between Luke and his team—they were as close as he and Gideon had once been. They would have gone to hell for one another.
Gideon had.
Things would be no different with this group.
Which led to the question: where did Jessie fit in? Luke claimed he wouldn’t let things get that far, but would he truly betray the government he’d once betrayed her for? Would he abandon his duty and his honor and choose her life over his orders?
Would she want him to?
Behind her, a shadow trailed her as she wandered the streets of a wealthy Great Salt Lake neighborhood. For a split second, her heart skipped and stuttered, until she realized the shadow following her was Jameson.
She paused, pressing her hand to her chest as she pretended to admire a particularly pretentious home. Set back far from the road, surrounded by iron gates, the home was as grand as some of the finest mansions in Virginia City, large and white. The color alone—bright white against skies stained dark with soot—spoke of unspeakable wealth. She shoved her hands into her pockets and waited.
Jameson stopped about thirty feet away and leaned against a wrought iron lamppost. Jessie pretended not to notice him, and, after a time, he casually reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigar, and lit it.
Their eyes met. “Who sent you?” she called.
Jameson gave her a smile, left his post, and strolled toward her, his hands in his pockets as if he were a businessman on a leisurely walk. He stalked up to her, actually circling her once before pausing beside her. “A lovely home, isn’t it?” Jessie murmured an assent, and Jameson continued. “Too bad they’re Rebel sympathizers.”
“Here?”
He laughed. “Oh, honey, everywhere. Denver, Chicago, Virginia City, New York. You’ll find sympathizers everywhere you go. Why not here?�
�
Jessie didn’t respond. Instead, she stared at the house for a long time before moving on. “Who sent you? Luke or Elizabeth?”
Jameson fell into step beside her. He kept his eyes straight ahead of him, and so did she. “Bradshaw, though I suspect my wife would have if he hadn’t asked. You planning on going back?”
“Eventually. I needed some time to think.” A gust of wind lifted her hair, the breeze whispering in her ear, and a shiver passed over her that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Don’t think too long. You should get back.”
They walked in silence for a time. The homes began to give way high-end shops and businesses. Jessie studied a gown in a shopkeeper’s window, expensive and opulent, and looked down at her borrowed skirt. She felt Jameson’s eyes on her, but she resisted turning.
“You’ve got to pack up to go get your father. And Bradshaw’s waiting on you.”
Jessie rubbed vaguely at the pain in her chest and turned surprised eyes to him. “You’re letting me go?”
The slow nod he gave her was not quite an affirmative, and he was quiet for several seconds. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I don’t think we have many options open to us.”
“What about Luke?”
Jameson’s laugh had a hollow ring. “I don’t think he’ll be content to stay here while his woman goes off gallivanting with me, Jonah, and Parker. He did the research, he asked for the assignment, and he paid for it with his leg, so I won’t take him off the case. If you have a problem with Bradshaw running the show, too damn bad. You’ll have to get over it.”
Jessie closed her eyes and swallowed the knot of emotion in her throat. “He lost his leg because of me?”
“No, he lost his leg because of me. He agreed to have it replaced with a mechanized one because of you. So he could be out in the field sooner. Too soon, if you ask me.”
Her heart jumped, and she fought back tears. He cared. He’d cared before he’d known she would accept him back.
I hope it was worth it, she’d said.
It was, he’d told her.
An ache settled in her chest, and rather than focusing on that pain—or on Luke—she asked, “Is Mr. Parker going, too?”
“Yeah,” Jameson said, as if he couldn’t understand why she would question him. His dark eyes searched hers, and he seemed satisfied by whatever he saw in her expression. “Someone needs to keep sight of the end goal. Usually that task falls to Luke, but since he’s invested, Parker’s the best one for the job.”
“So he’s the one who will keep my father out of enemy hands.”
Jameson lifted a single shoulder. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?”
She didn’t know what she searched for in his eyes, but they yielded nothing. “What about me?”
“What about you?” He watched a couple pass them. “Bradshaw won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, and so will Parker.”
Jessie huffed a bitter laugh.
Jameson shook his head. “Parker’s just watching out for Bradshaw. For the team.”
“You’re saying he thinks I’m going to hurt Luke?”
“He’s just concerned about what’s going to happen with the team now that you’re here. Quite frankly, so am I.”
“I’m no threat to you.”
“I believe you don’t mean to be.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I wonder, though, what will Bradshaw do for you? Parker’s not wrong to say Bradshaw’s compromised. I suspected it when he woke up spitting mad you weren’t with him. That was one of the reasons we kept you separated for as long as we did—to give him time to regain perspective. But he didn’t, and having seen you with him, I know he’s not objective. Parker’s not wrong to want you as far away from Bradshaw as possible. He knows what happens when one of us gets blinded.”
Jameson regarded her for a long time. “If you knew what Bradshaw went through for this job, you’d see why Parker doesn’t want him to go. You’d understand what he did for you. I didn’t even understand it at first, because Bradshaw has always put the mission first. I thought maybe it was out of a sense of loyalty to your family, but I figured he could do his job despite that. He wouldn’t want your father to suffer if we couldn’t get him out. But it’s not about your father, is it? It’s about you.”
Jessie’s thought of everything Luke had sacrificed and lost. Things he hadn’t been willing to speak of.
If she’d known, she would have wept.
“Would you tell me what happened?”
Jameson blew a lazy smoke ring, but his expression was pained. “I never thought I’d value something more than the job, but when Lizzie came along, I did. I almost got every man on my team killed. So Parker doesn’t hate you, but he knows you’re dangerous. To this mission and to your man in particular.”
“He wants me gone.”
“Altogether? No. But away from Luke, and this particular mission? Yeah.”
“And you?”
“You’re an asset we need, and we don’t have anyone else.” Jameson frowned. “I’d send someone else if I could. I’d take Bradshaw off the job and insist someone go in his place, but he’d follow after you. Might as well let him be in on it, since he’s going anyway.”
They stood on the wooden boardwalk under the eaves and regarded one another for several seconds, the scent of a nearby bakery wafting over them, when Jameson’s head snapped up.
His face was taut. For a split second, time stood still as they stared at one another.
Jameson exploded into motion, pushing Jessie into the nearby bakery, and the shopkeeper let out a surprised, wordless protest. “Go, go, go!” He shoved her back toward the kitchen.
Jessie didn’t ask what was happening. She didn’t have to.
She’d been found.
He hustled her through the kitchen, past the startled baker and his assistant, and out the back. Tucking his black duster back behind his holsters, he exposed the ivory grips of his pistols. He yanked her through the crowded streets, shoving people aside.
Run, Jessie, the voice in her head said.
She didn’t.
Jameson’s face tightened. He barely moved his head, but she somehow knew he was aware of his surroundings and noticed everything. “You’re going to have to run for it,” he said.
Dread clawed its way up her spine and lingered there. “Where?”
“Two blocks up. There’s a restaurant, The Desert Belle. Tell the man at the front you’re Luke’s woman and you need help. They’ll get you out and back to the safe house.” He scanned the crowd. “Don’t turn around. I’ll cover you for as long as I can.”
He never said he’d come with her. He never said they’d go back together. “Mr. Jameson?”
“Go. Tell Luke I’m returning the favor. When I tell you, you run. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Run.”
Jameson suddenly spun and drew his weapons. Fired into the crowd.
“Go!”
Screams filled the air as gunshots rang out. Not just Jameson’s, either. Guilt twisted when she heard Jameson’s enraged bellowing.
She looked over her shoulder only to see Jameson go down in a hail of bullets. She wished she hadn’t, because then she wouldn’t have to face the awful truth of what she’d done.
The Desert Belle came into view, and she burst through the door. Bright light sprayed the dimly lit room. She almost crashed into the host’s podium as her eyes adjusted to the low light.
She leaned heavily on the podium. “Mordecai Jameson sent me. I’m… Luke Bradshaw’s.”
The man’s expression changed immediately. Set and hard, he came around the podium, grasped her elbow tightly, and hauled her toward the back rooms. As they made their way past the tables and the bar, the host snapped his fingers at a boy clearing tables.
The host reached into his pocket, took out a card, and handed it to the kid. “Go to this address. Tell them we’ve got…” he paused and waited.
“Jessie W
hite—er, Bradshaw.”
“Mrs. Bradshaw,” he finished.
“Yessir,” the kid said, and took off running out the door.
The man led her to a small room in the back. It had a cot, a petroleum lantern and little else. He lit the lamp. “You stay here. Don’t go anywhere. They’ll come for you.”
Before she had the chance to thank him, he handed her the lantern and slammed the door shut behind him.
She sat down on the little cot and buried her face in her hands. Trembling violently, she thought about how everything had gone so terribly wrong so quickly, and all because she had made the decision to leave the Jameson house. This was her fault.
She wanted to fold herself in Luke’s arms and find the peace she always experienced whenever he held her, something she found in his embrace and nowhere else. When he held her, she was a just woman and he was just a man, and the bitterness and the fear that constantly raged beneath her skin was quiet. She became more than simply a vessel for all that anger.
Those times were as close to heaven as she’d ever get, and always over far too soon. Even if such a feeling lasted lifetimes, the time she’d had still wouldn’t be long enough.
Too exhausted to cry, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the whitewashed walls until her mind went blank and her body went numb.
She couldn’t have stayed like that for very long before she heard a popping like some pale imitation of fireworks and startled, muffled shouts. Standing on shaking legs, she pressed her hands to the door. Heard another pop and a dull thud.
Her hands trembled as she placed them on the knob. She met with some resistance as she tried to push open the door, and she put her shoulder into it, shoving back whatever barred the door. Fingers came into view, then a hand, and her pulse crashed in her ears, her blood rushing in her veins. She reeled backwards, away from whatever was outside her room.
The body was dragged away and the door flung open.
In front of her stood a man in a black suit with a black string tie. He had a close-cropped, dark beard on his cheeks, and a long, thick-barreled pistol pointed in her direction.
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 25
