“Ye know I will, Charley, and while I’m gone, ye need to rest. Ye haven’t slept much the last three days. Ye won’t help Jack if ye’re too tired to think clearly.” David emptied his whisky glass and set it on the table. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’d like a bath. Then I’ll start at the Willard. I want to find Henly tonight and start surveillance, but I’ll need a description.”
Braham returned the carriage driver’s statement to Cullen. “I’ll be at the hotel later. I’ll give ye a signal when I spot him or anyone else of interest.”
Cullen gathered his papers and his half-emptied glass. “I’ll be in the office.”
Charlotte yawned as she crossed the room and set her empty glass on a silver tray next to the decanter. “I’m going to take a nap. If anything develops, wake me up.” She spoke quickly to Edward about bringing a tray to her room. As tired as she was, though, she didn’t think she’d be able to stay awake long enough to eat. But when he brought up a tray a little while later, the plate of chicken salad and piece of pound cake revived her.
She was standing at the window, gazing out toward the White House, when someone knocked on her door. “Come in.” Charlotte turned, half expecting Jack to walk into the room. She smiled at Braham.
“We’ll get him out. I don’t know how. But we will, and we’ll get yer life back the way it should be.”
“It’s too late. This situation has already changed my life irrevocably. No one can undo what’s happened to me, but I don’t matter. Jack does.”
“You matter to me, lass. To Jack, too.”
“Whatever you tell him, please don’t tell him my future changed. We’ll get it sorted out later.”
“I promise.”
David walked past her door then quickly returned. Leaning against the doorjamb, he said to Braham, “I’ll meet ye in the billiard room at the Willard in a couple of hours.”
“David, wait.” Charlotte rushed to the door and grasped his arm. “About Gordon—”
“I’ve met plenty of men like Henly. I can handle him.”
“He’s an abusive man and can be vicious. Don’t turn your back on him. Be careful.”
David tugged on her earlobe. “Get some rest, Charley. Ye’re barely able to stay on yer feet. Do not wait up for me. I’ll give ye a report at breakfast.”
She smiled and waved. “Okay.” When she turned and caught the wounded expression on Braham’s face, her breath hitched. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’ve got to go. Get some rest.” He brushed past her, but she caught his arm, tugged on it, and pulled him back into her room.
“You can’t just leave without explaining. What’s the matter?”
“I noticed the way ye look at him. That’s all.”
“And how do I look at him?” she asked.
“Like I want ye to look at me.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held his eyes. “I love you, Braham McCabe, and if Jack hadn’t gone missing, I’d still be at home crying over you.”
Tension melted and his shoulders relaxed. He put his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. “Is he yer rebound guy?”
“What? Where did you get such a notion? Never mind. Dumb question.” She yawned. “David’s too young for me and lives in Scotland most of the year. Of course, it’s not as bad as loving a man who lives in the nineteenth century. At least we’re in the same universe.”
“Too young for ye?”
“Well…I have heard younger men have more sexual stamina.”
Braham pulled her close, pressing her against him. “I’m not ready for a rocking chair yet, lass.” He ran his fingers up into her hair, cradled her head in his hands, and kissed her.
Somehow their loss and pain and longing was transformed by this one kiss, so warm and tender. It was everything she had missed and hungered for. The scent of him, leather and soap, and the taste of sweet whisky on his tongue. She dug her fingers into his short, luxurious hair, missing his long locks, but he could be bald and she’d love him all the same.
His arms were around her now; his fingers exploring the length of her back, lightly reading the knobs of bone like Braille. He gathered the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. She drifted into the arousing feel of his touch. Bending his head, he nibbled down her neck and licked along the line of her collarbone, sending tantalizing shivers over her arms and chest and belly.
He kicked the door closed and threw the bolt. Then, smiling faintly, he bent and blew softly over her breasts before he suckled. Never had a sensation felt so sweet, so intense. She arched her back, pushing herself deeper into his mouth, craving his touch, and pushing aside thoughts of the heartache once she lost him again. He untied the drawstring to her pants and let them fall to the floor. She untied his cravat as he unbuttoned his shirt, popping the last ones, sending them pinging and rolling across the floor.
He was kissing her now, and his mustache tickled her face. The kisses were hot and leisurely, as though they had the whole night before them. No kiss had ever made her feel so hot and shaky. There was only one thing she wanted, and she couldn’t get to it fast enough. Braham backed her closer to the bed, kissing her while removing his clothes. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she toppled over onto the coverlet, laughing. He kicked aside his pants and joined her.
She kissed the scar on his shoulder, pleased at how well it had healed, but when his lips found hers again, she forgot about his wounds. Her body opened to him like her heart. He reached between her thighs, and when he touched her, she shuddered.
Slowly, she began rotating her hips against his hand. Then he slid the hand beneath her and lifted her hips, drawing her to his mouth. She gave a gasp of delighted shock and then keened a sigh of pleasure. She wrapped her hands around the bedpost, breathing heavily, and gave herself over to the consummate skill of his tongue. His beard tickled pleasantly against her inner thighs, and she became lost in the sensations, surrendering to the primal urges throbbing rhythmically through her. She edged toward release, moaning deliriously, and he tickled her with the softest of kisses.
“Let go, my sweet,” he said.
And she did, clipping the last restraint of consciousness before soaring and spinning endlessly toward completion.
Moments passed, and in a dreamy state, she floated back into her body now damp and pink. Her heart pounded, and every beat echoed throughout the room. She sprawled against him, and he smoothed his warm hands over her back, teasing, until his fingers settled on her hips.
Between their bodies, his erection throbbed against her, and he uttered a guttural noise when she stroked him. She raised her head and inched up to kiss his lips, reveling in the musky taste and scent of them both. Groaning, he flipped her onto her back. A flame kindled his eyes with desire so hot, so sensuous, so demanding she couldn’t help but yield to him, wrapping her legs around his hips. As he drove into her, all rational thought evaporated.
82
Washington City, 1865
The next morning, Charlotte awoke in a darkened room, momentarily confused. She’d slept in so many different beds lately she had no idea where she was. A feather mattress and covers wrapped her in a cocoon of warm comfort, and she wasn’t inclined to move. As a whiff of Braham’s musky scent penetrated her sleepy brain, she smiled lazily, remembering their hours together locked in each other’s arms.
Vaguely, she remembered him leaving the bed. He had kissed her good-bye, told her to sleep well, and left through the door to his adjoining room. She had expected him to come back to her bed, but he must have arrived home late.
Like a train jumping tracks, her mind skipped from her temporary happiness to the image of Jack’s head strapped in the ghastly hood. She jumped out of bed in a panicky rush, running toward the door with a scream lodged in her throat. She slapped the closed door with both palms, breathing heavily.
“Dear God, give him strength to endure.”
She gripped her arms across her chest and took sev
eral slow, calming breaths as she paced the room naked. A crack of daylight filtered through the split between the closed velvet drapes. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders before flinging open the curtains, letting sunshine warm the room. Her panic slowly subsided.
What would it be like to wake in suffocating darkness and silence and have no drapes to open? If she let her mind dwell on the agony Jack was enduring, she wouldn’t be able to function. In order to help him, she needed her mental faculties to be operating at their highest level.
After a quick bath, she dressed in one of the day gowns still hanging in the armoire, and then she ventured down the stairs. Cullen’s whistling drew her to the study.
“I recognize the tune,” she said. “‘Take Me Home, Country Roads.’”
He got to his feet, smiling. “One of Kit’s favorites. She likes country music. I think if anything could pull her back to yer time, it would be the music.”
Charlotte poured a cup of coffee from the sterling service tea set on the sideboard and sipped the strong, hot brew. “I’d love to meet her. I’ve seen pictures of her. She’s a beautiful and gutsy woman. You were lucky to have found her.”
“We didn’t have any choice in the matter.”
“Oh, why? Because you couldn’t fight the stone’s magic?”
With a faint look of uneasiness, he nodded. “Once ye get caught in the stone’s fog, ye’re in for the duration.”
“It’s different with Braham and me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Cullen said, returning his attention to the stack of papers in front of him. “But we can talk later. Right now, we have a lot of work to do.”
Her lips were trembling ever so slightly and she hoped Cullen hadn’t noticed. She set her cup down on the side of the desk where she had arranged a workspace. “Is there food in the dining room? I’m starving.”
“There was earlier, but I don’t know if it’s still there. Ask Edward. He’ll see a meal is prepared for ye.”
She escaped to the dining room, where she found eggs and bacon warming in a chafing dish, plus bread and butter, and fruit. She fixed a plate and returned to the office, now more composed. “Where are David and Braham?”
Cullen continued writing without glancing up. “David went to spy on Henly, and Braham’s nosing around the War Department.”
“They must have found him last night. Good. Did either of them say what happened?”
The sleeves of Cullen’s shirt were rolled to his elbows, revealing ropy, veined forearms with a dusting of fine black hair. He pushed the sleeves up higher to keep the fabric from dragging across the paper and smearing the ink. “They played cards.”
“I bet David lost.”
Cullen glanced up, drawing his brows together in thought. “Why do ye think that?”
“It’s usually what happens. The bad guy thinks he’s playing an easy mark, so he bets heavily. The good guy loses, and later sets up another game to ‘win his money back.’”
Cullen set his pen aside, laced his fingers, and put his joined hands behind his head, chuckling. “Ye’re right. It’s exactly what happened. Makes me wonder which one of ye is the writer in the family.”
Charlotte jabbed the eggs with her fork. “I dabble. Jack reads what I write, laughs, and then very sweetly tells me to go back to the operating room. I don’t have much of an imagination.”
“Ye’re a critical thinker with a creative mind. Even without a legal background, ye’ve grasped complicated issues, and ye’re able to ask intelligent questions. Braham told me once I’d never met a woman who challenged me intellectually until I met Kit. I believe he’s found the same thing in ye.”
“The majority of our conversations have revolved around his injuries. In the last few months, he’s been shot, knifed, whipped, beaten up, and almost burned alive. As for the rest of our interactions, well”—she blushed—“we haven’t done much talking.”
Cullen dropped his hands, coughing discreetly.
Quickly changing the subject, she asked, “How much did they lose last night”
“A thousand dollars.”
She choked on her coffee. “Ker-ching. My bill keeps going up. I’m paying all expenses, and unless David wins the money back, his gambling losses go on my bill, too.”
One corner of Cullen’s mouth lifted in a confident smile. “Braham staked him. From what I heard, Henly’s reckless, and with David’s skill at cards, he’ll easily win back what he lost.”
She picked up the coffeepot and offered to fill Cullen’s cup before refilling hers. “You and Braham have been friends for a long time.”
“Since we were lads. The war’s changed him. Hardened him. When he gets back to California and puts the war behind him, the old Braham will reemerge.”
“You hope,” she said.
Cullen’s concern was belied by a glimmer in his eyes, and a wry smile teased the corner of his lips. “Kit will kick Braham back into shape in no time.”
“If anyone can, she can, but tell me this…” Charlotte picked at the last of the food on her plate, wondering if she wanted an answer to the question she was poised to ask. “What advice, if any, did Braham give you when you discovered Kit was from the future?”
“Marry her, and if I didn’t, he would. He didn’t know they were first cousins at the time, though.”
She asked without thinking, “Was he in love with her?” And then regretted the question. If he was in love with Kit, Charlotte didn’t want to know it.
“No, he was needling me. And it worked.”
The front door opened, and Cullen and Charlotte quieted. Their hands hovered above the documents, ready to quickly snatch them up and hide them in the safe. Seconds dragged by, and perspiration broke out on her forehead. Then Braham’s resonant, full-throated laugh echoed in the hall. Her skin pulsed with heat and waves of soothing warmth flowed over her. She glanced at Cullen and found him observing her, a smile softening his face.
Braham entered the room grinning. When he saw Charlotte, he bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“Have you had a productive morning?” she asked.
He untied his cravat and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. “I met with Stanton and told him I intended to represent Jack. He told me it would ruin my career. I almost slugged him.”
Only then did Charlotte realize he was putting his reputation on the line for Jack.
Braham poured a cup of coffee and pulled a chair up to the desk, squeezing Charlotte’s knee. She placed her palm on top of his hand and drew small figure eights on the back of his hand with her fingertip. The touch was a tinderbox. Braham shifted in his chair and so did she. She reclaimed her hand, choosing to defer the spark which she knew could quickly roar into a conflagration.
“There’s something I’ve been wondering about,” she said. “Jack came back to find his journal. Did the police confiscate it?”
Braham shook his head. “Edward found the notebook and locked it in the safe. The police found Jack upstairs, dragged him outside, and tossed him into a heavily guarded wagon.”
She cringed. The vision of Jack dragged out by the police and then forced to wear a canvas hood would hammer relentlessly at the edges of her consciousness.
“In the letter Jack wrote, he said he lost the sapphire and was unable to travel again. Do you know anything about it? Did Edward find the brooch?” she asked.
“Jack might have hidden it. Edward said officers tore the house apart while doing a thorough search. When I see Jack, I’ll ask him,” Braham said. “If he believes one of the officers stole it, then I’ll have David and Gaylord get the names of the arresting officers. Once we know who they are, we’ll find the stone.”
“What happens if someone opens it?” Cullen asked.
“The latch is broken. It’s tough to open,” she said. “Most people wouldn’t notice the fine line around the circumference of the stone, and would miss the broken latch. A jeweler, though, would notice both.”
�
��If a police officer stole the jewelry from an assassin’s room and was caught, he might be implicated. I think he’d hide it until the trial is over.”
Cullen got up and stretched, twisting one way, and then the other. Charlotte compared the two men, their similarities and differences. Cullen moved and spoke with an ease Braham didn’t have. Although she hadn’t known him before the war, she suspected four years of fighting had stolen his spontaneity. Would he ever get it back?
Cullen picked up a paper and handed it to Braham “Do ye know where David is today? I’d like him to talk to the people on this list. It includes several newspaper editors.”
“He’ll be back after dark. He doesn’t want to be seen coming and going from here.” Braham perused the list. “Do ye have the motions ready for tomorrow?”
Cullen handed over a stack of documents. “This motion requests General Hartranft remove the hoods because they violate the cruel and unusual punishment clause of the Eighth Amendment. The next document is the writ of habeas corpus to be filed on May 13.”
“And if President Johnson signs an order cancelling the writ?” Braham asked.
“The third document is a petition claiming the president of the United States acted outside the bounds of his constitutional authority by suspending the writ of habeas corpus, and thus violated our client’s Sixth Amendment right to a trial by a jury of his peers.” Cullen frowned. “Do you have any idea what’s going to happen when we file this?”
Braham seemed to consider the question, and then nodded brusquely. “There’ll be an uproar. Can’t be helped.”
“We have to get the hoods removed,” Charlotte said. “It’s…it’s barbaric.”
“The country is angry right now, and there’s no sympathy for the conspirators,” Cullen said.
“I know,” she said, “but General Hartranft is using hoods and heavy iron balls indiscriminately. Some conspirators are hooded, some aren’t. It’s the same with the iron ball. From what we’ve learned, Jack has both. Forcing prisoners to wear hoods is cruel and unusual punishment, and in violation of the Eighth Amendment.” She paused, feeling suddenly helpless, and her throat was tight and scratchy with fear. Her plea emerged as a whisper. “You have to make them understand.”
The Sapphire Brooch Page 56
