Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) (29 page)

“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 in 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?

Whitfield’s eyes shifted from
her to the door and back again. “Until we get the order telling us where to
take you. This was supposed to be a simple questioning, with the possibility
for retrieval. But with Agent Bradshaw’s gram from Fort Clark, the whole
mission got knocked into a cocked hat. Higher ups all atwitter about how one
little woman could cause so much trouble, and with the shelling of Virginia
City, they’re not taking chances. So it could be a day. Could be a month. I’m
really hoping it’s sooner rather than later.”

She took that to mean he was
bored, too. Good, she could use bored to her advantage. “Where is he?”

His eyes clouded for a moment
before he graced her with an insouciant grin. “Don’t have any idea who you’re
talking about.”

“Sure you do. The man who
brought me here.”

“To the house?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes at his
deliberate misunderstanding.

He caught her and grinned
again.

“Can’t you tell me if he’s
well?” she asked.

Whitfield looked at the door
again. “He’s fine. His disposition is as surly as ever. He’s awake and
growling, last I heard.”

Relief nearly overwhelmed
her, and she fought the urge to sag against the couch. “Will you take me to
him?”

“You already know the answer
to that.”

“But I’m his
wife
.” She folded her arms, as if she
could keep her heart from bursting free of the confines of her chest. Her voice
wavered with tears she refused to shed.

Whitfield’s easy laughter
filled the room. “Now I know you’re lying, honey. He ain’t got no wife.”

“Why would I lie?”

He stood up and crossed the
room, moved aside the heavy curtains and peeked out the front windows. “Ain’t
got no idea,” he said, and there was something affected about his speech,
something that struck her as false, like a rich boy pretending to be a Wild
West cowboy in the papers. Tales of daring, of heroes on horseback, and the
women brave enough to love them.

The miners used to pay
Gideon, Luke, and Jessie a penny to read them. Everyone wanted to listen to
those stories, if only because there weren’t any heroes left in Virginia City.
All their heroes went to war and died there.

Jessie’s had, anyway.

“Please,” she whispered. “He’ll
want to see me. Take me.”

Whitfield dropped the curtain
back into place. “I would, but I can’t,” he said. “Look, I’m not even supposed
to talk to you—I’m told you’re trouble, and, if the last few days are any
indication, they’re right. Go back to your room, now. Get.”

“It’s git, with an
i,”
she said.

Whitfield’s eyes lit up. “Thanks.
No one ever corrects me.” He grinned again, and something in the way he rounded
his vowels sounded vaguely British. He looked her up and down for a moment. “You
know, I always wanted to meet a real live Indian.”

Jessie laughed. He obviously
hadn’t been out West long. “Well, I’m here now. You let me stay out here, and I’ll
make you breakfast. You can ask me anything you want.”

Whitfield made a face as he
considered her offer. He gave her a truncated nod. “But no funny business. We
clear?”

“Absolutely.” She moved into
the kitchen, found a cast-iron frying pan, and lit the stove. There were no
knives to speak of, other than a dull butter knife, nothing she could use as a
weapon save the knife hidden in her skirt. Though, honestly, she didn’t want to
hurt Whitfield. A part of her even liked him.

She put some butter in the
pan and cracked a few eggs.

He leaned against the
doorjamb. “So, what tribe are you from?”

“I speak Bannock, Paviotso,
and Paiute. Shoshone, too. I can probably understand Comanche if I try hard
enough. The languages are all related.”