Now they were soaked as they reined in their horses at the livery. After she’d brushed down Jasper and had him situated, they walked back toward the hotel on the muddy road.
They stepped onto the porch in front of the hotel, and Lincoln opened the door for her. She nodded politely at Mrs. Willow as she crossed the entry hall and headed toward her room. She wanted to get out of these wet clothes and hopefully get something to eat from the dining room.
Once they were in their room, she hurried over to her trunks and removed a maroon-colored gown. She stepped behind the changing partition and started removing her wet clothes.
She heard Lincoln drop down onto the sofa and grumble, “Are you ever going to start talking to me?”
“I am,” she replied, “but only if it’s about the case.”
Lincoln sighed. “And why is that?”
“Because I’m still mad at you.”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he declared.
“Am I?” she questioned.
“You are.”
“How would you respond if someone questioned your ability to protect yourself?” she asked as she started putting on her gown.
“No one would dare.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “And why is that?”
“Because I’ve proven myself on many occasions.”
“As have I.”
A pause. “But I’ve never seen you in action.”
“I would be happy to prove to you what a crack shot I am,” she said. “Perhaps I could even outshoot you.”
He huffed. “I truly doubt that.”
“And why is that?”
Another pause. “Because I was a sniper in the war.”
Amey heard the pain in his voice at his own admission. “I hadn’t realized.”
“It was not a job that I enjoyed,” he replied, his voice tight. “But it was crucial for me to be accurate. Lives depended on it.”
“I can only imagine,” she murmured.
“It’s not something that I admit freely.”
“Were your brothers snipers, as well?”
“No, they weren’t. We weren’t even in the same brigade.”
“How were you recruited to be a sniper?”
“At a young age, I discovered that I had a knack for shooting, and I got really good. Too good, sadly.”
After she fastened her last button, she came around the partition. “Why was that?”
“My job was to kill men at my discretion,” Lincoln replied, stretching out his long legs. “I was to perceive a threat and take that person out.”
Amey gave him a sympathetic look. “That must have been awful for you.”
“I decided who would live to see another day,” he said as he shifted his gaze toward the window. “I hated it.”
Closing the distance between them, Amey sat down next to her husband. “I imagine that you saved the lives of many of the soldiers in your brigade because of what you did.”
“That’s true,” he murmured, bringing his gaze back to meet hers. “Ironically, my older brother, Marvin, was killed by a sniper.”
Reaching out, she placed her hand on his sleeve. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”
He looked down at her hand for a brief moment but made no attempt to move his arm. “My other brother died shortly thereafter on the battlefield.” Tears came to his eyes, but he blinked them away. “What hurts the most is that I was never able to say good-bye. To tell them how much they meant to me.”
“I’m sure they already knew.”
He winced slightly. “Growing up, I idolized my brothers,” he shared. “I wanted to be just like them in so many ways. And when they signed up for the war, it was only a matter of time before I did, as well.”
“How did your mother and father cope with having all three sons in the war?”
He huffed. “Not very well,” he revealed. “My mother begged me not to enlist, but I was too hard-headed to listen. I wanted to prove myself.”
“And you did.”
Lincoln’s voice was strained as he admitted, “No. All that I accomplished was to come home as a broken man.”
“In what way?” she asked, moving closer to him.
“I’ve killed too many people, and done too many horrible things, to ever believe that I can have a normal life,” he sighed.
“That’s not true, Lincoln,” she asserted. “What you were forced to endure in the war has only made you stronger.”
He pressed his lips tightly together as if trying to suppress his growing emotions. “All those men that I killed,” his voice hitched, “had families that loved them. That desperately wanted them to come home. And I… I… killed them.”
Amey heard the agony in Lincoln’s voice, and she wrapped her arms around him. “You had no choice in the matter. You were just following orders.”
Lincoln remained rigid for a moment before he surrendered to her touch. He brought his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“That doesn’t make it any easier,” he murmured into her hair.
“I suppose it doesn’t, but I’m grateful for men like you that fought for our country.”
Lincoln leaned back and lowered his arms. “I did nothing that deserves your praise,” he remarked dismissively.
“I disagree,” she argued. “You willingly signed up to fight to preserve our freedoms.”
“Thank you for that,” he said, abruptly rising, “but it doesn’t change anything.”
Amey watched as Lincoln walked over to the open window and looked out.
“I tire of killing people,” he admitted. “But I’ve come across some really stupid criminals who have left me no choice.”
“Unfortunately, that’s a part of being a Pinkerton agent,” she admitted reluctantly. “I’ve never delighted in taking another’s life, either.”
Lincoln’s expression was filled with anguish as he shared, “If I didn’t love being a blasted agent so much, I would hang up my hat and work in my family’s business.”
“Which is?”
He met her gaze. “My parents own a shipping business.”
Realization dawned on her. “Do your parents own Hoyt Transit Company?”
He nodded.
“Your parents are shipping magnates!” she exclaimed in astonishment.
“They also own a fair amount of property in New York,” he admitted.
She stared at him incredulously. “Why would you work as a Pinkerton agent, then?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Perhaps I crave adventure as much as you do. Or it could be that I’m trying to