David ducked and crossed his arms in front of his face in mock terror. “Just kidding. She’s like my little sister.”
Braham turned his head so his cheek rested against Charlotte’s hair. The faint rasp of his whiskers made scratching noises near her ear. His unusual public display of affection surprised her, tickling her insides.
Cullen puffed his cigar. “Ye’re not planning a trip to California, I hope.”
David clamped down on the lip of the empty pipe, clicking his teeth. Then he stretched out his long arms and cracked his knuckles one at a time. “Hmm. Do ye think we’ll have time for a quick trip, Charley?”
She gave David a teasing smile. “Don’t drag me into this.”
David made for the cabinet and the whisky decanter. He gave Cullen a light punch on the shoulder. “Ye’re a lucky man. Ye and Kit are creating a fine legacy for yer heirs. I’d love to see the lass, but ye’ve nothing to fear from me.” David refilled his glass, and he and Cullen clinked their drinks. “Slainte.”
Braham kissed her cheek, and she turned toward him, searching his expression, but she could read nothing other than tiredness in his eyes.
“It’s getting late,” Cullen said, “and I still have work to do.”
Yes, it was late, and she wanted time alone with Braham, to nestle in his arms and hear his heartbeat, and know he belonged to her. For now. She had no illusions about what they shared. It wouldn’t—couldn’t—last beyond the next few weeks. But while they were together, she would store up a lifetime of memories.
She loved him, and as many times as she had recited the mantra I won’t stay and he won’t go, she prayed every day he would change his mind, because she knew she couldn’t change hers. She couldn’t give up twenty-first-century medicine. The soldiers she hadn’t been able to save, the ones she could have saved in her time, had been heartrending. And she missed the freedom women had to vote, to work outside the home, to participate in government, and to even run down the street in athletic shorts. Her predecessors had made sacrifices so she could do what she did every day, and while she often took her rights and privileges for granted, she could never give them up permanently. Did it make her selfish and shallow? Maybe. But she knew herself well enough to know she couldn’t give up her life, not at thirty-eight, and not even for love.
Yes, the life she returned to wouldn’t be the same, but the hospital would still be there, and Jack would be there, and Ken would continue to pressure her to date his friends. Life would go on. She would feel pain. Her body would crave the rumble of Braham’s laughter, the warmth of his hands, and the gleam in his eyes, expressing the words of his heart. She would miss his jokes, his teasing, and his protection. Good things were rare, and they were to be cherished. But most of all, she would miss his love.
She attempted a smile but wasn’t sure she managed. “What’s on the calendar for tomorrow?”
“Cullen will be in federal court arguing motions. I’ll be with Jack.”
“Then we need to get some sleep,” she said.
Cullen stretched and headed out of the room with his whisky and cigar. “I’ll be up for a while working, and will leave a new list for ye to attack tomorrow.”
Charlotte cleared her throat noisily, expressing her complaint. “I haven’t finished today’s list yet. But you know what? Now I have a bodyguard, I can go to the park.”
On her way to the stairs, Braham cupped her elbow and pulled her to him possessively. “Wear yer disguise and obey yer bodyguard.”
“Unless Stanton wants to arrest me for participating in the conspiracy, too, don’t you think I’m safe?”
His nostrils flared slightly. “I don’t, and ye should never take yer safety for granted.”
85
Washington City, 1865
Charlotte’s daily habit was to begin by devouring the newspapers. Another reporter had mentioned Braham seemed to be the only player who had read the script, and she cringed to see the line now printed and reprinted in all three papers. She had visions of the military invading the house in search of stolen War Department files.
Stanton had to be livid. Good for him. Let him lose sleep wondering if he had an informant in his office. No need for informants when you had strategically placed listening devices. She had learned about them only this morning, when Cullen handed her pages of transcripts to be locked in the safe. David had planted bugs in both Stanton and General Holt’s offices. When Braham had suggested to Cullen perhaps they were cheating, surprisingly, Cullen had laughed, claiming he knew about tape recordings, and he wasn’t going to debate the ethics of using them in Jack’s case.
Braham had subpoenaed Gordon to testify, and, according to a conversation which took place in Stanton’s office, Gordon had complained bitterly to the secretary about having been promised anonymity. Stanton had warned him if he failed to testify in public the prosecution’s case against Mallory would fall apart. He was the only person who could testify about seeing Jack and Booth together talking about an event happening in April. A blatant lie, which, if he maintained it on the stand, would force Braham to call her as a rebuttal witness.
It would take the talent of an actress like Meryl Streep to pull it off, and she was no Meryl Streep. All the prosecutor had to do was ask her if she knew of the plot to assassinate Lincoln. She was a horrible liar, and he would be able to see the truth on her face.
Tickets to the trial had become the hottest commodity in Washington. She pleaded every day to go, but Braham was adamant and so was Jack. If she had to testify, her identity had to remain a secret until they called her to the witness
