Rachel pressed her nose and mouth to the tiny slit, sucking in the dusty air. The warm darkness throbbed with her racing heart.
Men approached…cursed. “Edward’s door is locked.”
Wood splintered as the door was broken down. Numerous men, their boots stomping across the floor, entered the room. Above her, Edwards tossed and turned in pain. Items torn from the closet thumped on the floor.
A feather tickled her nose. She smothered the temptation to itch it. She pressed her face against the slit between the boards, trying to fill her lungs and blow away the errant feather.
Someone pushed on the mattress. The bed bowed, and then they moved beneath. She could smell the man’s cologne. “No one under the bed. Nothing here, Captain Johnson. She’s gone and so is the prisoner we had tied up in the storeroom.”
Rachel froze. Captain Johnson. He was bold enough to be in Washington?
“The window’s open, you idiots. They’ve escaped. Pick up her trail on the streets and don’t come back to this address. We cannot risk discovery.”
Men flew from the room. Captain Johnson paced. “When I get my hands on Rachel Pierce, she’ll wish she was dead a thousand times.”
Her blood turned to ice. The cold snap of his boots beat a livid rhythm down the stairs. The front door slammed. Rachel let out a breath. Other than Edward’s snoring, no sounds emanated from the house. She and Jimmy squirmed from the slit in the mattress. Jimmy peered into the hallway and motioned for her to follow. He opened a window over a first-floor porch roof and helped her out. Jimmy jumped to the ground.
Rachel scooted down on her bottom, and then flipped on her belly, her legs dangling off the roof. She closed her eyes, swaying like a dead leaf in the winter wind, terrified to let go. “Catch me, Jimmy. I don’t want to break an ankle.”
Strong hands reached for her calves then moved up her legs. Rachel gasped, outraged that a young boy would take such liberties, vowing to give him a brutal set down once she was on the ground. Rachel lost her grip. She fell in a whoosh, caught in iron-tight arms.
“Thank you, Jimmy. You can put me down now.”
But he did not put her down.
She opened her eyes.
“Lucas!”
“Exactly.”
How happy she was to see him. The subdued tone of his voice stopped her, his grim face, a carved mask. She could see it in the flaring of his nostrils, in the high color of his cheekbones, and the glare of rage that glittered from his eyes. He wasn’t smiling.
He set her on her feet and hauled her down the street.
“Jimmy, do something,” Rachel quailed. Who could be worse at the moment…Lucas or Captain Johnson?
“Jimmy O’Hara will do nothing for you.” He shot a glance at Jimmy who ran to keep up. “He’s in my employ.”
“Lucas, I must tell you, this place is riddled with Copperheads.”
“Quiet, Rachel. You’re in Washington, my town, and your insane activities end now.”
“Indeed, Colonel Rourke. Then who is going to protect you?”
“I can take care of myself.”
Rachel snorted. “That’s why you ended up in the Capital of the Confederacy.”
“I’ll be watching my back more closely.”
“Lucas, you need to know—”
“Not one more word. I command you to cease all your impetuous dealings and leave it to the big boys who can handle it.”
Rachel dragged her heels. “You forget, I’m working for General Grant who is higher in authority…and I’m not enlisted in the army. You cannot command me.”
Lucas scowled and yanked her forward. “I don’t give a damn about what Grant wants. I’m your husband, and I command you—”
