The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) (69 page)

“This is only a hypothetical,” Elliott said. “It’s possible nothing of any significance will happen.”

“You’re a betting man, though. What does your gut tell you?” she asked.

There was silence, long enough to fill several heartbeats, long enough to fill tomorrow.

Elliott propped his ankle on his opposite knee and jiggled his foot, sighing. “I hate to say this, but I’ll bet when ye’ and Jack return, ye’ll have significantly different memories, life-changing memories.”

When Charlotte replied, her voice was soft, and she was careful to keep her eyes on Elliott in order to stay in the moment, to stay connected to a lifeline. “Then I guess we’ll simply have to adjust.”

Conversation died and they all sat in silence for several long moments.

Charlotte cleared her throat of the knot lodged there. “I grew up in a very loving home. My parents were college professors. I took dance and piano lessons. I had a horse I rode every day. We weren’t wealthy, but we had all we needed. I was in high school when they died, and Jack took care of me. If his history is different, then I only hope his was as happy as mine.”

Elliott’s dark eyes seemed curiously blank for a moment. Then they snapped back to Charlotte. He uncrossed his legs and stood. “This argument is moot if I don’t have possession of the ruby brooch.”

“Braham said he saw Sean MacKlenna put it back inside the desk,” Charlotte said.

Elliott opened the desk’s middle drawer, stuck his hand inside, and a secret compartment on top of the desk popped open. “Let’s hope it’s there now.” He withdrew a rosewood box. Meredith, sitting beside Charlotte, grasped her hand in a bone-crunching squeeze. Elliott’s expression sharpened for a moment as he opened the box, and then his features relaxed until the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Charlotte held her breath until Elliott tipped the box for all to see, and then she let out her breath in a long stream of relief.

“There has to be understanding before we go any further with these discussions. Ye’ can borrow Kit’s brooch, but David is going with ye’,” Elliott said.

Charlotte cut a quick glance at David, a hulking six foot two, and two hundred-plus pounds of lean muscle. “Shouldn’t it be your decision?” she asked David.

“I had already made it. It’s why I videotaped your statement. I’ll watch it again and make notes. And I’ll have questions for ye’ later,” David said.

“I’ve screwed up two people’s lives already. There’s a good chance you’ll be in danger, too.”

Meredith leaned in and said low-voiced, “He did several tours in Afghanistan, and he’s the Scottish equivalent of a Navy SEAL. He can take care of himself, and you, too.”

David put his legal pad of notes into an accordion file with a half dozen labeled folders. “If ye’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“Wait a minute,” Charlotte said. “You said you had already made your decision. How could you possibly have known about Jack?”

“After you called last night,” Elliott said, “I asked David to research the end of the war, the assassination, and the trial to see if your name or Jack’s showed up. We found what you found and assumed it was your Jack.”

“I’ve been talking with experts and collecting copies of the transcript, witness, and exhibit lists, and the statutes Jack allegedly violated. With this information, his attorney will have an advantage,” David said.

“Braham has to be his attorney. You can’t give those notes to just anyone,” Charlotte said.

“If Braham isn’t representing him, then I’ll feed his attorney with insider information. He won’t turn it down, nor will he question how I got it,” David said, and then paused.

“For example,” he resumed, “the defendants weren’t asked until the first day of trial if they wanted representation. At that point defense counsel had no time for pre-trial preparations or consultations with clients. The notes I have will bring Jack’s attorney up to speed immediately. He can, as they say, hit the ground running.”

“And the prosecutors will be looking for a staff leak,” Elliott said. “Wish I could see it.”

“The proverbial fly on the wall,” Charlotte said. Then she added, “How long will it take you to collect all the research and be ready to leave?”

“There’s more to do than research,” Elliott said. “If I send people into a war zone, they go prepared—weapons, funds, identification. It will take a couple of days. Ye’ also need to be up to speed, Charlotte, on the proceedings and layout of the courtroom. I’ve placed a call to Bob Redford. He directed the movie
Conspirator
a few years ago. I want his insights about the trial. I know he did extensive research at the time.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Meredith huffed. “I tried for years to get him to come to an event at the winery, and he always turned me down. Will he return your call?”

“MacKlenna Farm has been a corporate sponsor of the Sundance Institute for more than twenty years. He’ll call.”

A trace of humor touched Meredith’s face, and she wrapped her fingers around her husband’s arm and tugged teasingly on the sleeve of his polo shirt. “You have such an irresistible way about you.”

Elliott kissed her. “Aye, my wee lassie, but ye’re the only one who thinks so.”

“Tell Mr. Redford Jack will make a nice donation. And just so you know, we’re picking up the tab for
all
expenses,” Charlotte said.

Elliott waved away her comment as if it had no importance. He was no longer grinning, but there was a distinct glint in his eye. “When everyone has safely returned, then we can discuss money.”

76

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky, Present Day

C
harlotte spent the
next three days in David’s office participating in videoconferences with experts. She and David had studied Redford’s movie several times and talked to the experts he had used in creating the film. Their wealth of information staggered Charlotte, who kept hearing
ker-ching
every time David set up another videoconference.

Her pockets were not as deep as the Frasers’, and by her best calculations, she had already spent her savings and would have to dig into her retirement unless she sold the Hilton Head house to a developer. Money didn’t matter, though. Jack’s freedom did. Both Frasers had told her not to worry about the money, but she did.

Elliott’s research assistants discovered a Union officer from Lexington, Kentucky whose identity Charlotte could borrow. The man died at home in the summer of 1865 from wounds he received in the Siege of Petersburg.

What made him of interest to Elliott was Captain Charles Patrick had been a lawyer. Elliott had vetted the captain’s historical record and found no connection to any member of the military commission or defense attorneys. If Charlotte wanted to attend the trial, being a member of the defense team guaranteed her admission to the courtroom and contact with Jack. Impersonating a Union Captain wouldn’t be difficult, but impersonating a lawyer, even with a script to follow, might be more of a challenge.

“I promise ye’, Charley, ye’ won’t have to say a word.” His nickname for her rolled smoothly off his tongue. “Sit there and look menacing,” he said, glaring with a tight-lipped, pinched expression.

She surprised herself by laughing out loud, but then stopped suddenly and pressed the tips of her fingers against her mouth to keep another laugh from bursting out. Jack was gone, and she had no right to be happy.

David moved her hand away from her lips and held it in his strong palm, as if it were something precious and fragile. The sudden warmth of the touch rippled the fine hairs of her forearms. Her fingers closed involuntarily on his, and his hand wrapped large and warm around hers. “It’s okay to laugh,” he said with gentleness in his face. “It doesn’t mean ye’ don’t love yer brother or worry over him.”

David’s intense, smoldering, dark brown eyes rarely changed, but when he smiled, they took on the coziness of a cup of cocoa, and she melted in the sweet, hot chocolate. There was no tension between them, only general ease in the way he probed and she prodded. They were partners, and if Braham didn’t already have her heart, she could easily give it to this man.

The intercom buzzed, and David answered the phone on his desk. “Aye, I’ll meet ye’ there.” He hung up and said to her, “Elliott needs me in the stallion barn. I’ll be right back.” He pocketed his cell phone and left the room, muscles rippling beneath the fabric of shirt and trousers.

She got to her feet and stretched. From the window behind David’s desk, she observed him crossing the yard toward the closest red-roofed barn, admiring the way his body moved with such athletic ease and power.

David was a deadly force to be reckoned with. According to the historical record, the conspirators were incarcerated in the Old Arsenal Penitentiary. If anyone could rescue Jack from there, David could. She said a silent prayer, grateful he was one of the good guys, and on her side.

A description of one of the characters in Jack’s last book described David right down to the aviators he tucked into the open collar of his shirt:
He possessed a quickness of mind and body, and protectiveness born of nature and honed by training.
She trusted him implicitly and wanted the trust reciprocated, but if she expected him to believe in her, she had to be completely honest with him. And she was holding back, not ready to share the possibility she might be pregnant.

When she had told her story to Elliott, Meredith, and David, and reached the part about her visit to Braham’s house in Georgetown for their getaway, David had quietly left the room. She suspected he had watched it later when he reviewed the video, but by leaving he had preserved her privacy—
protectiveness born of nature and honed by training.

While she was standing at the window, a reflection of his bookcase in the glass caught her attention. She wandered over to the bookshelf and pulled out a hardback book titled
Knights in Black: The Adventures of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.
The red and green tartan cover was one of three with similar book jackets. Jack had recently mentioned reading and enjoying these books by David MacBain. She flipped the book over to see the author’s picture and gasped.

“I’ll be damned.” The breadth of David’s experience and knowledge had surprised her at first. Then by the second day she found herself in awe, hanging on his every word. By the third day, she had given up being surprised, but now she was back to being in awe again—or maybe thunderstruck. Was there anything the man couldn’t do?

She glanced up to find him standing in the doorway with his hands gripping the top edge of the doorjamb as he leaned into the room. The corner of his mouth curved up, and she had the grace to blush slightly at being caught snooping in his office. “Jack read your books recently and really enjoyed them.”

“After yer trip to Afghanistan, ye’re probably not interested in reading them. I wouldn’t blame ye’.”

She shook her head, eyes fixed on him. “I’ll definitely read them now. I know the author.” She returned the book, placing the spine flush with the edge of the shelf to match the others.

“Come on, then.” He motioned with his chin, his smile widening. “Let’s get out of here for a while. We need a break.”

Her breath hitched at the unexpected invitation, and then she shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Five minutes later, they were speeding down Old Frankfort Pike in David’s Z-4 with the top down, the wind blowing in her hair. The ends of David’s closely cropped hairstyle barely fluttered above his aviator sunglasses.

“Can you fly a plane?” she asked.

“If I have to.” The dark lenses hid his eyes, but the way his mouth curled, she knew they were twinkling. He was teasing her—
protectiveness born of nature and honed by training.
Maybe it’s what the meeting with Elliott was all about. He and Elliott needed to know if she could emotionally handle another trip back. Honestly, she didn’t know for sure, but she thought she could. They probably wanted more reassurance, though.

“I thought we’d stop at Wallace Station and have a sandwich and beer out on the back deck,” David said.

“Sounds great, but make mine water.”

He shook his head. “Part of this outing is drinking beer. Just one. It won’t hurt.” He turned into the restaurant’s parking lot. “Looks like we missed the lunch crowd.” He parked, and they entered the building. After ordering, they made their way out the back door to a picnic table on the deck. They sat in silence for a few minutes, soaking up the sun, until David went back inside to pick up their order. He returned with beers, sandwiches, and a bottle of water.

Charlotte twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a long drink.

“Now, the beer,” David said.

“I can’t.” She spoke softly, her shoulders trembling. “I may be pregnant.”

David set down his bottle of Kentucky Ale and peered over his aviators. “Ye’re a doctor and don’t know for sure?”

“I haven’t taken a pregnancy test. I’m several days late, but I’ve also been through hell and back the last six weeks.”

“Six weeks? How about six months.” He tipped his bottle and finished off the ale. “Ye’ still have a shell-shocked look about ye’.”