The Sapphire Brooch Katherine Logan (best beach reads TXT) 📖

person looking through a microscope announced it had been a good cover. Elliott smiled, and he and Braham ambled back toward the house with Tate on their heels.

“Our stallions are too valuable to take any more risks than absolutely necessary. Everything is choreographed.” Elliott opened the back door leading into the kitchen. “Are ye hungry? Mrs. Collins can fix ye a sandwich to hold ye until dinner.”

The aroma of roasting meat made Braham’s mouth water and his stomach rumble. “I can wait.”

The woman working at the stove said, “You can’t come into my kitchen hungry and not eat. I fed Doctor Fraser a couple of hours ago, so the complaining stomach I hear ain’t his. You sit. I’ll whip you up enough food to put hair on that big chest of yours.”

Braham gave her a teasing smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll leave ye with Mrs. Collins,” Elliott said. “I need to return a couple of calls.”

Braham read the Lexington Herald-Leader newspaper while he waited. Every article he read generated a dozen questions, and he wished he had Charlotte’s iPad. The idea of access to unlimited knowledge both baffled and intrigued him. There were several things about the twenty-first century he’d miss, especially Charlotte.

He hadn’t even had a chance to kiss her.

20

MacKlenna Farm, Lexington, Kentucky – Present Day

Elliott entered his office already busy checking emails on his smartphone. He closed the door behind him. David was sitting at the conference table with two laptops, notes scribbled on a legal pad, and the tracking device from Braham’s car.

Elliott sat next to David and picked up the device. “Thanks for leaving this on the hall table. The expression on Braham’s face told me he had no idea what it was. So what’d ye find out about him?”

David put down his pen and picked up the legal pad. “The vehicle is registered to Doctor Charlotte Mallory, the daughter of Jackson and Margaret Mallory. Both parents were US Senators. Both died in office. Charlotte went to Duke Medical School, did her internship and residency at Cornell, then returned to Richmond to practice medicine and teach. She has an outstanding reputation. No malpractice claims. Is well thought of by her colleagues. She’s a marathoner. Has qualified for Boston but cancelled. No reason given.”

“Probably her schedule,” Elliott said. “What else?”

“Her brother, Jack Mallory, is a New York Times best-selling author.”

Elliott nodded his approval. “I’ve read his books. He writes mysteries and suspense. Good storyteller.”

David continued. “Neither one is married. Jack resides at the family plantation, which has been owned by the Mallorys since 1613.”

“One family?” Elliott was not only surprised but thunderstruck. “Since close to the founding of Jamestown, which was a long time ago.”

David looked at him, his eyebrows raised in an unspoken question. “How do ye know so much US history?”

“After horses, history was Sean’s favorite topic.”

“Which Sean?”

“Kit’s adoptive father, Sean the sixth.” Elliott tugged on his chin. “Matter of fact, Sean the fifth was a bit of a history nut, too. They talked. I listened. They were proud of the farm’s history. It was once part of Virginia, given by a land grant to Thomas MacKlenna in 1763. But it isn’t as old as the Mallorys’. Very impressive.”

David sat back, shaking his head. “Do ye want to hear this or not?”

“Not all at once. I probably paid a thousand bucks for the quick information. I’d like to savor it a bit at a time. Feels more like I’m getting my money’s worth.”

David stood, dropping the legal paid on top of the conference table. “Call me if ye can’t read my notes.”

“I’m teasing ye, lad. Sit. Get on with it.”

David shifted his solid frame in the conference table chair. He flipped a page and continued reading through his notes. “Charlotte took McCabe to the Winchester Medical Center on October 18 for treatment of a bullet wound in his abdomen. She claimed she found him in the parking lot following the reenactment of the Battle of Cedar Creek.

“McCabe told the police he didn’t know who he was or who shot him. He stayed in the Winchester hospital for four days then transferred to the Virginia Medical Center. He was released into the care of Jack Mallory, who also paid his medical bills. Mallory caught a flight to Atlanta this morning and has a two-night reservation at the Ritz-Carlton. Charlotte was on call this evening, but she’s changed her schedule.” David flipped a page on the notepad. “We ran the prints we got off the car. One set matches Charlotte’s—”

“Why are her prints on file?”

“She volunteered for a six-week program to provide surgical assistance in Afghanistan.”

“That took guts.”

David grunted. “Another set matches Jack Mallory’s. He was arrested in college for public intoxication. The case was dismissed. Arrested a few years ago on a murder charge—”

“What?”

“He was interviewing a biker gang and was arrested with them. Nothing came of it except an article he wrote afterward trended on social media. I’m sure it sold more books.”

“What about Braham’s prints?”

David shook his head. “The man is a battle-hardened soldier. Ye can tell in the way he walks and stands, and ye can see it in his eyes. But there’re no prints in any database. No credit cards. No employment history. No birth record. Michael Abraham McCabe didn’t exist before October 18.”

Elliott sat back in chair. “What do ye think?”

“He’s either in the federal witness protection program, or he’s telling the truth when he says he’s from the nineteenth century.”

Elliott guzzled a bottle of water then squeezed and popped the plastic. “I believe him.” He threw the bottle toward the trash can like a basketball. It missed and landed on the floor.

David howled. “Jim Manning can do it without missing. Ye can’t compete with yer lawyer.”

“They didn’t have basketball where I went to high school in Scotland, and I had no interest in learning when I was at Auburn vet school. Ye’re right. I can’t compete with a guy who played at the University of Kentucky. Call him and