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

than I do. You tell me. You did notice, though, he didn’t make it easy for us. If we hadn’t met the colonel, we would have traveled out to Georgetown and might not have learned Braham had been in town.”

“He probably reported to the president and immediately received a new assignment. At least if he’s out of the city, he can’t shoot Booth,” Jack said.

“Maybe Henly will learn something at the War Department.”

“Henly will be back whether he hears news of Braham or not. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off him, either, but it wasn’t because I was interested. He reminded me of the cops who hide close to the lane in front of the mansion waiting for me to break the law so they can pull me over and slap a citation in my hand.”

“Then stay away from him. Since he intends to call on you tomorrow, should I tell him to leave you alone?”

“No, don’t do it yet. I’ll see him tomorrow. His connections might open a door to one of the hospitals so I can work while I’m here. I’ll put up with him, at least for now.”

“You might enjoy having male attention. Someone to take you to parties and the theater.”

“I don’t want male attention, and you can take me to the theater.”

He tapped her cheek. “You don’t? Then how do you explain the pinkish tinge on your face?”

She slapped his hand away. “If you think I could be interested in a controlling jerk like the colonel, you don’t know me at all.”

“Tsk, tsk. I know you better than you know yourself. Thoughts of the colonel didn’t make you blush. Nope, you blushed because you pictured a soldier with steady green eyes and a knee-melting smile.”

She threw a small decorative sofa pillow at him. “You are working on a romance novel, aren’t you? Trying your lines out on me. What’s your pseudonym? I know you have one. You are such a jerk.”

Jack laughed and tossed the pillow back at her. “And you’re such a liar. You’ve all but drooled over Braham since he came out of surgery and you saw the man beneath the blood and grime.”

“And how do you know?”

Jack’s eyes twinkled. “I have my sources, and a good reporter never reveals his sources.”

She looked at her brother, those deep blue eyes, the straight line of his nose, the mouth so quick to curve up in amusement. He was a combination of both their parents, and she loved him, but he sure did piss her off sometimes. It wasn’t because Jack went looking for trouble; it was because trouble had a way of finding him. He’d never done anything illegal, but he had been beaten up a couple of times, which had scared the crap out of her. He never appreciated the true danger in his situations because he was always thinking about the story.

“Sources? I wouldn’t call former bedmates reliable sources. Thanks to Ken’s introductions, you’ve dated most of the nurses from Richmond to Winchester, so any one of them would have told you whatever you wanted to hear. They would even violate HIPAA to get back into your bed.”

He pressed his hands against his chest and managed to look crestfallen. “I can’t believe how mean you are to me.”

There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she said.

The butler entered. “Your trunks have been taken upstairs and luncheon is served in the dining room.”

“What’s your name, please?” Charlotte asked. “You’ve been most helpful.”

“Edward, ma’am. Major McCabe was very specific. This is your home, and we are to serve your needs as long as you wish to stay.”

“Would you mind serving us at the round table in front of the window?” she said pointing behind her. “I’d like to enjoy the view while I eat.”

“Certainly.” Edward left the room, closing the door behind him.

“I guess Braham wants to make up for stealing my car,” Charlotte said, finally taking a minute to study the ornate room, which was painted and papered in vivid greens and reds. He had exquisite and expensive taste.

“He didn’t steal it, he borrowed it,” Jack said.

She ran her hand along the top of a walnut table next to the sofa from the Rococo Revival period. “What?”

“Your car. He didn’t steal it.”

She went over to the front window, pushed aside a swathe of lace curtain with the back of her hand, and looked out at the White House. “He didn’t even have a driver’s license. What would have happened if he’d been stopped? We’d have been in a world of hurt. I wish he’d been honest with us.”

“He didn’t intentionally deceive us.”

She let the curtain drop back into place, still clutching a corner of the lace. “He deceived me from the very beginning. It never occurred to me he would find time travel acceptable. If I had known, I could have saved myself a lot of anguish. Now he’s run off and we don’t know where.”

“If we find Booth, we’ll find Braham. And I’ll get a helluva story along the way.”

34

Washington—December 1864

Charlotte joined Jack for breakfast in the dining room shortly before seven the next morning. They had eaten lunch and dinner in the parlor and retired early, so she had yet to tour the house. Her bedroom, complete with a feather bed, was elegantly furnished. She had slept well and woke up refreshed.

She found Jack sitting at the end of a long-carved mahogany table with his journal and a sharpened pencil at his side. She paused in the doorway, taking in the complete dining room, not wanting to miss any of the sophisticated details. She imagined Braham selecting every piece of furniture for both style and function. He was a man of many talents—educated and wealthy—and she’d only gotten a glimpse of his multilayered personality.

The ten chairs surrounding the long table had scroll arms, lion paw feet, and blue silk dragonfly upholstery. She ran her hand across the smooth