The Sapphire Brooch by Katherine Logan (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

the surface. “You know it’s impossible, don’t you?”

Braham forced a grin. “I thought ye would believe yer sister.”

Jack picked up a cup from the bedside table with a small bent tube angled horizontally out of it. He put the tube to Braham’s lips. “Here’s some water. Take a few sips.” Braham did and found the ice water refreshing. “I neither believe nor disbelieve, but I do know she’s never lied to me before.”

Braham pushed the cup away and Jack returned it to the table.

“What did she tell ye about me?”

Jack rested his forearms on the bed’s railing and clasped his hands. “That you’re a major in the United States Cavalry. That you were caught spying in Richmond, and that if you didn’t die from your wounds, the Confederate Army was planning to hang you.”

“And ye don’t believe it?”

There was a knock and two men dressed in blue uniforms entered without waiting for a response.

“Mr. McCabe,” one of the men dressed in blue said. “We’re with the Winchester Police Department, and we have a few questions for you. Is this a good time?”

Jack moved away from the bed, standing behind the police but staying where Braham could see him.

“Let’s begin with your full name,” one of the policemen said.

Braham glanced at Jack. “I was telling Mr. Mallory I don’t remember my name or where I’m from. Or anything else.”

“Doctor Mallory said you told her your name was Major McCabe,” the other policeman said.

“I have no memory of the conversation.”

“The beating you took to your face and head could have caused memory loss.” Although the first policeman’s voice was amiable, his gaze was unblinkingly chilly. “What were you doing before the fight started?”

Braham had never lied before he went to work for Lincoln and Stanton as a secret agent. He had withheld the truth, but he had never deliberately lied. During the past four years he had perfected the art of not answering questions, and it had saved his life more than once.

He gave a weighty sigh. “I don’t remember.”

“You have a Scottish accent. Have you recently moved here?” the second policeman asked.

Braham shrugged. “I wish I could help ye.”

The first policeman pulled a card from a pocket inside his notebook. “I can see we’re not going to get anywhere today. Here’s my phone number. If anything comes to mind, give me a call. We intend to catch the person who shot you.”

The other policeman scratched his chin. “I’d like to try something which might trigger a memory.” He left the room and returned a minute later carrying a mirror. He handed it to Braham. “Look in the mirror and tell me who you see.”

Braham studied the image in the looking glass. He had a bandage on his forehead and bruises on his cheeks. He hadn’t shaved in days, and the stubble finished off his well-crafted image of a fearless and daring spy.

“I see one sorry son of a bitch. But not someone I recognize.”

The policeman placed the mirror on the bedside table. “Thank you for your time. If you do remember any details, we’d appreciate a call.”

The policemen left the room. Jack watched the door for a minute and then let out a breath. “You played it brilliantly. Almost convinced me.”

“If I had given them my name, they might have learned I died in 1864.”

The box in Jack’s shirt pocket made a noise, and he answered it. “Your time traveler told the police he didn’t remember who shot him…no, I don’t believe him…” He handed the box to Braham. “Charlotte wants to talk to you.”

He put it against his ear as Jack had done. Silence.

“Hello. Is anyone there?”

Braham jerked the loud noise away from his ear.

“Hello, Major McCabe. Are you there?”

Braham kept the box several inches away from his ear and said, “Yes.”

“I can’t hear you.”

Jack took Braham’s hand and pushed the box closer to his ear. “Don’t talk so loud, Charlotte.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Is this better?”

Braham whispered, “Yes.”

“Major, don’t talk to anyone else. If you have to say anything, do what you just did and claim you don’t remember. If anyone discovers the truth, it could be a problem. We’re trying to work out a plan now. Will you hand the phone back to Jack?”

Jack put the phone up to his ear and listened. “I can stay until he’s ready to leave the hospital, but it would be easier for both of us if you transferred him to Richmond…yes…no…I’ll talk to Ken.”

The blood drained from Braham’s face at the mention of Richmond. He tossed back the covers. A fire burned in his belly, his head hurt, and when he moved he got dizzy, but he was not going back to Richmond. All it held for him was a date with the hangman.

A look of alarm flashed across Jack’s face. He pressed his free hand against Braham’s shoulder. “Hold on, buddy. You’re not getting out of bed yet.”

“I’m not going back to Richmond and give those Johnny Rebs another shot at me.”

“He doesn’t want to go to Richmond. He thinks he’ll be killed,” Jack said into the black box. “How much of a history lesson do you want me to give him? If he’s going home, he doesn’t need to know the future.”

Going home seemed like a fine idea to Braham. He pulled up the covers.

“I’ll sleep here in the room…yep, it’s a private suite…yep, I talked to the admission’s office…yep, I’ll pick up the tab and recoup my losses when I publish this story…are you freaking kidding? Of course, I am.”

Jack put the little black box back in his shirt pocket. “Okay, nobody’s listening but me, and I want the truth. If you’re married and spent the night with my sister, and then your wife showed up and shot you, I want to know. So, spill it.”

Braham used the white box to raise the head of the bed higher.

“My name is Major Michael Abraham McCabe. I’m a special agent for Abraham Lincoln. The president sent me to