The Captain's Challenge (The Wolf Deceivers Series Book 3) Page 2

  Hiding her face inside the handkerchief, she gave way to sobs. Let him think what he wished. She meant every word she said.

  A weary sigh blew from his lips as he took the handkerchief and, tipping her chin, blotted her tears. “What’s your father’s name?”

  She cleared her throat. “Gilbert Carey.”

  He stiffened like the name upset him, but recovered quickly, and hitched a smile. “Very well, give me the address of these friends of the Rougets, and I’ll pick you up on my way to the depot. Be ready by eight.”

  Tears gave way to triumph. She wouldn’t even question his sudden change of heart. “I do have the address written down.” She opened the strings of her reticule and drew out a folded paper. “You can take it. I have it memorized.” He caught the paper between two fingers. With a touch to his hat, he turned from her and left.

  She shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to the man. He couldn’t help that he epitomized everything she loathed about Yankees. Had it not been for them she wouldn’t have been stranded in a foreign country. Her brothers and her mother wouldn’t have died, and her father wouldn’t be broken and in some kind of trouble he tried to keep from her.

  ***

  Alex flung the orders he’d just read to the desktop and slammed his fist on top of them. He’d been stupid to accept this assignment, even if success did promise a promotion. But it was either this or a desk job at Fort Meade.

  Lieutenant Cal Duncan looked up from the revolver he was cleaning, his brows raised in surprise. “I thought you were looking forward to this challenge.”

  Alex let his head fall back, his jaw sharpened into a square. “I was. This would be my last case for army intelligence, and I’d hoped to make a difference.” If these shadow gangs could be exposed and shut down, maybe a lasting peace would follow.

  Anyone willing to face the truth knew it would take years for real peace to come to the South. Despite the treaty signed by Grant and Lee, many kept fighting their own war, fueled by a hatred that rivaled the original conflict.

  Gilbert Carey.

  Restlessness brought him to his feet. “I don’t believe in coincidence. What are the odds that I would run into the daughter of one of our suspects?” He’d explained the altercation on River Street to Cal.

  “Who are the other two suspects?’

  Alex had committed the information to memory. “James Parker, the editor of the Atlanta Sentinel, a rabble-rouser who keeps the ex-Confederates stirred up. The other is Hubert Boyles who organized the Ku Klux Klan in Central Georgia right after the war. He claims his group is disbanded, but who knows?”

  Cal turned his attention back to his job. The young lieutenant was Alex’s partner in intelligence—the only man he trusted. “How is Gilbert Carey involved?”

  “He advises landowners in how to operate share-cropping. Some of their harsh methods has caught the attention of the Freedman’s Bureau.”

  Cal stared into space for several long moments, as if turning that over in his mind. “You think General Terry had Miss Carey’s letter to her father intercepted and set it up for her to be accosted on the wharf, knowing you’d be on patrol at that time?”

  Alex scrubbed the stubble on his chin. “No, that’s too fantastic. Those were real thieves. They shot a man, and I want you to interrogate them if they’re caught before you leave.”

  It wasn’t too fantastic for God, though, and Alex had been praying for a breakthrough in this case. Was it possible?

  Cal snapped the pistol shut and reared back in his chair. “It sounds fortuitous to me, but if you want to stay and deal with the thieves, I could escort Miss Carey home.” His mischievous grin meant to annoy Alex.

  “I’ll bet you would. No, I agreed to escort the lady to Macon, and I’m going to use the opportunity to get as much information about her father out of her as I can. Trouble is, she’s lived in England since before the war, so it’s unlikely she’ll know any more than I do, maybe less.” He had a complete dossier on Gilbert Carey.

  Cal was interested enough to lay the pistol aside. “What does she look like?”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “She sounds like a beauty used to getting her way.”

  An image of Gillian flashed in Alex’s mind. He sat in the desk chair and propped his elbows on the surface. “She’s used to getting her way all right, and very attractive, if not a conventional beauty. Red hair—not garish by any means—a soft shade of golden rose with just enough curl to—and eyes so blue and innocent she’d put an angel to shame.”

  Cal laughed. “Doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a very onerous job to escort her anywhere.”

  Alex shifted in his chair. He saw nothing but trouble with Miss Redheaded Spitfire, who’d use all her feminine wiles to get what she wanted.

  “I’m to pretend to be her cousin—her idea. Don’t tell anyone about that. Major Turley wouldn’t approve.” Major Archibald Turley would be his commanding officer in Macon. He had a reputation for being hard to deal with, expecting his orders to be carried out to the letter, never deviating from regulations, and unwilling to accept suggestions from subordinates.

  Alex had always been able to give his commanders their due respect, but he expected some respect in return. Major Turley shouldn’t object if he got a head start with the investigation. He didn’t have to know how that came about.

  Helping Gillian might be a little act of defiance, but it felt good.

  “No, he doesn’t like his men dallying with the local woman.” Cal began gathering the cleaning items and stuffing them into his kit. “And it’s not like you to let women divert you from your mission. How did Miss Carey manage it?”

  “Like I said, she was being accosted by some thugs down on River Street. A Frenchman was shot. I had to get the man to the doctor’s, and before I could get away, Miss Carey burst into tears.” He clenched his fists on the desk. “You know, Cal, the army has taught us well in maneuvers and keeping the peace, but it didn’t teach us anything about how to handle a weeping woman.”

  Cal threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Wished I could help, but I can’t leave until next week.”

  At least Cal was being reassigned to Macon too. They’d been together since before the war ended, and he was close as a brother. As long as Alex had to serve out his tour of duty, he wouldn’t be alone.

  He stretched out and clasped his hands behind his head. “You know, Cal, I’m determined to finish this assignment, but promotion or not, meeting Miss Carey and her impassioned plea to go home got me thinking about my home.” Maybe that’s why he sympathized with Gillian. He didn’t want to wait to go home either.

  “You have the choice. I have two more years while you could get out by August, can’t you?”

  “That’s right. I’d like to stay until peace is restored, but let’s face it, Cal, unless Washington allows more white men to take the loyalty oath, there’s never going to be peace.”

  Nobody could accuse either him or Cal of not doing their time. After the war they spent three years in Charleston. Now over two in Georgia. All of the other Confederate states had been readmitted to the union. Sherman might have won the war for the Union in Georgia, but the native sons were determined to make the Union pay for it.

  “You’d think enough white men have taken the loyalty oath in Georgia for us to leave.”

  “Not according to Congress. They think there’s some kind of secret group planning to keep all the freedmen out. If we’re able to expose these trouble-makers, the thinking is, the other ex-Confederates will fall in line. Let’s hope that’s not just wishful thinking.”

  “They say Macon is hotter than Savannah. Not even an ocean breeze.”

  He shoved his chair back and opened the bottom desk drawer. “I’m tired of this place, tired of the mosquitoes and flies, tired of the heat, tired of weeping women.”

  “But you’ll make an exception for a woman with eyes so innocent they’d put an angel to shame.”


  Alex threw the shriveled apple he found in the drawer at Cal. “The last exception I make.” He forced the image of Gillian from his mind and tried to replace it with Elizabeth, his childhood sweetheart who’d lived on the farm next to that of his parents. He’d seen her now and again on visits, but she’d given up waiting for him after ten years.

  She’d married someone else and moved on. Which was just as well. Time had blurred Elizabeth’s face until he wasn’t even sure he’d recognize her today.

  Cal dropped the rotten apple in the wastepaper basket. “This will be your last assignment in any event if the Democrats win the elections, and enough ex-Confederates have taken the oath to make that happen.”

  Alex took a duffle bag and began to clear out his desk. “Let’s face it, Cal. They can’t legislate enough laws to put down hate.” No one could change hearts expect Christ. The South would have been better served by a spiritual revival than Reconstruction.

  He buckled the bag and gathered up the remaining papers on his desk into a neat pile. “I’m going to send a report to the colonel and send a patrol down to River Street.” With the description he’d give the men they should be able to apprehend those ruffians. That would be his last action in Savannah.

  His unofficial duty lay ahead. He’d see Miss Gillian Carey safely to Macon and turn her over to her father.

  Chapter 2

  They hadn’t been on the train long before Alex realized Gillian was one of those chatty type females. Normally, he didn’t like female chatter, but her voice fell pleasantly on the ear. Besides, he was intrigued by her, and it didn’t take many prodding questions on his part for her to talk.

  “I got the impression, Miss Carey, your father didn’t approve of your coming home at this time. That surprises me. I can understand his concern for your safety right after the end of the war, but despite the unfortunate incident at the docks, law and order has now been restored to most cities.”

  Their seats faced each other, and she spared him a glare before leaning forward. “Don’t you think we should use our Christian names since we’re supposed to be cousins?”

  “That was your idea, Miss Carey.”

  “And a good one, Alex.”

  He chuckled under his breath. “Very well, Gillian. I’m just curious as to why your father didn’t meet you. True, he might not have received your letter, but the mail has gotten reliable the last few years. I suspect you’re leaving a lot out of your story.”

  Confusion flickered in those incredible blue eyes, and she waved a fan back and forth a few times before answering. “You think I didn’t notify Papa that I was coming home.” She pulled a smile into place. “Well, since you want the whole story, and we have plenty of time, here it is.

  “My grandfather was an abolitionist in England. After slavery was outlawed there, he decided to turn his efforts to the States. He thought the plantation owners could be convinced their crops could be worked more efficiently by tenant labor. The tenants would get their homes and a small plot of land to farm for their family’s use in exchange for working the fields.”

  “A noble idea. What happened?” Alex already knew her grandfather’s story but wanted to hear her side of it.

  “My grandparents came to Georgia right after Papa graduated Cambridge. Grandpa set his sights on purchasing a cotton plantation outside of Macon called Lynwood. The owner was willing to sell provided my father marry his daughter. She was my mother, Lynette. They had four children. My three older brothers and me.”

  “How did your grandfather’s experiment work out?”

  “He thought if he ran Lynwood the way he envisioned, others would see and adopt the same methods. However, laws prevented him from freeing the slaves, and those he dared to do so anyway ran away to free states.”

  Alex nodded and glanced out the train’s dingy window to the landscape flying by.

  Gillian followed his gaze. “Grandpa got involved with politics and was somewhat successful in convincing some of the locals to start thinking about turning from slavery. The debate was becoming heated in Washington by then, and many were becoming concerned the federal government might outlaw slavery.”

  “How did your grandfather run Lynwood without slaves?”

  “He didn’t, but he made each one a promise that if they worked the land for a number of years, he’d set them free and see them safely to a free state. This was all secret, of course, but Grandpa’s enemies found out, and he was assassinated.”

  Alex bolted upright. That wasn’t in his reports, and he wanted to know more, but years of practice helped him hold his curiosity in check. If he were not careful, he’d give himself away. Gillian was more astute than she appeared.

  His training had taught him how to take a man’s measure, and he could usually read a woman, but this woman had him wondering. “The papers said your grandfather died when he stepped in front of a stagecoach.”

  Her mouth dipped down at the corners. “They left out the part about him being pushed.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “He inherited Lynwood, of course, and got involved with politics, trying to take over where by grandfather left off. My grandmother returned to England. I was about ten years old at the time.”

  He had wanted to know what Gilbert Carey did about his father being murdered, but he’d let that drop for now. “Then the war happened.”

  “Yes, but the year before my parents agreed to send me to England to go to an exclusive music school. In truth, I think my father hoped to keep me from going the way of my brothers, who all sided with the Southern cause.” She held his gaze a long moment and smiled. “My mother’s influence.”

  They went to the dining car for a lunch of stale cornbread, beans, and dry pork chops. When their waiter left them, Gillian surprised Alex by bowing her head for a few seconds. He supposed to say a blessing. He wouldn’t have pegged her for a religious woman, and it made him uncomfortable thinking how far he’d come from his parents’ teachings.

  For years, he hadn’t dared face God since he’d killed that young Confederate soldier. He’d found redemption but was so new to the faith he forgot prayers at times.

  After she lifted her head, he asked, “You never sided with the South’s cause?”

  She paused with her water glass at her lips and looked at him from under sweeping lashes. “I didn’t think about it while in England. Even when the war started, and it wasn’t safe to return, I thought I’d return when my studies were finished.”

  “The war changed everything,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “It certainly did for me. My brothers joined the Confederate army and…one by one…were killed.” A sob escaped, and she swallowed hard. “Even Will, probably.”

  No wonder she looked upon him as an enemy, but he, too, knew what it was like to lose a brother. He decided to pull her away from the horror of war for her sake and his. “Why didn’t you come home after the war ended?”

  She looked off into space as if she didn’t hear him. “Then my mother died in sixty-four.” Her shoulders lifted in a sigh, and she turned her attention to her plate. “My father and grandmother convinced me I had little to come home for, that I should wait to be presented to London society and catch a husband.”

  They both ate in silence. “My father remarried. By that time, I had friends and prospects, and didn’t want to return home.”

  Now he was truly curious. “What happened to the prospects?”

  “I was affianced to Lord Brimington. Our wedding was to take place this fall.”

  He sipped his water, waiting for her to continue, and when she didn’t, asked. “Is that why you ran away?”

  She didn’t deny it. “I discovered he had a perchance for ladies of the evening and called off the wedding.”

  “How did you discover that?”

  “I followed him one night.”

  He hadn’t known her long, but this didn’t surprise him in the least. “Let me guess. Your grandmother didn’t s
ee that as a problem.”

  She laughed. “No, she didn’t. I caused quite a scandal in Grandmother’s social circles. She was more angry with me for spying on Lord Brimington than of him, but that wasn’t why I had to run away. My Aunt Amanda came for a visit, and I caught her and grandmother talking low about some danger Papa faced. They quickly changed the subject and claimed it was nothing. But I noticed a change in my father’s letters. Something is very wrong, but neither he nor Grandmother would confide in me.”

  “So, you left without your grandmother’s knowledge?”

  “I’m not that callus. I left her a note with a servant, telling her I was leaving with the Rougets so she wouldn’t worry overmuch, and I had supposed she’d write to let Papa know. She must not have, or he’d have met me in Savannah.”

  “She probably felt you’d arrive before a letter could get here.”

  “I hope that’s the explanation, but I’m worried about what I’ll find.”

  ***

  Gillian waited for Alex to secure their passage on the last leg of their journey. She didn’t know what to make of him. All the men she’d known monopolized the conversation about themselves. Alex wanted to probe into every little facet of her past. Maybe he just found her fascinating. For a young woman she’d lived an unusual life.

  He was a hard man to figure out. Friendly enough, she supposed, but after traveling nearly two hundred miles, she knew very little about him. He didn’t want to reveal much about his beliefs, his feelings. But he would before this train arrived at their destination. She’d worm it out of him some way.

  His interest in her didn’t bother her, but maybe it should. She couldn’t get involved with a Yankee officer. Grandmother warned her about soldiers. They were unreliable and would disappear as suddenly as they came.

  Not that she wanted to get involved. If Alex got her to Macon, he could disappear with her blessing.

  She eyed him coming back and took several steps forward. He’d stand out in a crowd, even if in ordinary dress instead of that blue uniform. Tall. Erect. Bold.