Two days from Easter. Something would be happening soon, and that certainty wound his nerves tighter than a spring-loaded coil.
Slade glanced at the envelope, his pulse hammering when he recognized John Booth’s hand. He broke the seal and pulled out the paper.
We move tonight. I just discovered the tyrant will be attending Our American Cousin at Ford’s this evening. Such a stroke of fortune—nay, of fate—must not be ignored. Surratt is still not home from Canada and several of the others are unreachable, so we haven’t the men for the original scheme.
We must swear instead to assassination. Lewis will strike Seward in his home. Port Tobacco the vice president in his hotel room. You the secretary of war. I will handle the tyrant myself.
Our moment is 10:15—timed according to the loudest moment of the play, when a gun’s report will be muted by laughter. Then follow the escape route without delay.
Slade crumpled the sheet in his hand. Perhaps he had known all along, as he saw the hatred in the Knights’ eyes, that no one would be content with merely kidnapping Lincoln. Still, he had hoped and prayed.
For just a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and let the words that had been rattling around in his mind for the past day clang louder in his ears, the ones in the telegram from Pinkerton. You know I believe you, but I am afraid you are on your own. Use your best judgment, but do not invite defeat if the odds are too much against you.
The odds. He had made a career of calculating them before he left the gambler’s life, had used the lessons learned at the card table time and again as a detective. His gut knew the odds without any input from his head.
Three men, all with pistols loaded and primed. Three men, all bound for different parts of Washington. And only one of him, forced to decide whose life was the most worth saving. Politically, the answer was obvious. He must, at all costs, protect the president.
The families of the other targets would disagree.
Lord, what am I to do? Yetta was right. I can’t stop them all. Not on my own.
Instead of an answer, another realization hit. He wouldn’t be up against three—he would be up against four. Hughes would have gotten word too. He would even now be coupling his cars full of gold and guns and powder to a train headed into the mountains. He would follow his own plan, one that guaranteed his safety so he could lead the next rebellion.
One that surely included Marietta by his side.
“Slade?”
Had his thoughts summoned her? He blinked, focused on her beautiful, worried frown, and reached for her hand. Pulled her into the room, past his usual chair, and into the alcove. The one where, two and a half months ago, she had collapsed in tears.
That day she had been oblivious to anything but her inner turmoil. Today, her entire focus was upon his face, upon his disquiet.
If it was the last time he saw her, he would have the most compelling of pictures to carry with him to his grave. He brushed away that one curl always dangling at her cheek, savored the silk of it on his fingers, and leaned down. He meant only to touch his lips to hers, but it wasn’t enough. Not for forever. Deepening the kiss, he held her tight and prayed she could taste something beyond the goodbye in his embrace.
When he pulled away, the frantic gleam in her eye said otherwise. She gripped his arms and shook her head. “Don’t. Don’t go.”
“I have to.” He kissed her once more, just once more, softly if lingering. “So do you. Promise me, kitten. You’ll pack now and get out of Baltimore before he comes home. Go to your family. Make them help you get away.”
Her rapid blinking didn’t disguise the mist in her eyes. “Slade.”
“Promise me.”
Pressing her lips together, she nodded. Her breath came in short, quavering gasps. “I promise.”
They would deliver her out of Hughes’s reach. He had to believe that. Still, he couldn’t convince his arms to release her so she could obey. He rested his forehead on hers. “Yetta…I love you. I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t help it.”
Her laugh came quick but faded quicker. She pressed a hand to his cheek. “I know the feeling. I didn’t mean to love you either. But I do, so much.”
Why couldn’t that mean forever instead of farewell? “If I live through this, I’ll find you. I wish I could promise more than that.”
At least he could be sure she would never forget him. Not her.
Her fingers traced over his face. “Don’t talk like that. Tomorrow all this will be behind us and…” A shiver coursed through her. “And then you’ll need to know I made a mistake. With Dev, before you arrived.”