The unexpectedness of the voice made her jump, but its blessed familiarity brought her back to her feet. Her gaze probed the unrelieved darkness. “Slade?”
She heard the sound of a quiet snap, saw the small whoosh of a match igniting, and then a golden glow illuminated the contours of his face, the neatly trimmed goatee, the black eyes she so loved. She had to climb over crates and boxes, but she reached him just after he touched the flame to the wick of a lamp. His arms closed around her as hers did him.
And with that security, the storm within broke loose, and she clung to him to remain upright. “He killed him, Slade. He killed Lucien. It was Dev, not a mugger. Dev stabbed him, and he said it was for me—to be with me.” A shudder came over her, so strong she gasped with it. “It is my fault. If I hadn’t flirted with him, hadn’t thought such wicked things—”
“Shh.” He held her close and stroked a hand down her back. “It wasn’t your doing, Yetta. Perhaps you did wrong, perhaps the Lord would have judged you for those thoughts had you not asked forgiveness of them, but Dev’s actions are his own. Not yours.”
She buried her face in his chest and wished she could let the tears rage, that they could wash it all away. But they couldn’t. “I thought I loved him. To my shame, when Lucien still lived. I grieved for him, but not enough. Because of Dev. And now to realize…how could I have been so foolish?”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have. I should have realized the kind of man he is. He plotted his own brother’s murder.”
She felt him shift and then saw the way the lantern light flickered through his eyes. The pain and guilt in them. “No.” She tightened her hold so he couldn’t pull out of her embrace. “You are nothing like him. You defended yourself against Ross. He was the one who plotted murder.”
“I still killed my brother.” His hand, splayed on the small of her back, flexed with that agony.
Agony so very different from Dev’s cold satisfaction. She touched a hand to Slade’s cheek and stretched up to kiss him. “You are a good man, Slade Osborne, and I love you. You are doing all you can to undo—wait.” Now she pulled away so she could glare at him. “You should be in Washington stopping Booth. What are you doing here?”
The agony faded as his lips turned up. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just jumping onto moving trains. Stopping a villain. Rescuing the girl.”
“Fool.” She slapped at his chest and then curled her fingers into his lapel to hold him close. “You cannot be wasting time on the girl, especially when the villain will kill us both if he sees you. You need to get off this train and to Washington.”
His eyes glinted black as hardened steel. “Your grandfather promised they could handle that. Hughes has to be stopped too. But you’re right about the danger. The next time the train slows, you jump.”
Of all the idiotic suggestions. “Absolutely not.”
“Soon, before we reach the mountains.” As if he actually thought he would talk her into it, he strode over to the large side door, slid the latch, and pulled it open a few feet. The thunder of the mechanical beast rushed in, along with a gust of air. “The ground is still relatively flat here. When we slow for the next town—”
“I said no.” She sat defiantly upon a barrel…until she saw that it said gunpowder. Then she jumped back off. “We are in this together.”
“Yetta.” He came back over and framed her face in his hands. “Kitten, listen. I know you feel guilty for what he’s done, but this isn’t your fight.”
But it was. Dev and the KGC were trying to undermine her country. The one her brother had fought and died for. The one her family had risked their lives for throughout the generations. She gripped his wrists. “Yes, it is. Slade…I knew who you were before you arrived. I knew what you were about. I was charged with helping you.”
A breath of laughter puffed from his lips, though it faded as he gazed into her eyes. His hands slid down to link with hers. “What do you mean?”
“Granddad. He…he was an intelligencer in the War of 1812. His mother before him in the Revolution. He has kept the group active through the years. We call ourselves the Culper Ring.”
“We.” Now he sat on the barrel and didn’t seem to care that it could explode with a random spark. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a…a spy?”
“A spy too, don’t you mean, Detective?” She gave his hands a squeeze. “Why is that so shocking after all I’ve done to help you?”
He blinked, his gaze on her chin rather than her eyes. “You’re talking about an organized group of them.”
“They are just my family. Doing what they can for the country they love, as everyone should do.”