Portland, Oregon
Present Day
EMMA WELLINGTON STARED at the television in hopeful silence.
“Theodore Cary unable to take over the Washington State Senate seat, despite his attempts to impeach Senator Robin Wade.”
“Yes!” She grinned as the reporter droned on. “You’ll never get her, Ted. She’s too good, and quite frankly, it’s about time we had someone honest in politics!”
“Controversy and questions still surround the validity of the Cary camp’s impeachment charges.”
“Ya think? If Ted Cary’s claim is legitimate, then I’m freaking Miss America.” Grabbing the remote in disgust, Emma flipped through the channels until she found a romantic comedy and then dropped the remote on the coffee table.
Not that she would watch. The saga of Westley and Princess Buttercup would be utilized as background noise. Emma had heavier issues on her mind. Well over a year since her sister, Sophie, and brother-in-law, Jamie, disappeared mysteriously, Emma stood in the parlor of their historic 1870s Victorian home and struggled with her current predicament.
Her brother-in-law had no living relatives, so Emma was the sole heir to his assets, but without proof of death, everything had been frozen. Now she was left to pay a mortgage. Small though it might be, thanks to her sister’s financial prowess, it was still beyond her pay grade.
The quintessential modern woman and self-confessed technology junkie, Emma always had the latest iPhone, Blackberry, Blueberry, whatever berry was currently hitting the market. But a checkbook and its balancing scared her to death.
She let out a sigh and decided to have Sophie’s best friend, Alex, help her when she got home. Alex and her husband Lucas had moved in a few months ago because Emma hated to live alone, and so far, the arrangement was working out perfectly.
She had a session with her dance partner tomorrow and she needed to plan for that, so flipping off the television, she headed into the kitchen to see what she could throw together to eat, then sat down and mapped out her routine.
* * *
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
October, 1863
Clayton Madden’s frustration manifested itself in the death grip he had on the arms of the high-backed leather chair in the house he shared with his brother, Richard. Since the beginning of the war, Harrisburg had become his secondary home, and he didn’t get much time to visit. His primary residence was in Washington, D.C., where he worked for Lincoln’s War Cabinet. His friend and colleague, Christopher Butler, had given him the leeway to return to Harrisburg to check on Richard, not easy to do when they were preparing for the President’s trip to Gettysburg in a month.
However, Richard had promised to deliver horses to Maryland, and Richard had yet to fulfill his commitment. Vincent Butler, Christopher’s father, was a prominent farmer and horse breeder for many of the counties in Maryland, and with the shortage on horses due to the war, relied on the ones Richard provided. Clayton had known something must be wrong, but had no idea Richard’s drinking had become as bad as it is.
For three days, Clayton had watched Richard drink himself into yet another stupor—a violent one. Richard Madden, wounded severely at Gettysburg, hadn’t done well after his stay in the hospital, and although his injuries were healing, he continued to self-medicate with alcohol.
Richard told Clayton the reason he chose whiskey over other available methods of pain relief was to avoid the “Army Disease” of addiction to laudanum or morphine. Trouble was, he didn’t seem to realize, or refused to see, his growing addiction to alcohol. Truth be told, his dependency began long before any physical injuries.
A broken heart compounded Richard’s need for alcohol. Forced to watch the object of his affection in love with and pregnant by another man left him crushed. Clayton relaxed his hands and settled his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward. “Richard. You need to slow down, your conduct is atrocious.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about any damn thing, Clayton,” Richard snapped.
“I know you’re drinking entirely too much. Why don’t you drink water for the remainder of the day?”
“Why don’t you go to hell?” Richard bellowed as he shook his half-empty glass at Clayton. “Did you see how she treated me last night? Her husband came to her rescue as though I did something wrong.” Richard took another swig and stared off into space for several minutes.
Clayton sighed. “Richard.”
“The lieutenant has been nothing but trouble since he got here.”
“She’s pregnant, Richard, and you tried to accost her.”
“I did not accost her! I greeted her.”
“With your lips. On her mouth!” Clayton ran his hands through his hair.
Richard waved his glass in the air dismissively, mumbling incoherently.
Clayton knew bits and pieces of the Sophie Ford story, Richard’s lost love… or new obsession… he couldn’t quite discern which. Her arrival to Harrisburg nine months ago had been a strange one, and still unexplained. He’d met her briefly when her life had been threatened, and had also made the acquaintance of her husband, Jamie. Clayton liked the man. He was genuine, had a gift with people, and did his best to be patient with Richard, despite the fact that his brother treated him poorly.
But the issues with Sophie were simply the last straw. Richard had wounds far deeper than anyone had ever been able to reach.
Polar opposites in personality, Clayton and his brother were a combustible combination. Richard could be aggressive and a bully at times, whereas Clayton was the peacemaker. Clayton made his point with words, rather than his fists. Growing up with Richard, however, made him a crafty fighter. He’d had to be… just to survive the frequent brawls with his older brother.
Clayton hadn’t realized how badly his brother was doing. The rumors didn’t come close to the truth, and he was both shocked and saddened by the sight of Richard’s deterioration. “I’m leaving on the four o’clock train. I would like to report to the President that all is well here. Why don’t you go upstairs and try to rest?”
“I’m perfectly rested,” Richard slurred.
“You need to sober up.”
Richard staggered to his feet. “And you need to get the hell out of my office!”
Fists clenched, Clayton stood and walked slowly towards the office door. He knew he had to take a walk or he would end up punching his brother. And no good ever came out of a fight with Richard. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards him. “Richard, be sober before I return, or I’ll be forced to take action.”
The ring of Richard’s humorless laughter followed Clayton as he quietly pulled the office door closed and made his way to the stables to check on the cavalry training. Hearing the forceful voice of Sergeant Lowe directing the horses in several military movements as he approached the arena, Clayton took a deep, steely breath, and tried to shake off his anger towards his brother. A slight breeze carried the briskness of the ensuing winter and the scents of horseflesh, and the soldiers took advantage of the mild weather to get in an extra exercise session.
Clayton’s thoughts were diverted when he saw Jamie in deep conversation with his wife. Feeling slightly like a voyeur, yet unable to turn away, Clayton watched as Jamie smiled down at her as though she were the only person on earth. Tall with long, blonde curls that cascaded down the middle of her back, Sophie commanded attention by the men around her. However, she seemed unaware of her effect. Jamie looked up as he approached and Sophie turned, welcoming Clayton with a quick smile.
No wonder Richard is a mess.
“Good afternoon, Clayton.” Jamie stretched his hand out in greeting.
“Good afternoon.” Clayton removed his hat and turned to Sophie with a slight bow. “Mrs. Ford, lovely to see you again.”
“You, too, Mr. Madden.”
“How’s Richard?” Jamie asked. At Sophie’s grimace, he wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her up against him.
Clayton tucked his hat under his arm. “Not doing well today, I’m afraid.”
“What time is your train?”
“Four.”
Jamie frowned. “Will Richard see you off?”
“I doubt it.” Clayton crossed his arms. “I’m hoping he’ll pass out soon. I’d hate a scene at the station.”
“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realized it’d gotten that bad,” Sophie whispered sadly.
Clayton held his hand up. “Please don’t apologize, it’s his doing.”
Sophie leaned heavily against Jamie with a sigh.
“If you need a ride, let me know,” Jamie offered.
“That won’t be necessary.” Clayton grimaced. “Richard was supposed to deliver horses to Maryland. However, in his condition—” He paused with a scowl. “Nevertheless, Andrew Simmonds has offered to deliver them to Vincent Butler, so we’ll ride them to the station. I’ll disembark at Union Station, and Andrew will continue with them to Camden.”
Jamie nodded. “When will you be back?”
“Not for several weeks, I would imagine. I have to report to Christopher Butler and the President, which will require time.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Will you let them know about Richard?”
“I will tell Christopher. The President has too much on his mind to be concerned about my brother. I am satisfied with the work in spite of Richard’s illness.”
“Excellent.” Jamie gave a quick nod. “Well, my wife needs to rest, so we’ll see you next time you’re in town.”
Clayton shook Jamie’s hand and watched him lean down to whisper something in Sophie’s ear as they walked away. A few seconds later, Jamie handed her a handkerchief. Clayton hoped it wasn’t something he’d said.
“Clayton!” Andrew approached him, leading a pair of award-winning Morgans.
Andrew had to fight to keep the stallion from sidestepping into the mare, so Clayton rushed to assist. “They’re beautiful.”
Andrew nodded. “Richard chose well with these two. Once Vincent mates them, their foal will be a nice addition to his stable.”
Clayton took the stallion’s lead from Andrew and noticed he grabbed his knee briefly before standing again. Andrew Simmonds had been severely injured at Shiloh and was left with a badly damaged knee and scarring on his face. He would joke that the scar finally made him less pretty, but Clayton always felt there was something deeper behind his comedic façade. “I have nothing to take with me, so I’ll check on Richard and meet you out front in ten minutes, if that is acceptable.”
Andrew nodded. “Yes, fine. My bag’s on the back of the mare, so I’m ready to go.”
Clayton jogged back to the house and made his way to Richard’s office. He pushed the door open to find Richard passed out in his large leather chair. With a curse of disgust, Clayton penned a quick note, put another log on the fire, and met Andrew outside.
* * *
“You’d better catch me.” Emma stood with her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at her dance partner.
Mark Battaglia rolled his eyes. “Who are you talking to? We’ve been practicing this routine for weeks… and you’ve lost a hell of a lot of weight.”
“I haven’t lost that much.”
Mark chuckled and Emma couldn’t help but smile. Mark had been her dance partner for three years. They taught together, fought together, and danced outrageously choreographed routines that no human should be able to do… usually dances she choreographed.
He’d had a crush on her since the beginning, and although Emma liked the idea of Mark, she didn’t really like him enough to do much past flirting… and that she did well enough to keep him around. He was gorgeous enough she supposed… in a dark, mysterious kind of way… not really her type, but other women’s for sure. She liked being on his arm. He was protective and attentive, and she knew they had any room’s full attention wherever they went. One thing Emma loved was being the center of attention.
He was up for a role as one of Rayne Green’s backup dancers. She was a vocal sensation, and along with an incredible voice, she put on a great show, and Emma was determined to help Mark make the group. He’d be perfect. He was all man… and strong. The perfect partner for any woman.
Mark drew her focus back to the present when he pressed play on her iPod. “Come on, Em. Do it.”
Emma dropped her glasses on top of her bag. “I wish I had my contacts.”
Mark smiled. “Don’t worry, four-eyes, I’ve got you,” he called over the music.
Emma took a deep breath, skipped into her tumble routine, and found herself lifted high above Mark’s head and then thrown into a split on the ground.
Mark let out a holler as he pulled her up and wrapped his arms around her waist. “That was amazing.”
Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you caught me.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “I told you I would.” He leaned down to kiss her, but Emma waited until the last second and turned away. Mark sighed and leaned a hip against the balance bar. “Are we going to that party?”
Emma grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her neck. “Of course.”
Mark grabbed the ends of her towel and pulled her closer. “Are you going to wear your blue dress?”
Emma grinned and ran a finger down his chest. “If you’d like me to.” Her “little blue cocktail dress” was low at the neck and high at the thigh. With a pair of Jimmy Choos and platinum hoop earrings, she could hold the attention of every man she met while wearing it.
“Will your contacts be here in time?”
Emma leaned back with a mock scowl. “Are you saying I’m ugly with glasses?”
Mark snorted as he pulled her closer. “Impossible. But sexy librarian isn’t really gonna work for the Rayne Green party.”
The studio door opened and Emma’s best friend Hannah walked inside. “Hey there.”
“Hi, Han-Han.” Emma stepped back.
“Hi, Mark.” Hannah gave him a little wave.
“Hi, Hannah.”
Hannah set her bag on the floor. “Emma giving you a hard time?”
Mark gave a half-smile. “No more than usual.”
Hannah giggled. She used to argue with Emma about how she treated Mark, but in the end, realized Mark was getting something out of the deal as well, so left it alone. It wasn’t like Hannah didn’t have her own issues with men. She refused to date. She was petite, almost six inches shorter than Emma, with dark glossy hair that framed an oval face. A liberal smattering of freckles covered her nose and cradled hazel eyes that bordered on green. She was gorgeous, talented, and the perfect dance partner… mostly because she was so compact. Everyone wanted her, but she rarely did partner work anymore, unless it was ballet.
“What’s up?” Emma slipped her glasses on.
Hannah slid a lock of hair behind her ear. “The school found my application. I got accepted at DePaul.”
“That’s awesome! I’m so proud of you.” Emma gave a little squeal and clapped her hands. “Wow! Chicago.”
“I know! I can’t wait.” Hannah glanced at Mark and then back at Emma. “Did you guys finish the routine?”
Emma shook her head. “No, we were going to do one more run-through. Wanna watch?”
“Yeah, I do.” Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor.
Mark hit play and the sound of Emma’s favorite song from the Citizens echoed through the space. Emma handed her spectacles to Hannah and lost herself in the routine, barely registering when she had to throw herself into Mark’s arms. She did it without thought.
Hannah jumped to her feet and clapped before hugging both of them. “That was amazing, guys. If Rayne doesn’t pick you, Mark, she’s crazy.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
Emma grabbed a towel and wiped her face. “Who wants to grab lunch and shop?”
Mark held his hands up. “No shopping with you, crazy lady. I’ll take a rain-check on lunch, though.”
Hannah smiled. “Only if there’s Orange Julius in there somewhere.”
Emma chuckled. “I find it interesting that with all of the yummy things America has to offer, your favorite is Orange Julius.”
“I know, eh?”
“I’ll stop at home and shower and then meet you there… unless you want to come home with me?”
Hannah shook her head. “I have to swing by my house first anyway. I was on my way there when I saw your car.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when I’m leaving the house.”
“Sounds good.” Hannah waved and left the studio.
Mark promised to lock up before leaving, so she hugged him and took off for home. She got home to a message from Alex letting her know the movers would deliver the final boxes in the morning.
Emma had been ecstatic when Lucas and Alexandria Smith moved in less than a month after the idea was first presented. Emma finally felt settled—well, almost. After showering and changing into something a little less comfortable, Emma called Hannah. “Hi, Han-Han, I’m on my way.”
“Usual place?”
“Yep. See you in twenty.” Emma flipped her phone closed as she shut the front door and locked it. Turning to walk down the steps to her car parked on the street, she noticed a familiar sight. A dark green sedan sat under the shade of a tree just south of the house. A man with dark sunglasses sat behind the wheel and watched her. She didn’t miss the raised scarring over his cheek, and she shivered as she hit the unlock button on her sister’s Mercedes.
Climbing into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and pulled away from the curb. The sedan followed.
“Time to have some fun, dumbass,” Emma grumbled.
She pulled up to a light just as it turned green. Moving into the left-hand turn lane, she waited for the light to turn yellow and then burned through it, leaving the green sedan stuck behind a red light. She knew it wouldn’t necessarily be that easy, so she took a few back streets to her destination, and didn’t see the car again.
Pulling into the parking lot at Jantzen Beach, she met Hannah as planned, and proceeded to drag her around the mall for the next two hours. They purchased a few new dance outfits and Emma bought shoes. Emma always bought shoes. Once Hannah had had enough, the girls chose a table in the food court and sat down to eat.
“What’s the game plan with school?” Emma asked.
Hannah laid her napkin on her lap. “Well, they’re giving me a scholarship, so I’ll start with law through them and then concentrate on the forensics side.”
“Good for you! When do you have to leave?”
“In a few weeks. Classes start August 13.”
“Seriously?” Emma’s eyebrow went up in surprise.
“Yes, quick, eh?”
Taking a sip of her drink, Emma sat back with a sigh. “Yes, and kind of a bummer! No dance class.”
Hannah shook her head. “No, sorry about that.”
“How long until I see you again?”
Hannah popped the lid of her Orange Julius and stirred it with her straw. “Why don’t you come and visit for Christmas?”
Emma smiled. “Yes, Christmas might be an option.”
“Good.” With a grimace, Hannah rose to her feet. “I actually have to go. I have an essay to finish.”
Emma hugged Hannah and then visited her nail salon before heading home.
Finding the house empty when she arrived home several hours later, Emma stashed her bags in the foyer, and made her way to the kitchen. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, she decided to put her purchases away before flopping in front of the television with a tub of ice-cream. Messy by nature, she felt this was a great sense of accomplishment on her part.
Walking slowly down the hall, Emma couldn’t help but think how perfect her sister’s home would be for a horror movie. The approach to the library always creeped her out, and she rubbed her arms as a shiver made its way up her spine. It was where her brother-in-law had disappeared from, and where they found a small puddle of dried blood, determined to be Jamie’s after he went missing. The smell of old books and aging leather engulfed her senses before she’d even reached the door, and her mind suddenly flooded with memories.
As she gathered her bags, she noticed the door to the room was slightly ajar, which seemed strange to her. She was certain she’d closed it up tight before she’d left. With a shudder, she pushed open the door, which squeaked in protest. Her intention was to make sure no one was inside, so that she could escape to her bedroom. Instead, she found herself staring into a room entirely different from the library.
No, not a room—a barn?
Emma did a quick check behind her and saw the familiar stairs and foyer décor, then turned again, expecting to see the library.
What’s going on?
Sudden, excruciating pain shot through her forehead, and as she touched her fingers to her temples, her world went black.