Washington, D.C.
October 1864
SAMUEL POWELL SAT in his office at the prison, a stack of paperwork before him. As head of Special Prison Task Forces, he was responsible for approving the invoices on top of the stack. He couldn’t help but note that the captives in the Union prisons received the highest level of care and ate better than their own soldiers out on the field.
“Hell, they eat better than I do,” Sam grumbled out loud.
Despite his young age, only twenty-four, he was a highly respected lawman. One who had, in the past, apprehended some of the most dangerous criminals in the area. He specialized in the most difficult cases of missing persons and murder, the cases no one else wanted.
He had taken his current position as a favor to his friend, Christopher Butler, who worked in President Lincoln’s war cabinet. The war office needed someone they could trust to ensure the prisoners did not escape and to interrogate the ones coming in. Sam had decided settling down for a while might be a good idea, so he accepted the job.
He’d originally thought it would be more of a challenge. Christopher’s wife, Hannah, had commented several times on the slowness of his job, even going so far as to give his special assignment a new name, Babysitter of the Elite Accused of Treason – or B.E.A.T., as she had once joked, and the title stuck. He smiled at her strange term. Sitting back, he ran his hands through his hair with a deep sigh.
“Bad day?”
Looking up in surprise, Sam saw his friend, Laughing Crow. The tall Indian grinned as he leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his wide chest.
“Slow,” Sam grumbled.
“You should have told Christopher no.”
“I thought you were doing something useful with your weekend,” Sam smirked.
Crow chuckled as he pushed his large body away from the doorframe and moved into the office. “She bored me.”
Leaning back in his chair, Sam stretched his legs out onto his desk. “Quit choosing whores and you might find a woman who offers a challenge.”
“White women are never a challenge,” Crow grunted as he sat across from Sam’s desk. He’d left his long hair free and it slid over his shoulders as he shook his head.
“Why don’t you marry a Muskogee?”
“As I’ve said many times before, I will never marry.”
Sam stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he leaned forward. “Why don’t you join me this weekend?”
“For?”
“I have to head out to the farm.” Sam picked up his nib pen and signed a sheet of paper. “With the decision to free the slaves in Maryland, I need to make certain the Negroes are safe.”
“Do you think there will be trouble?”
Sam frowned. “I don’t know. It’s possible. There are southern sympathizers close enough to us to be concerned.”
Crow nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“Thank you.” Sam dropped the pen on the desk. “Will you be joining us for Thanksgiving?”
“In Harrisburg?”
“No, in Virginia at the home of General and Mrs. Robert E. Lee.”
“I have not decided yet,” Crow said.
“What is there to decide?”
“Whether or not your friends will take issue with a half-breed in their home.”
Sam scowled. “Who’d take issue? They all know you.”
“No, they don’t, Sam, and you well know it.”
Sam did know it. Crow had endured prejudice his entire life. His Indian name was Laughing Crow, but when missionaries came through their village and discovered his mother was white, they gave him a Christian name. He was known from that point on as Douglas Smith. They cut his hair and made him wear white man’s clothing, but Crow did his best to hold onto his grandfather’s teachings, and as soon as he grew big enough not to be manhandled, he’d stopped the mandatory haircuts. His hair now hung halfway down his back.
Sam met Crow five years ago while working on a missing-child case. Crow tracked the little girl to a remote area in the mountains and they rescued her. But it was Sam, not Crow, who was given a hero’s welcome. Crow, however, was happy to stand in the back and let Sam take the glory. They formed a close friendship and because of it, Sam had lost a few friends and colleagues.
“You have over a month to decide, but in the meantime, the Butlers have invited us for dinner,” Sam said.
“Why?”
Standing, Crow raised an eyebrow at him.
“Look,” Sam pointed out. “Hannah and Christopher like you. They don’t care that you’re a half-breed, and I have a feeling Victoria might take offense to that term.”
“Are you saying Quincy and Victoria will be at dinner?”
“Yes, they will.”
Crow shrugged. “I will attend.”
Sam laughed. “Victoria apparently made an impression.”
Crow didn’t say anything as he turned and walked out the door.
* * *
Something foul stung Rayne’s nose as she tried to force herself to wake up, but she was having difficulty opening her eyes. A cold breeze feathered her skin.
Funny… the room had been so humid.
“Ooh Eee! Look-y what we got here.”
Pounding footsteps and the sound of men’s voices pushed her to urgency, and she opened her eyes to find she was no longer alone. Just as suddenly, she realized she was lying in mud—and something entirely less pleasant.
“Ain’t never seen a whore look like that before.”
“What?” Rayne grasped her pounding head and sat up.
“Lyle! Get a load of this one!”
She found herself staring into the face of a ragged-looking man with pockmarked skin and rancid breath. “Ugh. Where am I?”
He leaned forward from his hunkered position, his thin lips puckering. “Ain’t you perty?”
Rayne pushed at his face. “Go away!”
“We’re gonna have a heap o’ fun. You ain’t never had someone like me before.”
“And I won’t now! Leave me alone.” Bile crept up her throat when she was hauled up and away from the foul-smelling man. Turning, she faced a large man with a heavy beard and scar down the left side of his face. He grasped her bicep, squeezing much harder than necessary, and shoved her against what she could only surmise to be a building of some form.
“Let me go,” she whimpered.
“Lyle!” the smaller man whined. “I found her first.”
Lyle narrowed his eyes. “Shut your mouth, Curtis.”
“But, Lyle—”
“I said, shut yer mouth! You kin have her when I’m done.”
“Done? No!” Rayne whispered. “Let me go!”
Lyle hauled her into the middle of the street. Rayne tried to fight him as her stomach heaved and her head pounded. She had to get away, but didn’t know where to go.
Letting her powerful lungs work for something other than singing, she screamed as loud as she could. Even though she received a slap from Lyle, she continued to scream.
“Lyle!” Curtis warned. “The sheriff.”
“Damn it,” Lyle growled and promptly let go of her.
Rayne was dropped in a heap to the ground and she heard the men scurry into the alleyway to her left. She took a deep breath and mustered all of her strength to scream again. The shadow of a large man loomed over her and she was lifted off the ground again.
The man wrapped a large arm around her waist and gave a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe now. I’m going to take you to the jail and we’ll get you sobered up.”
“What do you mean? I’m not drunk.” But as her speech slurred she knew he wouldn’t believe her. He wrapped a warm coat around her shoulders and carried her down the street and into a large brick building in the middle of the square.
“John!”
“Ow! My head,” Rayne complained. “Could you perhaps not shout?”
Another man strolled out from a back room and his eyes widened as he gave her the once over. “Whatya got there, Jimmy?”
John nodded toward her. “Drunk whore.”
“I’m not a whore!” Rayne pushed at him. “Dick.”
“Put her in cell one,” John said.
“You’re locking me up?” Rayne bellowed as she tried to pull herself away.
“You need to sober up.”
“I’m not drunk, asshole!” Rayne grasped her head and realized that no one was listening. They pushed her into a tiny space, three sides surrounded by bars, the other one solid brick, and a small cot in the corner. “It stinks. I can’t be in here. It smells like rotten feet and sweat. Let me out!”
The men ignored her as she ranted. Jimmy locked her cell door and left her alone.
* * *
Crow arrived back at the jail just before dinner. Grabbing his jacket and hat, Sam followed Crow outside to their tethered horses and mounted.
Navigating the busy streets of D.C., they took off toward the Butler’s townhouse. The rain from the night before created the occasional puddle, but it was better than the constant dust. Arriving at their destination, they pulled their horses to the back and handed them off to a stable boy.
“Thank you, Jack,” Sam said.
“Sir.” Jack nodded.
They made their way to the front of the townhouse and knocked. Christopher’s housekeeper opened the door and ushered them into the parlor. Crow removed his hat, nodding to the group.
Victoria jumped from the couch and ran to hug him. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Her husband, Quincy rolled his eyes, which only made her laugh as she wrapped her arms around the large Indian. Sam stifled a grin at his friend’s discomfort.
Crow smiled, but only slightly. He seemed a little off-guard at her show of affection. “I was threatened.”
She glanced up at him. “By whom?”
“A petite woman with violet eyes.”
Victoria smacked his arm with a girlish giggle. “Oh yes, I’m certain you could be persuaded by a threat. I simply requested your presence. I would never threaten!”
Crow raised an eyebrow. “A request from you, Mrs. Butler, is not a simple request.”
Victoria had been kidnapped shortly after her marriage to Quincy and Crow was instrumental in finding her. Since then, Victoria considered Crow part of her family and refused to let him hide from them.
“Well, never mind. I’m thrilled you’re here.” She pulled him further into the room. “Come and sit down.”
Once the rest of the greetings were finished, Crow and Sam settled in the parlor with the drinks Christopher poured for them.
“How’s the BEAT tonight?” Christopher asked.
“Slow.” Sam sat in the chair closest to the fireplace.
“Is that a bad thing?” Victoria asked as Quincy pulled her back onto the sofa.
“No, not necessarily. It’s just not what I’m accustomed to.”
Just then, the housekeeper led a young man into the parlor.
Samuel raised an eyebrow. “Robert?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.” Robert, the sheriff’s deputy, twisted his hat in obvious nervousness. “We have a situation.”
“A situation?”
Robert nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Well, don’t just stand there.” Sam rose to his feet. “Spit it out.”
“It’s somewhat delicate,” he said, rolling the rim of his hat between his fingers.
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me.”
“John brought a woman over and asked that we house her.”
John Patton ran the local jail and was good “muscle,” but women were not his strong suit. Sam crossed his arms. “Why?”
“She’s drunk.” He cleared his throat. “And she’s not entirely dressed.”
Sam frowned. “What do you mean by ‘not entirely dressed?’”
“She’s wearing black, shiny breeches... and... uh... not much else.”
“Is she a prostitute?”
“It would appear so, sir. Although I’ve never seen a whore dressed like that.” He turned to the ladies with an expression of contrition. “Sorry.”
“Why would John need to bring a working girl to you, Sam?” Christopher asked. “The general jail should be sufficient.”
“No sir. The woman is causing a ruckus. John was hoping Mr. Powell would take her and keep her isolated.” Robert’s head bobbed as he retold the story.
“A ruckus?” Victoria asked.
“Yes ma’am.” Robert lowered his gaze. “She’s a distraction to the other prisoners.”
Victoria’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t comment.
“John needs to develop a backbone,” Sam grumbled. “How is it that a grown man cannot handle one woman?”
“Go and take care of it, Sam. We’ll save you a plate,” Hannah offered.
Crow stood to join Sam. Sam shook his head. “Crow, you should stay.”
“Yes, Crow, you should stay,” Victoria said pointedly. Crow rolled his eyes at her, but she responded with a giggle. “No, my friend, you don’t get to escape dinner with us.”
Sam walked out the door with Robert, promising to return soon.
* * *
Rayne couldn’t think straight. Her mind was cloudy from the drugs, and it didn’t help that she was shivering from cold. Lying on the filthy cot in the dark cell, her head pounded and the nausea wouldn’t leave her alone. She groaned as she tried to sit up.
“Ma’am?”
“What?” Rayne snapped.
“Um...ma’am, if you’ll—”
“Stop calling me ma’am!” She glared up at John. “Why am I in jail?”
“Ma’am, if you’ll wait for Mr. Powell—”
“Stop calling me ma’am!” she yelled and immediately regretted it. She gagged and lay back down.
John lowered his head. “Sorry, ma—”
“John? Where’s this whore you apparently can’t handle?”
Hearing the new voice, low and strong, Rayne sat up, but she was not prepared for the man heading toward her prison cell. Tall, taller than even Trevor, with sandy-blond hair and the lightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. They reminded her of ice-blue satin—and Paul Newman. He was gorgeous. She shook herself from her thoughts and scowled. “I hope to hell you aren’t referring to me.”
* * *
Freezing in place at the authoritative voice, Sam stared at the vision in black. The woman had short blonde hair in a pointy style he’d never seen before. Her clothing, what there was of it, seemed to have been painted onto her body. The corset, sans chemise, was entirely inappropriate and she appeared to have something painted on her shoulder. Despite her lack of dress, his only thought at that moment was that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Although her make-up appeared heavy, she looked young. Not at all a used-up whore.
“Ma’am?” Sam made his way to the cell.
“Why does everyone keep calling me ma’am? It’s starting to piss me off.” She stood angrily and walked to the bars. “Oh, God, I’m going to be sick.” She found what looked like a bowl and leaned over it.
“Ma’am?”
“Stop calling me ma’am!”
Sam reached out toward the woman. “Ma’am, you may not want to use—”
“Stop calling me ma’am! Can’t you see how sick I am?” she interrupted as she leaned over the porcelain bowl.
Sam frowned as he watched her sit up again and lean back against the cot.
She rubbed her head. “Why am I in jail?”
“You were drunk and disorderly, from what I’ve been told.” Sam leaned against the bars of her cell.
“I’m not drunk.” The woman dropped her forehead onto her raised knees. “I was drugged. There’s a difference.”
“There is the prostitution as well,” John provided.
“John.” Sam scowled.
“Prostitution?” she squeaked, and scrambled onto the mattress. “I’m not a prostitute.”
“But you’re dressed like one.” John shifted from one foot to the other.
Sam stepped in front of John in silent rebuke.
“I am not! I had a concert tonight and this is what I wore to perform.”
“A concert, ma’am?”
“Oh, my…,” she groaned. “Stop calling me ma’am.”
Sam smiled gently. “What should we call you?”
“You could use my name.”
“Which is?”
“Seriously? You don’t know who I am?”
Sam cocked his head to the side. “I’m sorry? Have we met?”
“No.” Confusion flickered over her face. “My name is Rayne… Green.”
“All right, Miss Green. Do you know who drugged you?”
“Yes. Jared Weber. He put something in my water.” Rayne shook her head. “I should have listened to Shaye.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Shaye?”
Rayne dropped her face into her hands. “My best friend, but that’s beside the point!”
“Who’s this Jared Weber?” Sam wrapped long fingers around the cell bars. “Where can we find him?”
“He’s a student at DePaul, but he took me to an abandoned building in downtown Chicago.” She shivered.
“Chicago? Are you certain?”
Her head whipped up. “Hel-loh! Isn’t that what I just said?”
“That would be impossible,” John interrupted.
“Why would it be impossible?”
Sam realized she might be somewhat addled. “You’re currently in Washington, ma’am.”
Rayne’s eyes widened. “State?”
Sam shook his head. “D.C.”
“Who are you?” she rasped. “Where have you brought me?”
John cleared his throat. “Ma’am, you were found on the street… close to the other women like you.”
Sam glared at John, angry with the man, but not entirely sure why. He felt an odd connection to the woman, which made no sense.
Rayne ran her hands through her hair. “I can’t be in D.C.”
Sam watched her closely as she put her hand to her forehead as though to jog her memory. Just then, he heard the rustling of skirts and turned as Victoria Butler walked in the room.
“Rebel, sweetheart, slow down,” Quincy said from behind her.
“What are you doing here?” Sam turned in surprise.
Victoria walked over to the cell and gasped. She turned slowly and glared at Sam. “Unlock this door, right now, Samuel Powell. I know this woman and she is no prostitute.”
Rayne frowned. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“How do you know this woman?” Sam narrowed his eyes.
“This is Rayne Green.” Victoria stared pointedly at her. “She’s a friend of a friend.”
Rayne stepped toward her. “Oh, right! Yes. Don’t you know... um... Shaye Montgomery?”
Victoria nodded. “Yes, Shaye. Exactly. I’m Victoria Butler. I think we met at that party a few months ago.”
Rayne raised an eyebrow. “The party. Right.”
Victoria glanced back at Sam. “Let her out, Sam. She’s coming home with us.” Quincy started to protest, but Victoria stopped him. “She’s like me, Gus.”
Quincy’s eyes widened. “Yes, Sam, she’s coming home with us.”
“What made you think to follow me?” Sam asked.
“When John mentioned shiny breeches, I knew something wasn’t right,” Victoria said. “Rayne has been known to wear them, so I deduced it was her.”
“Where’s my backpack?” Rayne asked.
“Did you have it with you?” Victoria asked.
Rayne nodded. “Yes.”
One of the guards retrieved the bag and handed it to Sam. Rayne let out a hiss. “Why are you giving it to him?” Before he could respond, though, she made a run for the bowl.
“Rayne, no!” Victoria warned, and Rayne paused. “Don’t touch that.”
Rayne groaned in agony. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Okay, but don’t use that.” Victoria stood away from the door. “Get her out, Sam. Now, please.”
Sam unlocked the cell and stepped aside so that Rayne could exit. She moved toward the door and then suddenly grasped his arm. “I don’t feel so good.”
Sam caught her as she dropped. Lifting her into his arms, he drew her close and felt an overwhelming need to protect her.
Victoria rushed to Rayne’s side to feel her forehead. “She doesn’t have a fever, but she’s definitely out cold. And look at her lip! It’s swollen and bloody.” Turning to John, she waggled a finger at him in accusation. “Did one of your men do this?”
“No ma’am. Jimmy found her that way.” John backed up slightly.
“Why didn’t you treat it?” Victoria laid her hands on her hips. “Fresh water at the very least. She’s a lady in distress and has obviously been ill used by someone!”
John frowned. “We thought she was a prostitute.”
“So?” Victoria snapped. “She still deserves medical attention.”
John lowered his head and wisely kept his mouth shut.
“Did she say what happened?” Quincy asked as he flattened his hand on Victoria’s back.
Sam appreciated Quincy’s apparent attempt to calm his wife and save the jailer from her barrage. Sam tightened his arms around his burden. “She said someone drugged her.”
Victoria stared at Rayne in concern. “Well, let’s get her home so that we can tend to her.”
“Where’s Crow?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“He’s at the house.” Quincy rolled his eyes. “Victoria threatened him with death if he left.”
Victoria’s head whipped up. “I didn’t threaten.” Quincy smiled at her. “What? I don’t threaten!”
Sam chuckled quietly. “We have never known anyone like you, Victoria. Crow is not certain how to handle it.”
Rayne started to stir. She opened her eyes slowly and looked up at Sam. “Hi.” She winced and put her hand to her mouth. “Ow.”
Sam smiled down at her.
“Wow,” she whispered. “You’re a hottie.”
Rayne once again drifted into oblivion. Victoria giggled.
“What does that mean?” Sam asked her.
Victoria shrugged. “I’m certain I have no idea.”
Sam grunted.
“Let’s get her home.”
Sam followed the couple out to the buggy. He decided to go with them, not wanting to stop holding his vision in black. He pulled her close and marveled at her scent. He knew without a doubt she was not what she seemed and he intended to find out everything he could about her.