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  “Daniels!”

  Matthew’s attention snapped back to O’Malley’s face. “What?”

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  Matthew scowled. “Of course.”

  O’Malley narrowed his eyes but said no more. He wouldn’t dare call Matthew out with Booth so near. Somehow, he’d had the feeling O’Malley had presented him as a prize when he’d introduced him to John Booth. But Matthew must be mistaken. How full of himself had he become?

  Booth walked over to the group, his chest puffed and his brown eyes shining.

  “Hear! Hear!” O’Malley said, his grin nearly splitting his face. “As we make ready, let us not forget the man who has brought us the means to play this most dangerous of games. The man who has given of his possessions to see that justice is done and the tyrant removed!”

  So, it was Booth who had funded them, then?

  “I have only an army to give,” Booth said, nodding to each of them. “My brains are worth twenty men, my money worth a hundred.”

  Matthew struggled to keep his face even. And, he’d thought O’Malley was stuffed with ego!

  “And your information even more!” O’Malley exalted.

  Booth offered him a sly smile. “I have free passes everywhere. My profession, my name, is my passport. My beloved, precious money—oh, never beloved until now!—is the means, one of the means, by which I serve the South.”

  The men nodded in agreement, and Matthew could feel their anticipation rising. Here stood a group of men who saw it their duty to bring Lincoln to heel. Looking over their faces, seeing the glimmer in their eyes, Matthew wondered if it would end there.

  Harry grinned. “Today, he shall be ours. The South that we so love will be avenged!”

  Matthew tried to put moisture back into his mouth, but it felt as if he’d filled it with cotton. He glanced around the room, but not a soul entered the restaurant with them.

  Booth chuckled, and it the mirth in it seemed out of place to Matthew. “My love is for the South alone. I do not deem it a dishonor in attempting to make for her a prisoner of this man, to whom she owes so much misery.”

  The men raised a shout, and some patted him on the shoulder, but Matthew could not find the elation they did.

  “When we have him, then what?” Matthew said in a clear voice above the clamor.

  Every eye turned to him, and silence dropped like a lead weight.

  Though intuition told him they were words best left unspoken, Matthew had to know. The hatred that boiled from these men made him think that capture would not be the end. The leverage would not stop at seeing Confederate soldiers released from prison.

  Booth cocked his brow, sharing a glance with a disgruntled O’Malley before addressing Matthew with the smooth voice of a man of practiced words. “This man’s appearance, his pedigree, his coarse low jokes and anecdotes, his vulgar smiles, and his policy are a disgrace to the seat he holds.”

  Matthew tipped his chin. “Still, he is the elected president, brought to office by a people who will stop at nothing to see him returned to lead.”

  “Other brains rule the country,” Booth growled.

  Did they? Matthew couldn’t rebuff the statement. What did he know of politics?

  Booth stepped closer to Matthew, not intimidated as some men were to have to tilt his neck back to look up at the taller man. His eyes glimmered with passion.

  “He is a Bonaparte in one great move—by overturning this blind Republic and making himself a king.”

  What? Matthew’s brows drew together.

  “This man’s reelection, I tell you, will be a reign! You’ll see.” He nodded vigorously, poking his finger into Matthew’s chest. “You’ll see that reelection means succession. His kin and friends are in every place of office already.”

  O’Malley pushed in between Booth and Matthew. “So, we see it ended today! The time has come!”

  Booth whirled and stalked out the door. Matthew stared after him until O’Malley placed himself fully into Matthew’s line of sight. They had not answered his question.

  “Did I not tell you? He has sat in the White House! He’s dined with the tyrant. He knows, oh, he knows.”

  Matthew stared at him. O’Malley slapped him on the shoulder. “Come, man! Today we become heroes.”

  Without a word, Matthew followed them out and mounted his horse, telling himself the prisoners’ release was his only concern. Once that was accomplished, he would have no more to do with their schemes.

  Just as he swung into the saddle, a movement caught his eye. Someone darted around behind the restaurant before he could get a good look at him. Were they being followed?

  Matthew set his jaw. He was likely just being paranoid. He’d be glad when this was over. He clicked the reins and urged the horse into a trot, drawing up alongside one of Booth’s men, who didn’t look at him.

  In less than a quarter hour, they were getting into position along the road to lie in wait. Then they did nothing. Time crawled by slowly, though Matthew couldn’t tell if it were truly taking too long or if it only seemed so to him. He wiped his sweating palms on his trousers. Beneath him the horse stomped, as if sensing his rider’s unease. Matthew reached down and patted the animal’s neck.

  Across the road from him, Booth sat straight in his saddle, satisfaction evident on his face. With his mustache and his long hair styled perfectly beneath his hat, the man looked every bit the pompous actor. How many had taken in his looks and quick smile and deemed him harmless? Certainly Lincoln.

  Booth kept his gaze steady upon the road, as if the slightest flicker of attention away from it would cost him is quarry. Matthew couldn’t help but wonder how a man famous in the theatre had become so deeply imbedded in the spy ring. How could he sit as a guest at the White House while plotting to steal away the president? How good of an actor was he? Could a person ever really know a man’s true nature if he could wear any face he chose? How could anyone trust such a man?

  Matthew shifted again. A sound reached his ears, and his pulse quickened. Hoof beats—faint still, but approaching. Matthew looked back across the road.

  Booth held up his hand, giving the signal that they hold their positions. Matthew strained to see. Time seemed to slow even further, though Matthew had not thought it possible, and his heart plodded with each step of the approaching hooves. The soldier in him recounted his orders.

  He gritted his teeth. He didn’t particularly care for this plan. There was something cowardly about taking a man by stealth.

  He had to swallow his doubts and push his anxiety from his mind. The carriage rounded the corner, and Booth gave the signal to move.

  The women pulled their horses to a stop at the top of a small rise and remained hidden behind a grove of young pines. The horses had to wedge into them, and the rough needles tugged at Annabelle’s trousers. They’d followed the men through town, waited behind a restaurant while the group seemed to be finalizing details, and then hurried out past where the conspirators waited in their current positions along this road.

  She and Peggy had swung wide and skirted behind them, hoping to be farther north and therefore the first ones to see if the president came down the road.

  She tugged her man’s cap lower on her head. The hair stuffed underneath it made it difficult to keep on. But, with the jacket pulled close and the cap low, no one would suspect her to be a woman, especially if she kept her distance. She was suddenly thankful for all those days spent astride a horse.

  Peggy, on the other hand, appeared just as uncomfortable as she had the first moment she’d first been forced to ride. The worry on her face reflected the same feeling that Annabelle knew must have marred her own.

  They were past the edge of town, and even she could see how the open stretch of road would be a good location for them to capture the president unaware.

  Please, let him have listened!

  The wind stirred and tickled the back of Annabelle’s neck, making her shiver. Perhaps Mr
. Clark had been wise enough to take her seriously, and they would be able to beat the men back to the house with the president safe and no one the wiser—at least none the wiser of her part in thwarting this scheme.

  The driver meant to take her to New York had not yet shown when she and Peggy had left to fetch their horses from the stable. She had wanted the chance to send him quietly away, but there was nothing that could be done now. If he came to the boarding house looking for them while they were gone, she had no doubt Mrs. Surratt would be the first to make it known. Once they knew she’d planned on leaving without telling them, would they let her out of their sight again? Worse, would they put the pieces together and guess what she’d done?

  “Well, they ain’t seen us yet,” Peggy whispered.

  Annabelle dipped her chin but didn’t comment. Thankfully, the men had been so engrossed in their mission that they had not once looked back to see if they were followed.

  She was beginning to think….

  Annabelle’s heart dropped.

  “No!” she whispered.

  He hadn’t believed her. Oh, heavens, why hadn’t he listened? Conceited men. They never took a woman seriously!

  “Oh, lands. I had hoped that fool boy would listen,” Peggy lamented.

  Annabelle didn’t release her focus from the enclosed black carriage approaching at a leisurely speed. She narrowed her gaze. The young man at the reins seemed tense, and his head swung from side to side as if he were searching for something.

  “Idiot,” Annabelle spat.

  “Miss Belle!” Peggy chided.

  Annabelle threw her an annoyed glance. What? This was hardly the time to be a lady. She was dressed as a man, trying to thwart a kidnapping, for Pete’s sake!

  “Look at him!” Peggy said, pointing. “He’s on guard, sure ’nough.”

  Annabelle let out a breath. “Maybe he did listen….”

  A cold breeze picked up and hit her in the face, and she had to smack the hat down on her head to keep it from blowing away. How did men keep their hats without pins?

  Annabelle scrunched her brow, the truth of it digging in. “Just because he’s keeping an eye out doesn’t mean he’s going to be able to do anything about it. He listened just enough not to be unaware, but not enough to go a different way like I said. The dolt has walked right in to it! What does he think he can do? There are seven of them!”

  Peggy let her vent her frustration but didn’t say anything. Annabelle fumed. And Matthew! How could he? At the end of this day, George wouldn’t be the only Daniels brother in prison.

  From her point on the hill, she could see only two of the men, and neither of them was Matthew. But she knew he was there. Suddenly, a shrill whistle cut through the air.

  The men burst out onto the road.

  Matthew spurred his horse forward and thundered out into the open. To his left, Booth let out a whoop and galloped forward as the other men exploded onto the road. Seeing them, the carriage driver slapped the reins onto the pair of matched grays, and the startled horses leapt forward.

  The carriage jerked, and the driver’s hat flew from his head. Did he think to outrun them? Matthew felt the familiar surge of battle come upon him, and without thinking further on it, he barreled ahead with the directions he had been given. He no longer felt the cold or heard the voice inside compelling him to stop. The only sound now was the horse’s hooves pounding like war drums in his head.

  The carriage shot past him as he angled his horse. Something about the look on the driver’s face as he lowered his head and pushed the horses forward plagued Matthew, but he didn’t have the time to consider what it might mean.

  He pulled on the reins, and the horse lunged to the side, coming up at the right rear wheel of the carriage and falling into sync. Another man—Matthew thought his name was Lewis—took position at the opposite wheel, and the others fell in around them.

  They nearly had him now. The carriage suddenly lurched to the side, and Matthew’s horse jerked to avoid collision. Ahead, the others avoided being hit as well and regained their positions surrounding the carriage. It was a gallant attempt on the driver’s part, but it would not gain him success. Even if one had fallen, six others would not be thwarted. Giving up on disabling them, the driver gave a fervent shout, and the carriage team picked up speed.

  Matthew leaned lower in the saddle and used his knees to keep his body in rhythm with the animal beneath him, using only one hand to grip the reins. The horse bobbed near the edge of the carriage, and Matthew reached out to brush his fingers along the crease of the door. He nearly had it!

  The curtain was drawn over the small window, and Matthew’s suspicions bloomed. Wouldn’t someone inside be tempted to look out and see what was happening? Matthew swung closer to the carriage again. Perhaps he’d been told to stay away from windows.

  Just ahead of Matthew, one of Booth’s men, the one he thought was called Lewis, drew up to the front of the carriage and in a single thrust threw himself from the saddle. He crashed into the driver’s seat and collided with the man urging the horses forward. The carriage jerked again, careening away from Matthew.

  His fingers slipped, and he dipped to the side of the saddle. He had to throw his weight to the opposite side to right himself, and the horse jerked to compensate, nearly sending Matthew off the opposite side. He growled low in his throat and got the animal settled underneath him.

  Suddenly, the carriage shuddered, and Matthew shot past it, coming even with the fore wheel before he could pull back on the reins and regain his position. In the split instant he rode at the front, his mind catalogued the scene in a snap of memory: Booth, directly across the team of grays from him with a look of intense determination upon his features. Lewis, wresting the reins from a harried driver, his own features resolute. The horses throwing their heads in opposition to the battle against their bits.

  Cold air bit at him, and the carriage thrust forward again, cutting off his view of the fore. He heaved his weight to the left and threw the horse nearly into the side of the carriage.

  There! His fingers grabbed onto cold metal, and he swung his leg across the saddle. A horse let out a high-pitched squeal, and the carriage swung again, nearly throwing Matthew from his precarious hold. He clawed the side of the carriage and pressed his body against it.

  His horse bolted away from him, and Matthew was left clutching the side of the carriage with naught but his fingertips and the toes of his boots.

  Just as he thought his cramping fingers would lose their hold, the carriage began to slow. After a moment, the horses came down to a trot, then a walk. The carriage steadied, and Matthew inched his way down to the side step.

  With a grunt, Matthew grasped the handle and flung the door open.

  Annabelle ignored Peggy’s screech and dug her heels into the horse’s sides. It lurched forward and she had to grip the pommel with one hand to keep from being tossed from the saddle. Regaining her balance, Annabelle leaned forward and moved in easy rhythm with the horse.

  They flew down the hill, trailing the carriage and the men surrounding it. She kept her eyes trained ahead. She would not lose them!

  The carriage swung dangerously on the road. A man Annabelle didn’t know rode at the rear of the carriage, and the wheel hit into the side of the horse’s legs. The poor creature leapt sideways, his rider hanging precariously from the saddle.

  The carriage tilted back, the wheel that had hit the horse lifting off the ground before setting back down with a hard crash. The president had to be having an awful time of it inside.

  Oh, just hold on.

  Where were his men? Shouldn’t there have been some kind of guard riding about with him? Her eyes darted to the other side of the carriage.

  Matthew. Her heart lurched. Why did he have to be a part of this? The true reason she refused to go to the law, or even to run to New York, slapped her in the face. She could not turn him in, despite what he did. Was it the distant hope that this foolish plot would get
him his brother back that drove Matthew to risk everything?

  Oh, Lord. How do I fix this mess?

  The carriage jerked again, and Matthew swayed in his saddle, leaning dangerously low on the opposite side. Wind buffeted her face, and the cold air stung her eyes. Tears welled and further clouded her vision, but Annabelle couldn’t tell if they were a product of the stinging wind or blistering fear.

  Suddenly, Matthew lurched onto the side of the carriage. His foot slipped, and Annabelle’s heart plummeted. She opened her mouth to shout his name, but he regained his feet and pressed his body close.

  Noticing she was drawing too near as the carriage slowed, Annabelle tugged on the reins and slowed the heaving horse. The carriage topped a hill, and just before it lurched down the other side and out of sight, Matthew threw open the door.

  Empty!

  Matthew swayed as the carriage came to a stop, and he plopped down on the plush seat. O’Malley leapt inside, and then spewed a string of curses.

  Matthew sat there dumbfounded as O’Malley leapt from the carriage, yelling to the others that they had been fooled. Booth shouted something Matthew couldn’t decipher against the pounding blood in his ears, and then hoof beats thundered away.

  Someone knew. The thought hammered into Matthew’s brain.

  The driver had purposely led them on! Where, then, was Lincoln?

  Matthew leapt from the carriage and glanced behind them. On the hill, a man on horseback paused to stare at them. Before Matthew could pin down what looked familiar about him, he whirled around and galloped opposite.

  They’d been seen!

  “Where is he?” O’Malley bellowed.

  Matthew looked around. Where was Booth? Did he fear he would be recognized? What did it matter now? The driver had seen them all. Did he think the law wouldn’t come after him now?