by Lori Wick
“Are you all right?” the older man asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re thinner.”
“But I’m alive.” McKay smiled, and the men shook hands.
Carlyle felt oddly moved. This man was special, and his heart knew it. This agent was the cream of the crop. Loyal, street smart, and hardworking, McKay Harrington’s integrity was unbeatable.
“Nick and I want to hear all about it. Are you up to the telling?”
“Certainly.”
It came as a surprise to McKay that the top man was going to be so closely involved, but every inch a professional, he nodded and obediently followed Carlyle from the room. The offices were only a few feet apart, so it was literally seconds later that he was shaking Nick Wallace’s hand and being motioned to a comfortable chair.
Nick’s office was large—large enough to hold his desk and several chairs. A small carpeted area sported a sofa, an overstuffed chair, and a small table. McKay was directed to the upholstered chair, and the two older men sat on the sofa facing him. He knew they wanted to know everything.
“The first thing I want to know, McKay, is if you should be here.” Nick wasted no time.
“I’m fine, sir. To tell you the truth, I’ve been back since late Thursday night. I was too exhausted to move or contact anyone, so I took the whole weekend and yesterday to rest. I’m not back to 100 percent, but I’m feeling stronger all the time.”
“Good. If you need to be excused, we understand.”
“I should be fine.”
“Very well. Can you tell us your story?”
“Yes, sir. I went to Boulder as directed and contacted Travis Buchanan. He came to see me on Saturday the twentieth, but our conversation was brief.”
“You wired me about that,” Carlyle reminded him.
“Of course, sir. I’d forgotten. Well, I was going to see him again on Monday, but your telegram arrived.” McKay was looking at Carlyle as he said this. “When I read that Govern was back in the area, I had to try to find him. I moved swiftly, and it paid off. I picked up his trail right away on Monday and tracked him into the hills for the rest of the day. I lost him just before dark, but it was as you said: He lived much higher up than we expected. At daybreak I picked up his trail again and tracked him right to a cabin tucked into the woods.
“I heard shouting and knew there was someone else inside, so I stepped into the clearing and called to him. A woman was out front and I spoke to her, but only briefly, before the first shots were fired. I shot back and dove for cover but was hit in the upper chest. The shots died down, and I knew if I didn’t get help I would die. I figured I had nothing to lose by coming out.
“The next thing I remember is waking up and seeing this woman standing over me. I tried to talk to her, but I’d lost a lot of blood and she kept fading in and out.”
“Who was this woman?” Nick wanted to know.
“Her name is Callie Jennings,” McKay said, watching Nick’s face.
“Callie Jennings?”
“Yes, sir. Have you heard of her?”
“As a matter of fact I have,” Nick said quietly. “Can you tell us any more?”
“Well, I was there for three weeks. Much of the first week I didn’t have any idea where I’d been, but Callie told me I’d shot and killed Govern, and that I’d been shot myself. She said she took the bullet out and that I’d lost a lot of blood.”
“This woman took the bullet out for you?” Carlyle was amazed.
“Yes. I think she thought I was going to die anyway.”
“And you’re certain Hackett is dead?” This came from Nick.
“Yes, sir. I saw the grave, and if he’d been alive when I stepped back into view, I wouldn’t be here.”
Nick nodded, his face serious.
“What is it, Nick?” Carlyle wanted to know.
Nick raised his brows for a moment, but he didn’t answer the other man. “McKay” he began, “I couldn’t be more pleased that you’re still with us, but it’s ironic.” Both of the other men were staring at him, so he continued. “I have a name over on my desk. I was going to give it to you, Carlyle, as soon as McKay came back.”
“McKay’s contact for Boulder?” Carlyle guessed.
“That’s it,” Nick told him.
“Let me guess,” Carlyle now said, completely missing the way McKay’s body was tensing. “Callie Jennings is the contact for McKay.”
“You got it. I find it interesting that …”
“It’s not the same woman.” McKay’s voice was flat, and the men on the sofa both turned to him.
“She doesn’t seem the type,” Nick began, even as countless questions came to mind, “but I assure you, McKay, she’s—”
“I tell you it’s not the same woman.” McKay cut him off, his face set in disbelief.
“McKay,” Nick’s voice grew a bit stern now, “if you’ll just let me explain.”
“No.” he defied a superior for the first time in his career. “It’s not that unusual of a name. I tell you it’s not the same woman! I tell you you’re wrong.” McKay had come to his feet now and so had Carlyle.
“McKay!” Carlyle’s voice was a lash, and the younger man started almost violently.
“Sit down,” he said gently now. “You know better than to think Nick and I would play games with you, especially after what you’ve just been through. Now sit down and listen.”
Nick’s eyes were compassionate when McKay sat back down, but his voice was all business. He wasted no time in laying down the facts.
“Callie Jennings, who goes by the nickname Pup, is an agent for the treasury department.”
The color had drained away from McKay’s face, but he remained quiet.
“It’s clear to me that Pup didn’t tell you anything, McKay. Is that right?”
The younger man shook his head yes, his heart still convinced that they had the wrong woman.
“I need to start by telling you that Carlyle is not privy to this information. Not even Paine is aware of what I’m about to reveal to you.” Nick paused, not for drama, but because Pup had been such a well-kept secret; it had become something of a habit not to talk about her. “Pup has worked for me for years, and most often as a man. Carlyle met her one time when she was going by the name Peter Crandall.”
“I remember him,” Carlyle said with surprise. “Or I guess I should say her.”
McKay felt like the conversation was spinning out of control. Nick Wallace, a man he’d always admired and respected, was talking nonsense, and Carlyle Crawford was agreeing with him. Callie Jennings an agent? Ridiculous. Inconceivable.
“She doesn’t seem like the type, McKay,” Nick continued, “but as you well know, it’s the one you least expect.”
“She set a towel on fire,” McKay said dully.
“I don’t doubt it.” Nick’s voice was still kind, but his voice also took on a note of pride. “McKay, she’s the best I’ve got.”
McKay shook his head as if to clear it. “How?” he managed. “How did this all get started? How did you find her?”
“She found me,” he said simply. “She was in my regiment during the war.”
“The Civil War?” McKay’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
“Yes. Posing as a man. She was the best aide I had.”
The younger man’s eyes closed. The way she’d dressed his wound now came flooding back to him. But the war was 13 years ago!
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“But then she must have been—”
“Just 16 when she began working for the treasury,” Nick supplied. He fell quiet, giving the younger man time to adjust.
It wasn’t hard to guess what the last three weeks must have been like for him. If Pup was told not to reveal something, she would take it to her grave. She must have heard of McKay Harrington but would not have felt free to talk to him.
Nick had to suddenly stop himself from smiling. As surprised as
he was to hear McKay report, he realized what the agent had just said about the towel. It was a miracle Pup didn’t burn the whole cabin down.
“It’s just so unbelievable.” McKay was still stunned.
“She’s the reason you were told to contact Travis Buchanan,” Nick added. “She’s lived in the area for years and recommended him for information and a possible safe house.”
“She must have known exactly who I was.” McKay’s voice was filled with wonder.
“I’m certain she did, but as I said, she wouldn’t talk without permission.”
They fell silent then, and Carlyle, closer to McKay than Nick was, took in the strain around his mouth and his pale complexion. He needed to get McKay out of here if he could.
“Is that about everything, McKay?” Carlyle asked, giving Nick plenty of time to say he had more questions.
The younger man dragged his mind back to the business at hand.
“Just about,” he said quietly. Looking into their faces, he saw that they were both serious about Callie, and he needed to take it seriously as well.
“I know we’ll both have other questions,” Carlyle also added, “but right now you can go and start your report.”
“All right.” McKay stood slowly, his mind busy. “She really works for you?” He couldn’t help but ask Nick one more time.
“Yes, she does.”
McKay took a deep breath. “You haven’t asked me why Callie was at that cabin with Govern, but I think I’d better tell you one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Callie Jennings is Govern Hackett’s sister.”
The shoe was suddenly on the other foot. McKay had not planned to get the upper hand, but he now knew what his own face must have looked like just a few minutes past. McKay had been on his feet to leave, but as it was he didn’t get out of Nick’s office for another hour.
10
“Do I start my speech now or later?” Camille Wallace asked Pup as she ushered her into a bedroom upstairs in the home she shared with Nick.
“I take it we’re in a hurry?”
“I’m not,” Camille stated firmly. “It’s Nick.”
“I wouldn’t have even gotten word, Camille, if a neighbor hadn’t brought my mail from town,” Pup said after she’d taken a seat before a large mirror. “I wasn’t planning to head into Boulder for another week.”
“Then Nick probably would have come after you himself. As he likes to put it, he’s got a live one.”
“What am I going to be doing?”
Nick’s wife didn’t answer until she’d put a sheet around Pup’s slim form and had her positioned in front of the mirror the way she wanted.
“I believe you’re going to be a clerk. I don’t know why you can’t go as a woman,” she muttered at the end.
“Yes, you do.” Pup had heard her. “The last time I tried that the padding kept slipping down the front of my dress. It’s hard to remember you’re supposed to have a British accent and answer to the name Lottie, when your breasts keep falling down around your stomach.”
Camille couldn’t keep from smiling, but it wasn’t long before she was frowning again.
Pup caught her eye in the mirror. “Putting it off isn’t going to make it go away,” she said logically.
“Oh, Callie.” She never called her Pup. “Most women would kill for the black curls I’m about to chop off your head. I hate doing this.”
“It’s just part of the job, Camille.”This was Pup’s standard line, but as usual her logic brought a grimace to Camille’s face. Still, the older woman began to cut.
Pup hadn’t been on a job for many months, so her curls were longer than they had been in quite a while. It would have taken many years of growth before they hung to her shoulders, but Camille thought the way they curled around her temples and jawline was so pretty. She’d never had a daughter of her own, and so she longed to put some finishing touches on Pup. The fact that she’d never been allowed to was always a frustration to her. The few times that Pup had gone out as a woman she’d been a saloon girl. It had been more fun to see her in a dress, but red cheeks and fake beauty marks were not the touches Camille had in mind.
“Do you expect Nick soon?” Pup asked as snips of hair dropped into her lap.
“No. If you’d gotten in this morning I’d have sent word. He’ll probably be home at the usual time.”
Pup’s mind went to McKay. It was a temptation to ask Camille if he’d gotten back safely, but the older woman probably wouldn’t know. Pup had also come to learn that she mustn’t show too much interest in any one man. Camille was always on the lookout for a match.
“How short should I go?”
“I don’t know. Just about the time you shear me, the job will wrap up in a few weeks.”
“Are you saying I should leave it longer?” Camille asked in surprise.
“No.” Pup was still logical. “I have to look like a man even if I only pose as one for a day.”
Pup heard Camille sigh but didn’t comment. Her mind had slid to McKay, then to her brother, and back to McKay. She was once again lost in thought when she heard a man’s voice on the floor below.
“Camie!” Nick’s voice boomed.
“Upstairs.” She’d stepped to the door, called down the hall, and then come back to Pup’s hair. She was trimming Pup’s neckline, her face intent on her task, when her husband walked into the room. Nick stood beside her, his serious eyes catching Pup’s in the mirror.
“I would say hello, Callie,” his voice had an edge to it, “but that’s probably not the right name, is it?”
Pup met his look straight on and said softly, “Games, Nick? I’d have thought better of you.” With that she dropped her eyes back to the mirror and did not look up again. It was good to know that McKay must have made it back safely, but with the way Nick had just treated her, it was little comfort.
Pup could hear Nick moving around now. Camille wisely remained silent. Pup’s peripheral vision caught the way he pulled a chair close to the side of the mirrored dresser and sat looking at her, but she kept her eyes locked on Camille’s hands.
“I’m sorry, Pup.” Nick’s voice was soft and contrite.
She glanced over at him and couldn’t look away.
“I think I can guess why you kept your true identity from me, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
It was not a request she could deny, and in truth she had no desire to do so. While Camille worked, she began.
“When I came back to you that day, Nick, my mother was still alive. My father had been dead only a few months and she was still in deep grief. The name Peter Crandall couldn’t hurt her, and neither could the name Callie Jennings. Those names had no tie to her. Young as he was, Govern had taken off by then, wounding her even more. Jubal was still at home but starting to turn wild. I had to think of my mother. I had to keep my privacy.”
“But you had to have known that I’ve been tracking the Hackett brothers for years, Pup. Do you know some of the things they’ve done?” Nick’s eyes pleaded with her to help him understand.
“Yes, I do know,” Pup said sadly. “And I certainly did know that you were after them. But family is family. If knowing who I am means you expect help in finding Jubal, then I haven’t made myself clear.”
“But you know where he is?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” she told him honestly. “But even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. If that’s what you now expect of me, I’ll tender my resignation, effective immediately.”
Nick swiftly shook his head no. “I don’t expect that, Pup. Please believe me. The last thing I want is for you to leave. I’m just coming to terms with your tie-in to the Hackett brothers. That’s all this is about—my trying to understand.”
“All right,” she said with relief.
Nick glanced up at Camille just then, and his eyes filled with concern. Pup followed his gaze and found Camille’s tragic eyes on her.
“Your brot
her is dead, Callie?” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Pup’s voice was soft as well. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Tears filled Camille’s eyes, and as Pup turned to her, she wrapped her arms around the younger woman. For the first time since Govern showed up at the cabin, Pup felt free to cry. She hadn’t cried as she cleaned his blood from the floor and the rug or when she’d had little choice but to drag his wrapped body to the hole she’d dug. She hadn’t cried as she looked down at his fresh grave or thought about the awful life he had led and how he’d broken their mother’s heart. She didn’t cry as she cared for McKay, thinking many times that Govern had taken yet one more life just minutes before his own had ended. But here, with the only woman she’d been close to since her mother died, she was able to let down.
Nick did not shy away from this show of emotion. He adored his opinionated wife, and Pup was utterly dear to him. He waited until the worst of it was over and then offered his handkerchief. Camille had one, so Pup took his and blew her small, straight nose.
“Better?” he asked both of them. They nodded.
“Your name’s not Callie Jennings?” Camille asked, her handkerchief still near her wet eyes.
Pup shook her head no.
“What is your name?” Nick asked, his voice so dry that Pup wanted to laugh.
“Andrea May Hackett.”
“Are there any more of you?”
“Hacketts? No. I’m the oldest and Jubal is the youngest. It was just the three of us.”
Nick didn’t think twice about not believing her. Her name was the only thing she hadn’t come clean about in all these years.
“Andrea May.” He rolled the name off his tongue.
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to be called that now?”
Pup thought about it. “I don’t think so, Nick. My mother called me that name. She was the only one since I was Pup to Papa and the boys.” Her voice turned very soft now. “I think I’ll save Andrea for my mother.”
Camille’s eyes filled all over again, and even Nick’s throat went tight. He cleared it several times before he spoke.