An Outlaw in Wonderland by Lori Austin

I’m Mikhail.” He slammed his fist into his chest. “Mikhail
     Romanov.”
    “All right,” Ethan agreed, though he doubted he’d ever be able to address Michael
     Walsh as Mikhail Romanov. “Maybe you could describe your brother. Maybe I just don’t
     know him by name.”
    Mikey’s fingers unfurled. “Dark hair, blue eyes. ’Bout the same height as you. Talks
     real purdy in all sorts of languages.”
    Fedya
.
    “His name isn’t Alexi,” Ethan began.
    Mikey drove his fist into the wall. The plank cracked. A second blow caused the wood
     to splinter.
    “Hey!” the nearest guard shouted. “Stop that! You want I should fetch Beltrane?”
    Ethan lifted his hand. “It’s all right. I’ll—” He paused. What would he do? His brother
     not only didn’t know him, but he didn’t seem to like him much either.
    “Gotta find him,” Mikey repeated. “All we have is each other.”
    Ethan should have been happy that Mikey was alive and able to walk, talk, feed, and
     dress himself. Instead, he was furious. He missed Annabeth so much sometimes, he thought
     he might die. If anything happened to her—
    His fingernails bit into his palms. If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t know.
     Because he was in here, and she was . . . not. He felt so goddamn impotent.
    “I’ll see if I can discover anything in regard to your brother,” Ethan said.
    Perhaps he’d have more luck getting information about Fedya than he’d had when he
     tried to learn anything about Annabeth. But he doubted it.
    “Gotta get out of here,” Mikey muttered, then wandered away.
    For the next few days, Ethan was occupied with an outbreak of fever, and without Annabeth’s
     or Mikey’s help, he fell onto his cot exhausted long after midnight. He saw his brother
     here and there; he seemed to be making friends among the inmates.
    One afternoon, a commotion at the front of the factory drew Ethan’s attention. The
     guards shouted, shoving prisoners. The prisoners laughed and jeered.
    Ethan wandered in that direction. “What happened?”
    “Escape attempt.”
    “Again?” Escape attempts were common. Very few succeeded. They were in the middle
     of the Confederate capital with armies all around. Where would they go?
    “One got away.” The prisoner grinned. “Can’t find him nowheres.”
    “Which one?” Ethan asked.
    “That Russian feller.” Ethan stilled as the man tapped his forehead. “One that done
     got shot in the head. Can’t say’s it slowed him down none.”
    •   •   •
    Annabeth spent most of her time on the farm. Whenever she went to town, people whispered—
traitor, sympathizer, spy
. A few even spat. Richmond might be the capital of the Confederacy, but gossip traveled.
     What else did folks have to do but share the story of how the Chimborazo matron turned
     nurse had been carted off to Castle Thunder with a spy. That she’d been released eventually
     did not signify innocence. Instead it only inspired more tales of what she might have
     done to secure that freedom.
    Annabeth laid her palm protectively over her still-flat stomach. As time went on,
     it was only going to get worse.
    Moze brought food. She didn’t tell him about the whispers or the spitting—or her stomach.
     What good would it do? He’d want her to leave, and she wasn’t going to go. But she
     didn’t sleep well. She started up at every rustle. One night, several weeks after
     she’d returned to the farm, she heard a lot more than that.
    “Annabeth Phelan! Come on out here now. You make us come in, you might not like what
     happens.”
    She already knew she wasn’t going to like what happened.
    Her fingers tightened around her Colt as she went to the window. Six men. She didn’t
     know them. So how in hell did they know her?
    “Can’t fraternize with the enemy and expect to walk free and easy now, can you?”
    Wouldn’t do any good to explain that she’d been working secretly for the South. No
     one would believe