Trial by Fire

by Tricia Andersen

  The only one spared their spouse’s wrath was Agatha, since she had truly done nothing wrong.

  It was after lunch before Gordon had returned and informed Sloan to pack. They were moving to Paris after the art showing. Maria had actually contacted someone in Belfast. They would be coming. Gordon had talked to the women Sloan had slept with and demanded their silence. He had shamed them for taking advantage of his innocence. He had informed them that the showing would happen as scheduled, but once it was over, Sloan would be out of their lives. They had all agreed quietly.

  The exhibit had been incredible. The well-to-do in Prague had flocked to see his creations. Their scrutinizing glares had told him that they suspected how he had earned this showing. He hadn’t cared. A few hours later, he would be out of that cursed city.

  One painting had sold for a half million dollars, cash. Then another. The next three had been for a million. The next had been for two million. Before the night had been over, all his paintings had been gone, and he was the richest man in the room.

  As he had followed Gordon out of the gallery into the night, a delicate hand had caught him. He had turned to find Angelique, her blue eyes sparkling.

  She had told him she had made a huge mistake. She was ready to leave her husband. She loved him so much and had been a fool to let him go.

  Sloan had pushed her fingers from his arm. With an icy stare, he had left her there. It had been clear to him then that women were lying, thieving, soulless creatures. Not one could save their kind.

  Sloan clenched his eyes shut. I was wrong. One was different…or so I thought. When I need her, she can’t be found. But bloody hell, I lost my heart, my soul, to this one. I gave her everything of me. Abigail, I know you’re out there. Fight for me. Please, fight for me.

  »»•««

  Gordon hadn’t slept all night. All he could hear was Abbey tossing and turning. Seeing her the next morning with sleep-deprived circles under her eyes broke his heart. But the lass has a great plan to start. Hopefully we can find some information the authorities missed.

  He watched the wheels turn in her mind as she made bacon and eggs for breakfast. He didn’t say a word for fear of disturbing her thoughts. She stood on the porch and waved as he started the rental car. Her image faded way as Gordon pulled drove down the rut-filled road.

  Gordon glanced irritably down at his watch as he followed the officer through the hallways. He knew he was already late when he had left the farmhouse for the prison. However, it shouldn’t have taken nearly half an hour to clear security. He let go an aggravated sigh.

  He silently nodded his thanks to the guard as they reached the visitation room. He smiled gently at the sight of Liam and Sloan talking softly across the thin metal table that separated them. The boy was badly bruised. He hugged his arms around the area where he had been stabbed. But he was alive and breathing. That was all that mattered.

  Gordon’s grin faded as his gaze met Liam’s icy stare. Obviously, his tardiness was unacceptable. He forced another smile on his face and then took the empty seat next to Liam. “How are you, boy?”

  Sloan’s eyes were hollow and sad. Has he been crying? Sloan never cried, not even as a child.

  “I’ve been better, Da.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Sloan’s answer was heartbreaking. “My wife? All I want is my wife. But no one can find her. Mary, Maggie, and Vicki won’t tell Logan where she went.

  Gordon struggled to hide the breath he had sucked in. “I’m sorry, lad. I know nothing.” He turned to Liam. “You have all these contacts. You haven’t heard from her?”

  “No,” Liam snapped. “I wouldn’t torture him if I did. I would tell him the truth.”

  “And I’m not?”

  Their argument was broken off by a high-pitched ring. A guard bustled quickly toward them. Broken and defeated, Sloan rose to be led away.

  When he was gone, Liam spun furiously at Gordon. “Our visit started a half hour ago. Where were you?”

  “I had business to tend to,” Gordon defended.

  “Business? Sloan Enterprises is more important than our boy? Sloan has mere days left of his freedom, and the only person he loves left him! And your business is more important? Of course it is! It always has been!” Liam stood, tossing the chair he had been sitting in before he stormed from the room.

  Gordon exhaled slowly as he watched him go. “Liam, brother,” he muttered under his breath. “I wish I could tell you both the truth. Especially that I know where Abigail is. But she’s the key to his freedom. We just need more time.”

  Chapter Five

  Abbey shuffled down the sidewalk beside Gordon as she peered into the little shops she passed. In the reflection of the glass she stared at herself. It was like looking at a stranger. The blonde hair threw her off. What was it like for Tom when he became Sloan, to look at a totally different image of himself, knowing he could never go back again? With a deep breath she continued on her walk.

  She glanced up at her stepfather’s stoic face. In all the time she knew him, she had never seen him this way. Despite the rock solid façade, he was tense. He was just as anxious as she was. They had to find answers quick. A bell tinkled over the door as they stepped into the florist shop on the corner. The overwhelming smell of organic, blooming things hit Abbey like a wave. She shot a look at Gordon before the door closed behind them.

  She heard the shuffle of feet from a room in the back. A shaky voice greeted them. “Be right there.”

  “Take your time,” Gordon called back.

  An elderly man appeared from around the counter. Thin strands of silver hair streaked across his bald head. “How may I help you? Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “I’ve got a couple of questions,” Gordon told him.

  “I’ll answer them the best I can.”

  “Do you remember Tom Morrison? He was a teenage boy. He used to come in and buy flowers from you once a week.”

  The old man’s brow wrinkled into a scowl. “Yes, I remember him. He was a good kid. Very polite. I can’t believe he’s that man on television. They look nothing alike. Do you know Tom?”

  “We’re friends of his. Do you remember what day he came?”

  “Wednesdays. Never fail.”

  “Never on a Thursday.”

  “Never.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The old florist stared at them blankly. Gordon looked at Abbey. “None of this will help.”

  Abbey smiled at him then motioned around her. “This is such a beautiful shop.”

  The florist sighed. “It is. But my health is making it difficult to keep it up. I had to take a loan against it to pay for my wife’s medical bills. She needs constant nursing care.”

  “If you could sell it?”

  “I could hire more help. I could sell it and still take care of my wife. If I sell now, the money I would get would only pay for the loan. I would have no money to live on.”

  “Would two hundred and fifty thousand dollars pay off the loan?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Abbey opened her purse and pulled out her checkbook. She ignored the scowl from Gordon as she flipped it open and scrawled on the check on top. Ripping it free, she handed it to the florist. “So Tom came every Wednesday.”

  The florist stared at the piece of paper for several long moments. A small smile broke across his face. “Not every Wednesday. There was an occasional Thursday.”

  “Do you remember any Thursdays?”

  “He stopped in the day of the bombing in London. He bought a lovely bouquet of daisies for his Mum.”

  “Would you be willing to recount that in a courtroom?”

  “If you give me that check, lass. I most definitely would.”

  Abbey handed the check to the florist. He tucked the piece of paper in his neatly pressed apron. “We’ll send Mr. Morrison’s attorney your way.”

  “I look forward to his visit. Would you like a bou
quet of roses to take with you?”

  Abbey shrugged as her nerves quaked. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  The old man scuttled across the shop to a bucket of beautiful red roses. He plucked a dozen and then wrapped them in paper. He held them out to her. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  With a wave she followed Gordon to the door. He held it open for her to pass through. She took a deep breath of the blossoms. She hoped it would calm her mind. It didn’t do a thing.

  “Beautiful flowers you have there, Abigail.”

  Abbey jumped at the voice. She looked up at Gordon beside her. She hugged the roses to herself. “They are. We need to send Shemus and Logan to him. He’ll testify.”

  “His testimony is useless.”

  “He’s going to say Sloan visited him the day of the bombing.”

  “You coerced him, lass. You paid for his testimony, which is illegal by the way.”

  Abbey pressed her lips tightly together. “He says he’ll testify.”

  “Abigail.”

  “You told me that I might be walking in my husband’s footsteps. I’m sure he bought himself a witness or two. Am I right?”

  Gordon returned her glare silently. She continued. “There are three witnesses now. One is credible.”

  “Not as credible as you think.”

  “How so?” she challenged.

  “He has early-onset dementia.”

  Abbey huffed a sigh. “It’ll buy us time.”

  “Not much.”

  “Where could I go to see the evidence?”

  “Let’s get back to the car. We’ve already said too much out in the open.”

  Gordon shepherded her to the car. After he helped her in, he crossed around the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  They were nearly out of Belfast before Abbey spoke. “Where can I see the evidence?”

  “It’s in the courtroom.”

  “There’s not copies anywhere else?”

  “Of course there is. It’s at Scotland Yard.”

  Abbey slumped in her seat. “There’s no way to see it.”

  “There is. However you may wish there wasn’t.”

  “You have connections with Scotland Yard?”

  “I have connections with Buckingham Palace. They can get what we need from Scotland Yard.”

  “Who is this mysterious connection?”

  “Her name is Heidi Corbyn. She’s the head of security at the palace.”

  “Heidi. Let me guess. One of Sloan’s former lovers?”

  “Yes, you could say that.”

  “I take it this wasn’t one of his one-night stands.”

  “They had a relationship. Nothing like yours but it wasn’t a one-night stand. Still want to go?”

  Abbey’s heart sunk in her chest, but she forced a smile on her face. “Of course. We have to prove his innocence.”

  “I’ll contact Heidi. We’ll leave immediately.”

  “All right.”

  The rest of the car ride to the farmhouse was quiet. Abbey stared out the window. Her husband in a relationship? All she had ever heard of was his one-night stands. He had feelings for another woman? Did he wish they had stayed together? Was she the consolation prize?

  She shook herself out of her thoughts. Right now, her only concern was Sloan’s freedom. When he was home in her arms, she could then be the neurotic wife.

  Once they arrived at the house, Gordon disappeared into his bedroom. Abbey wound her way through the kitchen into the cellar. She barely got through the first pile when Gordon was at the door. “Just leave things be, Abigail. We fly out tonight. Heidi will meet with us in the morning. And she’ll have the evidence for us to look at.”

  Abbey stood up from the stool. “Sounds great. I’ll get ready.”

  She jogged up to her bedroom and stuffed her few belongings lying around into her carry-on. Throwing it over her shoulder, she descended the steps and met Gordon at the bottom. He chuckled.

  “We have time for a bite. Traveling on an empty stomach would bloody suck, don’t you think? There’s fixings for sandwiches. Let’s make a quick one before we leave.”

  Abbey dropped her bag on the bottom step. “Sure.”

  Gordon had already laid out a package of ham and cheese, each wrapped in butcher paper. A head of lettuce sat in a bowl next to a plate of chopped tomatoes. A loaf of bread was sliced on a cutting board. He motioned toward the food. “Help yourself.”

  “Gladly.”

  She grabbed a plate to assemble her sandwich. While Gordon made his, she poured each of them a cup of coffee. Once their supper was finished, Abbey took their plates and mugs to the sink. She strode to the living room to find Gordon holding her bag. “Shall we?”

  Abbey smiled. “Let’s do this.”

  He held the door open for her as she stepped out onto the porch and walked to the car.

  »»•««

  Sloan shuffled down the hallway between the guards. Logan and Ashleigh were waiting in the visitation room for him. They weren’t who he wanted to see. He couldn’t sleep anymore. He had spent the entire night remembering what had brought him to this point in his life, locked in prison with the love of his life long gone.

  Life in Paris had been much like Prague for Gordon and Sloan, except for the fact that Sloan was now worth millions of dollars. Over half had been wired to Liam to open a trust for his mother, Amelia, and his sister, Maggie. They would never want again. That was how Sloan had wanted it. If he couldn’t be there to take care of them, that would be the next best thing.

  Demands for his art had grown quickly, and those who had wanted it had no trouble finding him in Paris. Paintings had sold as fast as Sloan could paint them.

  Unfortunately, patrons of his art weren’t the only ones who found him. Whoever pegged him for the bombing did, also. Two shots in the gut put Sloan in the hospital. While he was there, Sloan hired the best plastic surgeon in Paris to give him and Gordon new faces. Tom Morrison and Simon McKenna were no more. Only Sloan O’Riley and Gordon Fionnain existed.

  One afternoon, while he had been taking a break from his latest masterpiece, he had looked out the window to watch the street below. A man—obviously rich by his attire and the expensive luxury sedan waiting for him—had just stepped out of the clothier across from the apartment.

  Sloan had thought for a moment and then risen. He had ransacked Gordon’s room until he found the shoebox that held the cash from his latest sale. He had tucked a wad of bills into the pocket of his worn, faded jeans and then slipped from the studio to the store across the street.

  The salesmen had nearly laughed him out of the store when he had stepped inside. That was, until he had pulled the money from his pocket. Suddenly, he’d had every clerk in the place at his beck and call. He had grinned. This was the way those with obscene amounts of money were treated. It was a lifestyle he could get used to.

  The sun had set when Sloan had left the store with a new wardrobe. He’d make it a point to purchase new clothes for Gordon as well. They would only step out in the finest from then on. He had jogged to his apartment, still finding Gordon gone. He had straightened his tie and then wandered down the sidewalk to the nearest pub.

  He had sunk onto a stool at the bar and ordered a Guinness. He had glanced around the room, watching the paired bodies writhing against each other to the beat of the music. His eyes had met with a woman’s at the end of the pub, the green pools glimmering at him as she had taken a sip of her wine.

  A hunger burning blazing hot in his core had demanded his attention. He had just spent the last few months being the sexual toy for a bunch of ladies. It had been time to indulge in a fantasy or two with no attachment. He had laughed as he picked up his bottle of beer and approached the auburn-haired beauty. He had liked the new Sloan. He had liked him a lot.

  He and the woman had talked for an hour before she had invited him to her apartment. He had paid for their drinks and then escorted
her outside, flagging down the first cab that had passed by. The passion started before car had pulled away from the curb. Sloan used his lessons from Prague well as he shared a night loveless sex with the redhead.

  It had been well before midnight when he had risen and dressed.

  He had left her begging him to come back to her bed. He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed having sex with her. But that had been all he had wanted—a one-night stand. He had glanced at his phone to find several missed calls from Gordon. With a casual smile, he had slipped from her clinging arms and disappeared into the night.

  He shook free his memories as he stepped into the visitation room. Almost all of the metal tables had a prisoner visiting with family and friends. He frowned when he found Logan and Ashleigh sitting at the table in the far corner. They were shuffling documents to each other quickly. As he approached, they hopped to their feet.

  “What is it?” Sloan demanded.

  Logan motioned him to sit and then pushed a folder under his nose. “We have another witness.”

  “Who?”

  “A florist from your childhood. He says you were in his shop the day of the bombing. He’ll get attacked. He has early-onset dementia. But he doesn’t care. He wants to testify.”

  “Why all the sudden did he come forward? Why did he wait so long?”

  “I have no idea.” Logan’s voice was low, so that no one else in the room could hear. “I think he was prompted. I think someone talked him into it. I don’t know who. It wasn’t Shemus or any of us. If there is someone, whoever it is just gave us an invaluable gift.”

  “And that would be?” Sloan growled.

  “Our first credible witness. Someone who will finally put some doubt in the jurors’ minds. Hopefully if someone is out there, they’ll get us the truth too.”

  »»•««

  A nervous tremor ran through Abbey as she passed the third security check point. The palace above them was truly magnificent. The sterile hallways surrounding her made her uneasy.