His jaw twitched. “We work in coordination with each other. I’m CIA.”
“Oh, still?”
His facial expression became harsh as granite. “I had to go dark, Jen. It was my assignment.” He leaned forward again. “Many of us do…for years.”
Fear clung onto the back of my tongue. I gulped it down with another swallow of water. “My testimony sent you to prison.”
Robert nodded. “All part of the plan, babe. I figured it would. But, my handler is high up. He pulled strings to get me out and back into the dark. Just in a new way. Here, across the pond.”
His words registered, but my brain told me to be cautious even if they sounded true.
“Remember, most of the agency thought I was dead. Tom and I set that up.”
“And you ‘set me up’ to follow you down your rabbit hole?” I used my fingers as quotation marks. “You asked Tom to kidnap me and fake my death as well. Have I got it right?”
He scratched his head. “It’s a long story and a lot of it I’m not allowed to reveal, Jen.”
I lifted my chin. “So, you do remember my real name.”
Robert gave a soft humph. “Cute.” He leaned back in the chair like a king on his throne. “Okay. This much I can tell you. It seemed the best way to get the cartel to back off. I hadn’t slipped fully into the dark then. But it soon became necessary for me go deeper in order to complete my assignment. I knew I couldn’t bring you where I was going. That’s why I made that brief appearance at the fair in Grapevine to let you know I was still alive.” His focused sharpened onto my face. “I wanted you to go on with your life, Jen. I really did. I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.”
A laugh spurted from my mouth. “Really?” I waved my arms. “Then why all of this, babe?” I let the sarcasm drip off the last word.
He traced the brass buttons on the wing chair’s upholstered arm. “Because I am trying to resurface into the light. Go back into the CIA. But, it requires therapy and retraining for at least a year.” He looked straight into my eyes. “Sort of reverse brainwashing. This manor would be the perfect place.”
I pinched my lips. Something inside told me to let him keep talking.
He took a few sips of water. “We can both heal, Jen. With, or without the baby. Glenda’s assignment involved bringing you here. She knew nothing more.”
“Not how that would be accomplished, via underwater drags?”
“No. She just knew to lure you onto the boat and before Bath, my men would take you.”
I shifted in my chair. “The men we tried to dodge in Lacock?”
“Cartel.” He didn’t blink in giving his answer.
“And Andrew?”
“He has Interpol connections, but this truly is his manor.” He waved his arms around the room. “He is in debt up to his eyeballs. Between the deteriorating buildings his parents saddled him with, his spoiled lifestyle of the rich and famous, and of course, his wayward sister…”
“Ah.” I leaned in. “Who I was made-up to resemble? The one who is now in one of your prostitution rings?”
He jolted. “Mine? Who told you such nonsense?”
I opened my mouth to say Niamh had. But had she? Or had I assumed…? “You helped Andrew get her to have an abortion.”
He shook his head. “No. That happened before I came over here. She’s confused.”
“But you and Andrew pushed her into prostitution.”
“Mac’s doing. He’s the one who convinced her to take it up, since she was too tainted to be married off to some rich duke.” He shrugged. “Mac pretended to be Barry’s best friend. He persuaded her to do her part to help secure funds for the estate. May as well get paid for living her lifestyle. Of course a bit crossed his palm as well.” He leaned toward me. “Andrew suspects Barry never really loved her but saw her as a meal ticket. Draw her in, then feed her out to his friends. It’s how these pimps lure girls into that life. After he died, Mac picked up the ball.”
I re-crossed my legs and rolled my eyes. “How ingenious.”
“They faked her death to save the grandmother grief, thinking the baroness wasn’t long for the world anyway. Somehow, the old biddy keeps on kicking for several more years.” He scowled. “Trust me, doing tricks wasn’t anything new to her. Niamh became wild in her early teens, according to Andrew. Everyone in the school knew it. What they call a S.A.D. gal. Sex, alcohol and drugs.”
I drew my lower lip into my teeth. Robert had just slipped on his own lies. I knew differently from reading her diary. Niamh may have been an underage drinker, but she’d saved herself for the man she loved—as I had. Not that it made it right. I decided not to broach the subject and open the can of memories again. “Then why make me up to look like her?”
Robert pressed his lips together. After a moment he spoke again. “You needed a change in your appearance anyway, right?”
I scrunched my eyebrows.
He wagged his head. “You know. The relocating, etc. Had you kept the baby, the dark hair might have raised less questions. Andrew came up with the idea. Give granny some comfort in her last dementia-laden days. Make her think her darling granddaughter had come home.”
“So she’d be benevolent in her will and also provide the authorities reason to question her ability to handle her own affairs.”
Robert rubbed his temple. “Andrew already has executive power, under supervision. I, as manager, plan to help him turn the estate around. Open it as an exclusive retreat for people like me who need discreet, one-on-one therapy...”
I humphed. “Therapy? Is that what you call an evening in bed with exotic ladies? A gentlemen’s brothel, you mean.” I pressed my hand to the arms of the wing chair. “Gentlemen—ha!”
He cocked one eyebrow. “Is that what you thought?”
I rose from my chair. “Robert. Enough. My ears hurt. They’ve been assaulted with more lies than I care to hear. Leave.” I turned to the window and gazed out onto the dusk. When he didn’t stir, I emphasized my request, jaw clenched. “Now.”
The wing chair’s legs scraped across the floor. His heels slammed onto the floorboards. I prayed they would fade towards the door. They did.
Then his voice aimed to someone outside in the hall. “I’m locking the door. We don’t want to be disturbed.” The hinges screeched in complaint with the force of the slam.
A sudden iciness crawled over me. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself.
His footsteps returned. His arms enveloped me and his lips fell upon my neck.
He had the household under his control. Nobody would come to my aid. I was helpless, blocked in this room with a devil.
Every sinew inside me shuddered.
His breath became hot. “I need you, Jen. You are the only good thing in my life. I’ll heal better with you by my side. We both can. Be my light. Lead me back.”
Somewhere from deep within me a mighty strength rumbled. I twisted from him and backed away. “That is not in my power, Robert. It’s in God’s. Christ is the Power, the Light, and the Truth.”
To my surprise, my words pierced him like a two-edged sword, their power wedging deep into his soul. His whole demeanor shriveled. It reminded me of the wicked witch melting after being dowsed with a bucket of water.
A groaning howl came out of his mouth. Then in a shaky voice, he replied with honesty in his face for the first time. “I have done too much for God to forgive me, Jen. I’m outside His reach.”
Warmth spread throughout me, defrosting my disgust. I’d thought the same thing not so long ago. With a gulp, I softened my voice. The truth spilled from my core. “No one is, Robert. Not me, not you. Not the thief on the cross. Jesus asked God to pardon us all as He hung there. And God granted it. All we need to do is ask for it.”
He shook his head. “I can’t. But, if you could forgive me, then maybe…”
I stared into the eyes which once enticed me to abandon my morals. In front of me, the defiant, charming twinkle in them snuffed. They clouded
over before he closed them and slunk to the bed. Head resting in his hands, his shoulders started to heave. Then came the sobs.
Part of me wanted to rush to him and rock him like a child. But a voice inside me said, No. Stand there. Stay strong.
I watched the man who’d stabbed my heart over and over shrink into a pitiful mess of plasma and bones. Every ounce of hatred I had for him oozed out of my pores. But if any love existed, it seeped out as well. I knew he’d still lied through his teeth about his connections, about Andrew and about Niamh. Maybe it was all he knew how to do now. All I know is an invisible shield protected me from their sting. I’d been blessed with the spirit of discernment. I’d never be duped by him again.
Robert’s bent-over shoulders continued to heave as he wailed. Witnessing his transformation into a lost, broken, and pitiful specimen of a man, I peeled my feelings from him like a Band-Aid, except no pain came with the tug. A firm resolve emerged in its place. Forgive us our sins as we forgive others. So be it. The first step in moving on with my life.
He wiped his eyes with the heels of his hand. Reddened eyes lifted from the rug to my face, pleading. With my feet planted to the floor, I returned his gaze. “Robert, my love for you is dead and gone. But I do forgive you. You will remain in my prayers. I hope you reconcile with God for all you’ve connived, lied about, and have hurt others by your choices.”
With renewed determination, I walked over to the door and knocked on it. Feet shuffled outside. I called through the ancient wood. “Please get Dr. Wilson. My husband has become quite ill.”
The hinges flew open and one of the thugs dashed in. Whatever color Robert had in his Mediterranean face vanished.
Mary gasped. “Yes, I’ll call him right away.”
In the confusion of the next few minutes, I grabbed a cardigan, laced on my tennis shoes, courtesy of Mac, and slipped unnoticed down the stairs, out the front door into the night air. I knew it was a God-thing. Like Jesus waking through his tormentors and they not seeing him to stone him.
Up ahead stood the gazebo. The force to go was there stronger than ever. But why?
I didn’t care. I just obeyed. With resolve as my guide, I slipped my arms into the cardigan, wrapped it around me and strolled towards what I hoped meant freedom.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I can’t remember which one of us noticed the other first. When I raised my eyes from the grassy path under my feet, I caught his silhouette accented by the rising moonlight. I stopped, squinted. Tom? But how?
He shuffled, and then began to run toward me.
My heart powered my steps. I dashed to him, my smile stretching to each ear. He stopped inches from me. I halted too, my gasps short and rapid.
His eyes glistened in the moonlight. “Told you not to give up on me.”
“Oh, Tom.” I leapt into his arms. He lifted me high into the air and squelched my laughter with a deep kiss.
I clung to him, praying to never leave his embrace again. His lips moved to my ear. “Ssshh. We need to be quiet.” He let me down to the ground and motioned me to the shelter of the gazebo.
I took a minute to catch my breath. My questions came out in short spurts. “But, how did you…? What…are you doing here? I mean…?”
His finger pressed against my lips before his mouth did once again. The strength of his love filled my pores. All Robert had drained from me Tom’s love replaced with hope and security. When he released me, he gazed squarely into my face as if memorizing it all over again. His eyes welled as his fingers etched my jawline.
My tears cascaded down my cheeks, unhindered.
He smiled as his thumbs wiped several away. “First. Glenda is okay. Just a scratch, really. She told me they’d taken you. Read me in on what she had discovered.”
I shook my head. “How did you know about her?”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on you. When I learned Robert had come to England, I followed him. I’ve been monitoring the manor and organizing a raid to get you out.”
“The glimmer from the gazebo at sunset a few days ago. That was you.”
He lifted his shoulders to his ears. “Oops. Glad only you noticed my faux pas.” He tapped his coveted Rolex. “Sun hit the lens just right.”
“I kept getting this strong feeling to head to the gazebo. But”—I tilted my head—“when I got there, you weren’t.”
“Bad timing. I’d gone for reinforcements. But the old vagrant I’d paid to spy on the happenings around the manor took you under his wing, didn’t he?”
My mouth could have caught a moth in it. Tom’s rolled into grin. “I told you I’d find you, hon. I made it my number one priority to protect you a long time ago. But when I saw them bringing you back in the ambulance…” He swallowed hard. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I tightened my arms around his neck. “I am now.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. “Mmm. Missed that sweet taste.”
My heart flittered. I wanted more of him. But, Tom rose up and turned his attention beyond me to the manor. “How’s Robert?” Concern filled his eyes.
“He’s a pool of gooey mess right now. How did you know?”
Tom bit his lip and sighed. “He broke, then. Poor guy. I noticed his expression as they carried you out into the house. He’s in for a rough spell.”
“Yes, he is.” I took a deep breath to dam the tears from welling my eyes.
He lowered my hands from his neck and cupped them in his strong, yet tender grip. His thumb rubbed my fingers.
For a moment, silence hung between us before his eyes lifted to study mine. The fine lines at their corners lengthened. “You’ve forgiven him, haven’t you? I see it in your face.”
I nodded. The word “yes” barely escaped from my mouth before a few more tears spilled from my eyes.
“Good.” His voice became a husky whisper. “Then you can heal, too.”
I buried my head into his shoulder. The scent of him flooded my senses. He swayed me back and forth. After a few minutes, he sighed and pulled way. “So, are you ready?”
“To…?”
“Neither of us can walk away from this, Jen.” His head bobbed toward the manor. “Can we?”
“Well…” I inhaled deeply. “What’s the plan?”
Tom tilted his head. “You think I have one?”
I draped my arms around him again. “My dear, Tom. You always have a plan.”
He gave me a peck on the forehead, and then with a wink, pressed his fingers to his ear. I detected a tiny beep. “The nightingale has flown on her own. We’ll wait for your signal before we move in to snare the hawk.”
My eyes widened. “Does this mean the cavalry is coming over the hill?”
Tom smirked as he led me out of the gazebo and down the other side of the hill to be more hidden from the view of the manor.
“I gather I am the nightingale?”
“Right.” His hand slipped into mine. “This way, Jen.”
He directed us into the woods along a barely detectable dirt path. He stopped and flicked on a pen light twice. Up ahead, another flashed back. “Not far, now.”
We walked down the trail to a dark SUV parked in the glade. A man stepped out and opened the back door for us. Tom motioned me in. I scooted inside and clipped on the safety belt. The man waited for Tom to slide in next to me, closed the door, dashed around to the driver’s side to hop in.
“We ready?” That voice. When he turned to me, I gasped at the familiar sight of wheat-colored hair. Mac.
I fumbled to loosen my seatbelt. “Oh, no. Not you.”
Tom laid his hand on mine. “It’s okay, Jen. Really. He’ll take us to Glenda.”
I stared deep into his eyes and gave him an are-you-crazy? glare.
Tom leaned into my ear. “I know all about him, hon. I’ve got this, okay?”
He reached behind his jacket and pulled out a revolver. “Now, Mac. Drive us to Bath, and I’ll make sure you get what you need to pay off your booki
e.”
Mac’s eyes dashed between him and me. “Right, mate. And no coppers.”
“I try to avoid them at all costs.”
Mac humphed and turned over the ignition. As we started down the road and into the clearing, I turned to watch the manor through the trees in the distance. My once fortress looked like a doll house under the moonlight as twinkles of light gleamed from its windows.
Tom leaned over me, to block me from Mac’s rearview vision. He kept his voice lower than the hum of the tires. “Andrew will be dealt with, Jen. And Niamh and the grandmother are going to be fine. All part of the plan. Trust me.”
I gazed intently into his dark blue eyes. Love, sincerity, and strength reflected back. But most of all, I detected an honesty I could rely upon. “I do trust you, Tom. I really do.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“Good. That’s my girl.” Tom poured some hot tea from a thermos and handed the cup to me. He placed his finger to his mouth and whispered. “Fill you in on the rest later.”
I nodded and sipped the welcomed, steaming warmth. He filled himself a cup and scrunched into the seat. His gun still rested on his thigh. His eyes trained at the back of Mac’s head. “I know these roads. Or shall I say the GPS on my watch does. So no wrong turns, okay.”
Mac scoffed. “Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.” He flicked on his blinker and turned the car onto the main road. The headlights flashed on a road sign. It read, Bath 15.8 K.
I downed the rest of the tea, slipped my hand through Tom’s arm and rested my head on his shoulder. A ten minute nap would do a world of good.
* * *
The lights of Bath filtered into my eyelids. We’d stopped at a traffic light and a queue had formed. Not surprising to see traffic. It was Saturday night, if memory served me, and Bath appeared to be a large city. I recall Glenda saying the city claimed several museums. Probably tons of theaters, shopping, restaurants, and clubs, too. The neon lights pulsated with the heartbeat of a metropolis. I thought back. Had it really only been a week since Tom found me in Florida? That made my head spin.
I peered onto the streets of Bath and gawked at the eased blending of ancient and modern butted next to each other. Here, it appeared people lived in flats older than my own country. Back home, an apartment built before WWI claimed the status of antique. England absolutely amazed me. I wish I could have taken that job and spent time here.
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