With all my heart and soul.
“Yes. No.” Vicky hesitated, blinking with bafflement. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. Had Christiaan told Baz who she was? What had happened in the cave? “I… I…” Still wearing Christiaan’s pullover, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Thankful, his scent had faded some. Soon, it would disappear entirely, and life would go on. Vicky Golden would go on.
Baz laughed. “You’re speechless! That’s so unlike you.”
“Yes.” She managed to chuckle. “Look, it’s been a long several days. I’d really like to get some sleep. So, if you don’t mind, I’d just like—”
“Look, it’s Christiaan. He’d really like to talk to you.”
A soft gasp escaped her. “He would?”
“Yes. He really doesn’t want to leave things the way they are between the two of you.”
Really? Vicky touched the gold band hanging from her neck. “Your life would be so much better if I were dead, wouldn’t it?” “Yes.” “I’m sorry, Baz, but I think Christiaan and I said all there is to say. Goodbye.”
“Wait!” Baz’s voice was low, but full of intensity. “He loves you.”
His words stopped her. “What?” was all she could manage to say.
“Look, I’m not exactly sure what happened between you two in the cave, but whatever it was it must have been incredible. I haven’t seen him this excited about a woman since his wedding day.”
Our wedding day.
“In fact,” Baz continued. “He’s already on his way up to Serenity Rock. He said something about that being a special place for you.”
Christiaan wanted to see her! At Serenity Rock!
Letting out a huge breath, Vicky pressed the gold band to her heart. Christiaan still loved her! He’d obviously calmed down and had heard everything she’d said. Now he was willing to talk it out with her.
She shot a glance at the clock on the stove. She wasn’t exactly sure what had caused her husband’s change of heart, but she wasn’t going to waste any time thinking about. If she got dressed right now, she could take a shortcut to Serenity Rock and arrive about the same time as he did. They might not fix everything or even get back together, but at least they’d have this one chance to talk calmly and rationally about everything.
“If I’m going to meet him, Baz, I’ve got to get going.”
“Okay. Good luck.”
“Thanks for everything.”
“My pleasure.”
Vicky hung up the phone and raced up the stairs to dress.
For better… for worse… ‘til death us do part…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The towering majesty of Mt. Shasta loomed at Christiaan from the windshield. If someone had told him less than a week ago that stepping into this behemoth’s shadow would have turned his life upside down and all around, he’d have called them crazy.
“Potverdomme crazy.” He leaned back into the front passenger seat.
“What’s tha’, Baron Boy?” Duff grunted from behind the wheel of his luxury Land Rover. Christiaan had expected the Irishman to drive an old, beat-up Jeep, not a brand-new, top-of-the-line compact SUV. Soft-grain leather seats, black lacquer dashboard, and surround-sound audio system blaring Blackberry Smoke’s “Sleeping Dogs” made for quite a sweet ride. Isn’t that the expression Baz picked up from MTV?
“Nothing, Irishman. Just me growling about life.” Scotch, the passage of time, and the decision to head home had tempered Christiaan’s anger, but now he couldn’t shake an unsettled feeling as they headed to the airport. No matter how many times he reviewed his decision to leave Mt. Shasta behind and everything that had happened here, it didn’t feel right.
He sighed and rolled his cell phone over and over in his right hand. Why was he questioning his decision? He never questioned his decisions. Correction. He never questioned his business decisions. Those were cut and dried. Either they made sense or they didn’t.
But affairs of the heart. Those… those were much harder to deal with.
Business. Yeah, business. That’s what he needed to focus on from now on. How to save his company.
As Duff slowed for a stop sign, a hawk circled overhead. The same one that tormented me earlier? Him and Vicky? Christiaan chuckled, realizing that for the first time today he’d thought of her as Vicky, not Bri. As he watched the bird soar off toward the mountain, reality slowly engraved itself on his mind. Because that’s who she is now. Vicky Golden. My precious Bri is gone.
Duff accelerated from the stop onto a different rough-paved road. Passing yet-another green valley pasture filled with horses and other livestock, Christiaan could see why she liked it here. Beautiful. Relaxing. Compelling.
Just like her.
“Wouldn’t the freeway have been faster?”
“Jaysus, dis route is prettier, wouldn’t ye say?” Duff gestured to the countryside with his cast. “Besides, what’s yer hurry? ‘Tis not like ye have to catch a regular flight like us ordinary folk do. Ye’re special, aren’t ye? Ye’ve yer own private air chariot. Thet best ye oul’ fancy-pants money can buy. I mean, ‘tis not like thet plane will leave without ye. Ye’re thet boss, right?”
“That’s me. ‘Thet boss’.” Of a practically bankrupt company. Christiaan dragged a hand through his hair. Hopefully, whatever he could sell the project permits, leases, related equipment, and real estate for would be enough to save everything. Otherwise, he’d have to start all over again.
A chuckle escaped his lips. Maybe he could move to a new country, change his name, and start another career. For a brief second, the idea sounded great. It worked for Bri, right?
He stared out the side window at Mt. Shasta. What could Vicky be up to right now? Heading to the summit with another group of singles? Hiking up to her “spot” at Serenity Rock? Hanging around her beautiful lodge, curled up in a chair in front of the fireplace?
Maybe taking a shower? A nice… long… hot shower. Christiaan’s breath hitched as the memory of Vicky masturbating as water cascaded down her naked body filled his mind.
And crotch.
He shifted in his seat, trying to alleviate the growing pressure. The flashback was equal parts pleasant and torturous. Her hands skimming her wet, naked body. Her hips rocking in sweet, slow motion. Her face writhing in pure, absolute ecstasy. A shiver rippled through him.
Then her face had twisted in sudden, intense anger as she accused him of being a voyeur.
Christiaan shook his head. Another misunderstanding. Just like their entire marriage. One big misunderstanding after another, provoked by the people around them and each of their selfish, conceited needs.
His father… who wanted a blue-blooded heir to carry on the van Laere dynasty and the fortune to match… whatever it took.
His stepmother… who wanted money, prestige, and power… whatever it took.
Astrid… who wanted a title and riches… whatever it took.
Baz… who wanted Astrid and someone to atone for his low birth… whatever it took.
Himself… who wanted his father’s approval via business success… whatever it took.
Guilt knotted Christiaan’s stomach. “Whatever it took” turned out to be Bri’s physical stability, emotional sanity and, eventually, her “life”. He sighed and leaned his head against the passenger window with a thump.
“Good Lord, Baron Boy. Why thet long face?”
“Tough couple of days, Irishman. Tough couple of days.”
“Ye know what ye need?”
A chance to redo the last fifteen years of my life? “What?” Christiaan answered instead.
“More of dis.” From under the driver’s seat, Duff pulled a half-full Scotch bottle he’d obviously snagged from the penthouse.
Christiaan shook his head and waved a hand. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough. Of course, as your passenger, I’d appreciate you not partaking either.”
Propping his cast against the steering wheel, the Irishman tilted the cont
ainer toward his free hand and twisted the lid off. He smirked at Christiaan. “Then me guess ‘tis a good thing ye’r just me passenger an’ not me boss, eh?” Duff pulled a long swallow then settled the open bottle between his legs.
The cynicism of the remark grated. Christiaan liked the Irishman, but his obvious resentment for the rich and titled bordered on contempt. No wonder Duff and Baz had become friends. Baz’s bitterness fed off the Irishman’s animosity.
Christiaan returned his focus to Mt. Shasta, still looming in the distance. Baz had always had a chip on his shoulder about being the estate gardener’s son, but his anger hadn’t hit high gear until Astrid had broken his heart.
Potverdomme, Astrid, for rejecting Baz’s love and being such a bitch about it!
She’d known since they were all children playing together on the estate that Baz was in love with her. She’d toyed with his affections, pretending to care, even sleeping with him although Christiaan had begged her not to so as to protect his best friend’s fragile feelings. Then, shortly after Christiaan got his MBA and Baz finally finished university, Baz proposed to Astrid.
And she laughed in his face.
Baz had taken her to a nice restaurant in Amsterdam, where he’d invited all their family and friends to a surprise engagement party. Astrid humiliated Baz in front of everyone when he offered her a beautiful diamond ring Christiaan knew had cost both his friend and his friend’s father most of their savings. Laughing hysterically, Astrid tossed the bauble into the canal, explained she was meant for more than a lowly gardener’s son, and walked off. The pain of his friend’s public disgrace still echoed in Christiaan’s memory.
Baz spent that summer licking his wounds with cousins living in Ireland. When he came back home, his skin for the rich and privileged was even thinner than before.
“So,” Duff interrupted Christiaan’s thoughts. “Ye’r headed back home to take a closer look at thet money end of things, eh?”
“Yes.” Christiaan peered over at the Irishman, driving with his cast propped on the steering wheel. Once again, Diord Fionn written in black caught his eye. Where have I seen that before?
“Things tha’ bad?”
”Don’t worry, Irishman. I’ll make sure the bill for your services is paid.”
Duff laughed heartily then took another swig of Scotch. “Oh, don’t ye worry, Baron Boy. I’ll make sure thet bill ‘tis paid. Paid in full.”
Christiaan twisted the corner of his lip up and returned to watching the passing countryside. Was the Irishman terribly drunk or insanely weird?
Or both?
For several miles, they drove in silence before Duff spoke up. “I’m curious. Does Victoria know ye’re giving up?”
“Not exactly,” Christiaan answered. “She knows the Mineral Springs project is on hold. What she doesn’t know is that I plan to sell everything off as soon as possible.”
“Well, Victoria ‘tis sure to be dancing thet jig when she find out tha’ news. I’ve never met a woman tha’ could yap so much crap about renewable energy an’ climate change an’ other stupid stuff like tha’.”
Christiaan laughed. She’d been an environmental reporter after all. On a lark, he hit the Internet browser button on his phone and Googled her maiden name—Brianna Beabes. A long list of articles popped up. Scrolling through, he stopped to pull up one with a headline that mentioned alternative energy sources on Federal lands. He skimmed it and recognized several passages Vicky had quoted on various occasions over the last week.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Duff raise the Scotch bottle in a toast. “’Ere’s to Victoria gettin’ everything she deserves.”
Christiaan stopped reading the caption about microearthquake data and looked up. “My turn to be curious. Why do you call Vicky ‘Victoria’?”
“Nothing, really.” Duff chuckled then shrugged a shoulder. “Just a poor oul’ Irishman’s way of showing a fine thing some respect.”
A jealous pinch jabbed Christiaan. Tapping the photos icon on his phone, he pulled up the scanned copy of Bri on the picnic blanket. A gentle melancholy settled over him as he stared at the picture taken a week after they met.
They’d started out with such love and promise with and for each other. His bride-to-be’s eyes bored into him from fifteen years ago, wreaking havoc with his already splintered heart. Regret for all he’d done—and didn’t do—hit him like a wrecking ball.
He’d failed her. He and his superficial world of appearances and proprietary. His pride and van Laere upbringing had gotten in the way. Guilt burned in his chest. He’d failed Bri. He’d failed their love.
The SUV lurching into a tight curve pulled Christiaan’s attention from his pity party. Outside the passenger window, Mt. Shasta still towered in the distance.
Bri had gotten a second chance at life and took it for all it was worth. She’d gone to AA and stayed clean for eight years. Lost weight. Learned to climb. Got strong… mentally and physically.
A gentle smile touched his face. She’d found herself again. As Vicky, Brianna had rediscovered the incredible woman she’d once been.
He peered back at the picture. The incredible woman he’d fallen in love with.
Fifteen years ago.
And all over again six days ago.
He reached for the wedding band hanging from his neck. Potverdomme! He’d dropped it at her feet in the cave.
And now he wanted it back.
Her, too.
Like a lightning bolt to the head, the revelation shocked Christiaan. He refocused his attention on the mountains in the distance. Vicky was there, somewhere. And right now, he wanted to talk to her. He wasn’t sure she’d want to talk to him, but he had to at least try.
“Irishman, turn the car around. I need to take care of something. I need to go to Vicky’s lodge. Do you know how to get there?”
“Seriously?” Duff looked at him like he’d gone crazy.
“Yes.” As serious as a heart attack. Another MTV/Baz expression.
“Can me ask why?”
“You can ask, Irishman, but I won’t tell you.”
Frowning, Duff shrugged his shoulders and took another swig of Scotch. “’Cause I’m just the lowly chauffeur, right?”
Christiaan started to reply when Blackberry Smoke’s “Good One Comin’ On” blared from his phone. Bri’s picture disappeared as the screen read “Lou Cell”. Christiaan hit the answer button and put the device to his ear.
“Hey, Lou!” he answered then gestured to the Irishman with an index finger circling in the air to turn the car around. Duff nodded as he turned down the music. Christiaan refocused on the call.
“Where the hell have you been, Boss?” Lou yelled. “I’ve been leaving you message after message!”
“Yeah, well, I’ve—”
“It doesn’t matter now that I have you. Those fingerprints. The ones on the photograph you sent over. Are you ready for this? They’re your wife’s. Can you believe it? The mountain guide is your wife!”
Christiaan threw his head back and laughed hard. “Too late. I already know.”
“You do? How?”
A brief replay of this morning’s cave scene raced through Christiaan’s mind. “It’s a long story…” He looked at Duff. ”… that I don’t care to go into right now. Suffice it to say I’m certain. Beyond a shadow of doubt.”
“And we’re happy about this?” Lou asked.
“We’re still figuring that all out.”
“Does Vicky know who she really is?”
“Yes.” Christiaan nodded, watching the Irishman take another drink and thinking he ought to take the bottle away for both their sakes. “Yes, she does. Look, Lou, at some point, I’ll fill you in on all the details. But right now, I need you to keep this to yourself. Can I count on you to do that?”
“Of course. That goes without saying. But do you at least know if she planned this accident so she could disappear or was she simply one hell-of-a lucky victim?”
“What does it matter at this point?” Christiaan asked.
“Well.” Lou cleared his throat. “Based on the revelation that your wife is alive and well and living under an assumed name, I decided to take a closer look at the file on her supposed death.”
As Duff finally pulled off the side of the road to turn around, Christiaan noticed the “lucky” Celtic jacket lying in the backseat.
Lou continued. “The description of the accident reminded me of the bomb signature of a radical IRA splinter group of the Saor Eire I dealt with when I was stationed in Europe for the Agency.”
Christiaan smiled. Lou’s “fishing trips”.
“Unlike most IRA groups that liked to make big splashes and immediately claim credit, these guys specialized in bombings made to look like accidents. The group usually went after big-money targets and aristocrats like yourself.”
“Bombers for hire?”
“Unfortunately, there’s no real evidence what their motivation was since they never claimed credit for anything. The only reason we know anything about them at all is because we had someone undercover in the organization for a while…” Lou’s voice grew unsteady then dropped off for a few seconds before continuing. “… for a while before she… um… she… she disappeared.”
How close to this “she” had Lou been? “And you think maybe this group had something to do with Bri’s accident?”
Duff shoved the Scotch bottle at Christiaan, but he shook his head “no”. The Irishman grimaced, shrugged his shoulders, and took another drink.
“The head dude was a real, real bad ass, Boss. Went by the name Croi Dubh or Black Heart.”
Christiaan’s heart skipped a beat. “Say that again, Lou. Croi what?”
“Croi Dubh. Pardon my rusty Irish accent. It’s been awhile.”
“Dubb?”
“No, dubh,” Lou corrected the pronunciation. “It kind of sounds like rough… dubh.”
Christiaan peered over at his driver. “Dubh.”
The Irishman nodded then began humming some pop tune.
“That’s right,” Lou continued. “Now, I haven’t dealt with this shit for a while, so I had to do a little digging into my old files. The guy’s name—this Black Heart—was Sean Dean. Former helicopter pilot that got tossed out of the Irish military for his IRA leanings. He was one scary dude ‘cause he looked and acted like a cool cucumber whenever necessary. But heaven help anyone that got in his way ‘cause he was willing to do anything to achieve his goals. Hence the nickname Black Heart.”
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