In Good Conscience

by Gardiner, Cat

  “Alive? How is this possible?”

  “I do not know how she survived the blasts, but she was at the funeral and there is no mistaking that it was her. See, look at the photographs.”

  With one hand, Morales tapped an open switchblade against his desk blotter as the other swiped through the images; his lips drawn to a taut line. His blood raged at how well Darcy had played him. “Sí. It is her.”

  “But it is over now, Jefe, and you have won! Your vengeance for your father’s murder is complete. I must commend your plan; Iceman acted rashly—foolishly in his rage to seek justice for his woman.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. We shall see.” Swiping through several more images of the mourners rife with grief, some faces he recognized from the intel provided by Carlos when he tailed Richard Fitzwilliam and the British reporter back to Washington. “Iceman fooled us once with his wife’s survival in Virginia; you can understand my need for continuing surveillance now that she has mysteriously materialized.”

  “Yes, of course. I also received an e-mail from the coroner in Paget. After the sharks and storm cleared, the flesh our men recovered near the cavern, he determined to be human—whose remains we cannot be sure as many died that day. The coroner does not have the facilities for DNA examination or forensic matching.”

  “La Muerta Mundial lost many good soldiers and my prized yacht! And what of the contracted hitman responsible for the Darcy estate explosion? Where is he?”

  “He has disappeared and is not answering our CIA back channel contact or his dark web email.”

  “Pity, but perhaps it is for the best. Talented as he is, I do not like loose ends. Is there anything else you need to tell me in regard to Iceman?”

  Luis placed three newspapers in the center of the desk: Bermuda’s Royal Gazette, a Washington Post, and a New York Times. “We can be sure that it was him in Hungry Bay. The obituaries state an untimely death while diving on vacation in Paget on August 4, and our men located an American Navy combat diving knife and strips of wet suit in the limestone rubble near the mangroves.”

  He swiped through the remaining photographs, stopping on one where the widow knelt, weeping at the grave. “She is as beautiful as I recall her on that motorcycle in Moscow.”

  “Not as lovely as Señora Morales.”

  “I think … that no man would willingly leave such a woman he loves by faking death. If he is alive, then Darcy will return to her very soon. These tears this woman expresses look genuine. So, he may be dead, but only time will tell.”

  “It has already been sixteen days.”

  “Yes.” Handing the tablet back across his desk, he added, “Claudia has done well; instruct her to maintain surveillance on the former Mrs. Darcy for another two weeks. We shall see if he returns, and if not, then we will declare this over. I have my hands full with this El Negro’s attempt to take over the cartel’s Central American business now that our narcosub is at the bottom of Hungry Bay. If Darcy returns, tell her to kill them all.”

  “Sí, Jefe.”

  “This El Negro …” he shook his head and sighed deeply. “Our men in Tarapoto heard rumors that El Negro will pay handsomely in cryptocurrency for sabotage of the coca.”

  “But they are loyal to you.”

  “They are loyal to money. Luis, I want increased security in Bolivia and Peru. Notify our Colombian and Mexican friends that war may be coming and I want additional protection in Paraguay to Brazil.”

  “It is worse than that, señor. Our Italian associates in Venice and the Spaniards in Cadiz have heard the same. There have been threats against the narcotic and weapon shipping containers. Even London is uneasy.”

  He tightened his fist. “I want the head of El Negro! Who is he?”

  “No one knows, but other cartels are on alert, too. After the authorities shut down our convoy near the Brazilian border, many fear the same. We must change our delivery routes and cultivation locations.”

  Under his calm exterior, Morales’ blood boiled; he rose and proceeded to the exit, leaving Luis where he sat. “Have the helicopter ready and … as much as it may pain you to do so—dispose of Pilar before my return. After one last fuck, I do not think she will be able to please me again.”

  “Pilar?”

  “After you have your fill, of course. You continue to have my permission.”

  “Thank you, Señor Morales. She is quite lovely.”

  “And willing.” For such an unattractive man as you. “I will expect your immediate return to the family as planned. The children will be happy to see you for your godson’s birthday.”

  9

  Between Here and There

  Morning, August 29

  Maryland

  “How long do you think he’ll be staying with us?” Jane whispered to Charlie across the galley table over breakfast. Not that Dave could hear them from the shower on the opposite side of the houseboat, but still.

  Looking so adorable with his blond locks sticking up on end, he shrugged both shoulders without a glance up from the newspaper spread out on the table. He’d been so serious since Darcy’s death and more than one student at the dance school had mentioned it. He was different, but she understood.

  “It’s … a bit weird, don’t you think?” she continued.

  Now he shrugged his left shoulder while shoveling cereal into his mouth with his right hand. “Not that I’m complaining … because he looks so damned hot in the morning, but it’s close quarters in the houseboat, and he is sorta cramping our style—if you know what I mean, babe.”

  Finally, he dropped the spoon and guzzled his coffee.

  “Did he say how long he intends on staying?”

  “Jane, I don’t know and it’s not like I can ask him to leave. If he’s so damned hot, why are you complaining?”

  “Boy, you’re testy lately. Are you jealous?”

  “Do you want me to be?”

  Now it was she who shrugged and went back to eating her cereal.

  “Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I don’t like the way you lick your lips when he walks into the room.”

  “They’re very chapped,” she lied with a mouthful of Lucky Charms, and he just chuckled sardonically.

  “Aw, don’t be jealous, teddy bear. You’re the only one I’m interested in; you know that. It’s just that it’s been over two weeks since his arrival. Isn’t it time to go yet?” she whined, employing her cutesy baby voice while rubbing his privates with her bare foot under the table. “And I miss you … like tons and so not enjoying sex at the dance school just to avoid him hearing us here on the boat,” she added massaging him some more.

  “Fine. He did say something,” he finally admitted, succumbing to her foot rub, just as she knew he would. Persistence always paid off when it came to her man and “Big Chaz.”

  “He’s hanging around for your sister’s return from North Carolina so he can ask her to dinner.”

  She dropped the spoon along with her chin. “No way!”

  “Are you jealous?” he laughingly asked.

  “Of course not … I mean, under any other dramatically different circumstances I’d think Lizzy scored big time. ’Cause even you can’t deny that he is one My. T. Fine bronco-busting, bareback riding cowboy, but Darcy has only been dead for, like, less than a month. I admit, I’m not the sharpest tool in the box, but is he an idiot? Even I know that’s wrong on so many levels. You need to talk him out of it. She’s way too raw, totally not ready to enter the dating world.” But maybe he doesn’t want to date. Hmm … maybe it’s just sexual?

  “Yeah it is still too raw—for all of us,” he dourly agreed, rising from the banquette.

  “Did he talk to you about her? What did he say? How interested is he? Just a casual hook up or is he wanting more?”

  “I don’t know. Guys don’t talk about that shit, and I’m not gonna ask. If he wants to crash and burn, that’s totally his problem. If she wants to burn off some tension, then that’s her decision. Don’t get involved.”<
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  She held the empty cereal bowl out to him and shrugged. “I guess, but it would be good to know what his intentions were. Maybe I should warn her.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya’—don’t get involved, Jane.

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Look, Rick is sending me to Central Asia tomorrow for recon, so … behave while I’m gone.”

  “You know I will.”

  He replied with a cock to his eyebrow.

  Just then a shirtless Dave came to the galley door. Rivulets of water trickled down from his dark wavy, wet hair to his muscular pecs, eliciting a lip lick and her stare to the single bead clinging to his nipple. Oh, Lord, if Lizzy did hook-up with him then, wowza, she would be one damn lucky girl. Even if she just used him for sex so she could get Darcy out of her mind for a short time. Sex didn’t have to accompany feelings, just horniness. A good screw, wearing a cowboy hat, could just be hot and fun without all those messy emotions. That treasure trail of hair was way to appealing for her sister to pass up on.

  “Did I hear you say you’re headed outta town, Crash?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be back next Tuesday.”

  “Then, I better get my things and be on my way, find myself a hotel. It wouldn’t be proper, me stayin’ here alone with your girl.”

  “You could stay, Dave!” she blurted a little too forcefully. “I mean … don’t leave on my account. I’ll go hang out in my Georgetown loft until Liz’s return.”

  “I heard she was comin’ back to Washington soon.”

  “She’ll be back home on Friday, which I think will be good for her. Although I haven’t heard from her since the funeral, I have no doubt that she’s a mess—grieving, you know. She needs a support system, maybe some late-night drunk fests with her sister.”

  “Her grief is understandable, but some folks heal better on their own.”

  “I can see that. She loved her husband soooo much. But I know Liz—without sisterly intercession, it could be years of despair and crying. Trust me, she’ll never get over him that way. They were soulmates, you know.”

  “If you don’t mind me sayin’, maybe she just needs a little distraction to go on with her life.” Dave stated.

  His expression darkened like he understood that kind of grief and then walked to the coffee pot. As he poured himself a cup, she admired his rough looking, working hands, and as much as she fought the urge, her appreciation traveled downward over the well-developed sinews of Dave’s back to his tight bottom and how his worn blue jeans hung at his hips. Turning, he leaned against the counter; his hairless chest and those vivid blue eyes nearly held her captive, but she forced herself to tear her gaze away and looked at Charlie, her man. Yum. Her tongue took a long swipe over her top lip where it lingered. She’d find it hard to get over him, too.

  “Well, I guess I agree with you there,” she said. “Liz does have her whole life ahead, and Darcy would want her to live it. It’s going to take a lot of time though,” she admitted. Hmmm … but perhaps an uncomplicated roll in the hay could be good for her. I’ll have to inquire.

  “Were you ever married, Dave?”

  From the corner of her eye she saw Charlie’s caution with a shake to his head and then a grimace when the man in question answered.

  “Never got that far, but close. Any way … you just let me know if you think it best if I move on out to a hotel. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  Charlie slapped his friend’s back. “Stay here, as long as you like. Jane’ll move back down to DC and be there for her sister’s arrival. Who knows, maybe she’ll pave the way to convincing Liz to move on.”

  ***

  Washington, DC

  At nine in the morning, Liz waited on the park bench butting the picture window of the Bingley Dance School. Exhausted, she fought the pull of her eyes and fixed them to the city traffic chugging along. While it was a good distraction from nodding off, the noise and the people were too much; she suddenly felt confined, missing life at Pemberley and wishing that she’d ridden the SuperLow back to Washington.

  She hadn’t been to Bingley Dance School in ages, but following her visit with the Darcy family lawyer she had questions that needed answers. Unbeknownst to anyone other than Dixon (and the lawyer), she’d been in DC for a week staying at a luxury hotel near the National Mall. No one needed to know that she’d come home early because frankly, she couldn’t bear to hear the “you should …” “why don’t you …” “if I were you …” well-meaning but meaningless suggestions on how to recover from the unrecoverable, how to move on when she didn’t want to. Why bother getting back to living, when—without Fitzwilliam—there was no living.

  Apart from the hunter’s cabin, Black Mountain had only unhappy memories for her. After a week-long cry-fest with her sister-in-law at the farmhouse, she did manage to leave with a measure of peace in that both Hank and Adam would be staying on with the Reynoldses. She and Gigi agreed to wait until both felt strong enough to discuss selling the place. In the interim, Gus would teach the boys the horse trade and everything would go on as before. Nick left for home in New York City and that broke her heart, but his life had been Fitzwilliam’s life—sort of a symbiotic relationship that no longer existed. She’d miss him, but his teenage girls were likely overjoyed for his return.

  As for Dixon, he’d never left her back, side, or front! But today, she was (finally, technically) on her own, free of his constant shadow as if she were a Hollywood A-Lister. Oh, he insisted on coming along, but even with everything that happened, Obsidian’s identity needed to be kept secret, and there was the real possibility that she was under surveillance or danger. On the surface, she won the standoff with Dixon by promising him Maryland crabs and that she’d be extra aware of her surroundings. Yes, she was aware. So aware (as Fitzwilliam had taught her) that she knew Dixon was in the coffee shop across the street watching her and the raven-haired waitress. Poor guy could be living life and not remain tethered to her. Resisting the urge to wave at him, she instead toyed with her snake necklace—which she had received in Asheville the day before she left.

  Gone were her blue jeans and leather apparel, replaced by summer sundresses now that she wasn’t on the back of the bike and at home. Home?

  Dropping her hand from her neck, she balled a fist, opening and closing it, just as Fitzwilliam had always done. It proved to be a great stress reliever, so much more effective than tapping her fingers against her thigh. What is home? She was just a hopeless drifter now: no home, no purpose. Neither a wife, teacher, nor mother—just a widow—a ridiculously wealthy widow. And here came the inopportune tidal wave of grief, as it sometimes did from just a thought or action. Tears welled. He was my home! He was my purpose!

  “Liz? Is that you?” Caroline’s voice snapped her from her forthcoming breakdown. Her inquiry had almost a pleasing sound to it, like she was happy to see her, which was unexpected. To the best of her recollection, their good-bye following the funeral luncheon had been strained. Glancing up, she admired the woman’s shining tresses falling around her shoulders. Backlit by the sun, Caroline was stunning and, for a second, a pang of sorrow pierced her heart. No doubt, Fitzwilliam had once enjoyed those copper locks falling around him. A man like him is had been worthy of such a beautiful, talented woman—certainly not a boring teacher who hadn’t a thing going for her. It was uncomfortable and upsetting to think of her husband’s former lovers now that he was dead.

  Oh, would she ever stop using present tense when words such as “Had been, “former” “had once” were more accurate? Probably not. She’d always think of Fitzwilliam in the here and now because he was with her in spirit.

  “Hi Caroline,” she sighed, forcing a polite smile.

  “I’m surprised to see you. I just assumed you’d be staying on in the mountains.”

  “No. There’s nothing there for me.”

  Caroline removed the establishment’s keys and unlocked the door. “Well, come on in and we’ll catch up. Are you doing okay?�
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  “Not really.”

  The woman in front of her clearly had to be the spitting cobra’s doppelganger, because there was no way that the Caroline she knew could be this kind and inviting in both manner and body language.

  After re-locking the door, her perfectly manicured, red talons pressed the key code to turn off the security alarm and then she flipped the lights.

  “The studio looks so pretty. It’s been a long time since my dance lesson.”

  “Yes! I recall it was for your wedding first dance.”

  “Instead, I met Iceman.”

  Walking to the office, Caroline smiled wistfully. “Lucky girl.”

  “Yes, very lucky.” She tightened a fist. “I … um … I’m actually here to talk to Rick. Is he around this morning?”

  “Probably. He’s been cooped down in his office since the funeral. We hardly even discuss business … apart from him sending up his little Yorkie to relay information and nip at my heels.”

  “Do you mean Sarah? If so, she’s from London, not Yorkshire; the accents are entirely different.”

  “The inference is there. He sends that Brit up to my studio just to annoy me. Really … tea in Washington? This is a coffee town.”

  Nope, this was definitely Caroline.

  “Lately, I’ve been enjoying chai, and I always considered The District quite international.”

  The woman didn’t reply, but rotated her head with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. She appeared to be on the verge of a quip, but it died on her mouth before execution. Perhaps widowhood had some benefits.

  “The office window is gone.”

  “Yes, Darcy hooked us up with his construction team and voilà, we now have a fireproof SCIF, just like the one that saved your life.”

  “I see. I hope you never need to use it. It was a frightening experience that I’ll never forget.” That explosion is the reason Fitzwilliam is dead. I sent him to his grave.