In Good Conscience

by Gardiner, Cat

  “This coming from the man who made his ‘Lizzy-bear’ a doormat housekeeper and tried to sell her like chattel into marriage with a gay man just so you could save your precious Bennet heritage. She had dreams of children and you had no qualms about taking that away from her as long as Longbourn could survive.”

  “I was wrong. I was ill, and I’m going to make it up to her.”

  “Oh, please, Bennet … save the bullshit excuses and stop trying to posture yourself as a man of character now—not to me. I know who you are and what drives your conscience. I’ve lived the past year healing the wounds you inflicted on my wife’s psyche, which did more harm than those exacted by the abandonment of that woman in there.”

  “And now you have added to them. Is that the mark of a noble character or a loving husband? Those dreams of a child, where are they now?”

  “They’re in the secure future I’m paving for us.” He laughed derisively, shaking his head. “Don’t lecture me about how to be a loving husband, you sanctimonious hypocrite. This was the most difficult decision I have ever had to make. To risk losing her forever, just to keep her safe. If I’m dead, she remains alive; it’s as simple as that and I don’t owe you any further explanation. It’s between my wife and me—our private world doesn’t include your opinion or censure.”

  “Tommy?” Frances called from the hallway.

  “I’ll be right there, sweetie,” he called back, walking to the door. “Just sorting through the pile of magazines.”

  “Okay, honeybun. I’ll be outside waiting. Don’t be long.”

  He turned back to face his son-in-law, his brow knit. “Why are you here?”

  “Because you have skills that I need—and you owe me.”

  And there it was. He knew that the two million dollar Longbourn Plantation Trust came with strings. A shrewd man like Fitzwilliam Darcy was calling in his marker.

  Holding up a piece of paper, Darcy said, “Since you have continued your relationship with Obsidian and acquired access to a satellite, you’re in a unique situation to assist me. You also happen to be the only computer genius and hacker I know. Here is what I need to get this nightmare over and done with in under ten days.”

  He laughed. “You want my help to keep deceiving my daughter?”

  “No. I want your help in keeping her safe, and that comes by getting me vital information of Morales’s operation and his transport routes from the dark web.”

  The sheet of paper crossed hands and he perused the demands. “And if I don’t help you?”

  “Then Liz and Jane will discover that you’ve been hiding a houseguest … for how long?”

  “Five weeks.”

  “Hmm. That won’t go over well, I assure you.”

  “I suppose it’ll go as well as finding out her husband is still alive.” Take that!

  Darcy grunted. “Further, I’ll tip off the feds that you’re unlawfully violating your sentence by tampering with your GPS. But don’t worry, they’ll allow conjugal visits in federal prison.”

  Looking away, he knew Fitzwilliam meant what he said.

  “Since you’ve already used my money to restore your most prized possession, I expect payment in return, which includes your confidentiality.”

  He felt small and trapped, and returned to the chair, sitting with a thud and the instructions in hand. His fingers raked through his hair as he read the fine penmanship. “Drug ratlines, weapons trading, the cartel’s communiqué … this isn’t going to be easy to infiltrate.”

  “I don’t care how you do—just do it.”

  “You’ll need a lot more than what’s on this list to pull off your plan. I’ll need to establish a back channel to coordinate and share intel with you in a secure chat room. You’ll need a satellite phone. This’ll take time.”

  “You have less than two weeks before all hell breaks loose with my target in Panama.”

  “At the very least, we’ll need a Tor—and Onion Router—to remain untraceable.”

  “Look. You’re the computer geek. I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care. Just …” he sighed and softened his tone. “Just, please do it.”

  “And who is this person whose identity you want me to use as a sock puppet?”

  “He’s the assassin who blew up Pemberley.”

  “My God! Did you kill him?”

  His son-in-law leaned against the desk and folded his arms. “No, but one of my security team paid him a visit and convinced him to permanently leave the business. Let’s just say, he gave up names and information networks in exchange for his life and enough money to last a lifetime. It’s all there on that piece of paper.”

  “You paid off the man who destroyed your ancestral estate? Impossible!”

  “Again, there’s the difference between you and me. Liz is more important than a few buildings. She’s more valuable than every penny of the Darcy wealth or lineage.”

  “How ever did you find him?”

  “The Leesburg crime lab. We got to him before they did and now they have no record that he ever existed.”

  “You’re so sure I won’t turn you and your hired-thugs in?”

  “I’m dead, remember? You’re not. And you wouldn’t have the guts to face the repercussions of messing with my security team.”

  He glanced back down at the paper. “What is this El Negro’s part in all this?”

  “A South American cartel attempting to destroy Morales. They are our scapegoat in the destruction.”

  So much to take in. How would he keep a straight face tonight when discussing “the late Mr. Darcy” with Frannie?

  “And tomorrow is your funeral. What do I say to Lizzy?”

  “Be your loving, supportive self … Dad. Oh, and one last thing. More than likely, she’ll be wearing the diamond necklace I bought her, but I tampered with the clasp. I’d like for you to fix it and while you’re at it, find a way to transmit its comms to the phone you and I will communicate through.”

  “Acoustic signatures,” he said defeated. “It hears and collects sound emitters from microphones and mobile phones, even satellites, all over the world—24/7.”

  “Good. Because I’ll be all over the world over the next week or so and I’ll be relying on you to keep me motivated.”

  “You … you’re going to spy on her?”

  “No. I’m going to listen to my wife’s dulcet voice because I miss her so damn much, and she’s the only reason for attempting to pull this off.”

  “Will you be there tomorrow—at the funeral?”

  “Let me be clear—laying low and staying away from her these last two weeks hasn’t been easy, but I’ll be there, rifle-ready, because Morales’s thugs will be there as well, making sure that the grieving widow is, in fact, grieving and that I am, in fact, six feet under.”

  “Good! Then you’ll see what you’ve done to her. Maybe your conscience will kick in and you’ll end this charade.”

  “My conscience is fine … how is yours, honeybun?” He raised an eyebrow.

  A long breath left his mouth and he looked up at the former SEAL. “If I do this, then I want your word that you’ll make this right, that you won’t let it go on too long. I’m worried about her mental state.”

  Darcy pulled the curtain back and opened the window before answering. When he turned back around, his face was dark and impenetrable. “The only person I give my word to is my wife, and I gave it to her before I left on this mission. I will be coming home to her, and it’s only a matter of days before she realizes every carefully planned action and word I said to her.”

  The icy edge in his son-in-law’s voice frightened him, causing him to stammer. “How ... how will I reach you?”

  “The address where to ship the phone is there in the instructions. After tomorrow’s service, I’m leaving for Panama and relying on you to get me the information and equipment I need.”

  “Fitzwilliam, not that it’s any of your business, but Frances and I have forgiven each other. She’s
here because she has cancer and wants to make amends with the girls. I’m going to take care of her while she gets medical care. We’ve all made mistakes, and well, it’s important that she apologizes and explain to them what really happened.” This was his opportunity toward redemption; she had no one to turn to in England.

  His son-in-law said nothing beyond narrowing his eyes. With one leg out the open window, Darcy’s retreating body halted when they heard the knocking upon the door. “Tommy, are you all right?”

  “Don’t disappoint me, Bennet. And the quicker you tell Liz about her mother, the better it will be for all of you.”

  “And I’d give you the same advice.”

  “Keep in touch—or else,” Darcy said before disappearing into the night.

  The door opened, and Frances stepped into the library. She looked at the open window and noting the blowing curtain turned to face him. “Was someone here? I heard voices?”

  “Just a ghost,” he replied running his shaking hand through his hair.

  In the past, she would have been annoyed by his proclamation, but this matured, dying Frances just threw back her head and laughed. “One of your dead ancestors I presume?”

  That was over a week ago, and everything was underway just as Darcy had meticulously planned. Within two days, the updated encrypted satellite telephone as well as other “doo-dads” he thought would be useful had been overnighted to a Mr. John Thornton at a postal address in Panama City, and a second package was on its way.

  In truth, these efforts for his son-in-law had kept him from obsessing over how to tell his daughters that Frances had come home; he went right to work the day after Darcy had broken into his library. Just thinking about the expected confrontation between mother and daughters had caused him enough stress that he had to take an anxiety pill!

  He had hacked into the cartel’s communication network where Diablo’s lieutenant instructed the soldiers over the dark web. He didn’t need to create a sock puppet in order to circumvent a footprint back to the United States. Instead, through ghost IPs, he employed one of the CIA’s hacking software programs that—if explored in depth—would appear as though an Argentine entity had infiltrated their server. This would send La Muerta Mundial on a wild goose chase, distracting them with thoughts of El Negro’s impending drug war.

  Morales was planning an all-out death match, and as much as Bennet hated deceiving his daughters, he found it entirely intriguing to watch— in real-time!—how the drug lord daily changed his transportation routes of narcotic convoys all over the world. Darcy would need to be Superman to keep up with the many trafficking channels. This was phase one. Phase two was to deplete the man’s liquid assets right out from under his nose—that required access to the twelve banks where he hid his money all over the world. Slowly, every pound, dollar, euro, bolívar, and peso would find their way, as donations, into worthy NGOs that fought the very crimes he committed. Phase three was the end of the road for this Morales character—if they could find his home base.

  He rubbed his hands together, his mind slipping to greedy thoughts of siphoning some—just a little, of course—of the money for himself, for Frances’s medical expenses, for living expenses now that restoration on the Plantation had used most of the Trust money. Obsidian money seemed to be drying up following Darcy’s death. As quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he banished it, recalling the dirty “easy money” that got him arrested in the first place. He’d hold to his word to turn over a new leaf—one of honor and integrity, one of service, not selfishness. Drug money was as evil as Al-Hanash’s terrorist money; accepting any of it was the last stop in perdition. That wasn’t the legacy he wanted to leave to his daughters.

  Through the glass he watched Frances excitedly walk across the lawn toward the greenhouse. Today was a good day for her; her pain seemed to have lessened and she’d eaten a good breakfast. Her short hair, spiked with a little styling gel, made her look like the hip young girl he fell in love with in the early 80s. With a cheerful smile, she waved to him. “The phone rang, but I didn’t answer it,” she said.

  “Did they leave a message?”

  “Yes. It was Lizzy; she’s coming by the day after tomorrow! Oh, Tommy—there’s so much to do and so little time. I need to go food shopping, arrange lunch, buy her flowers, get my hair done.”

  “Would you like me to call Janie and invite her, too?”

  “Be a dear! Yes! Just like old times. Oooo, I’m so nervous but so excited!”

  He smiled from the depth of his soul; he hadn’t seen her have this much energy since her arrival. Perhaps they could be a family again.

  11

  Scorned Woman

  Late Afternoon, August 29

  Panama

  “Señor Thornton, you have a letter and a package,” alerted the desk clerk at the weekly rental hostel. He spoke to Darcy in Spanish with a knowing smile. A trusted asset from his first visit to Panama four years earlier, the man was one of only two who knew that the former SEAL was visiting the capital city on spurious reasons, but the clerk/informant didn’t care. He wasn’t paid in cryptocurrency to care—only to provide information and whatever else he needed. He retrieved an envelope from the small slats along the wall, then bent to remove the package from under the counter.

  “Thank you, friend,” Darcy replied with a well-practiced English accent, tucking the letter into his cargo short pocket.

  He gripped the parcel (addressed in Bennet’s distinctive handwriting), turned away from the desk clerk, and climbed the stairs two at a time up to his lousy accommodations on the second floor. This hostel was the type of place where no one had an identity. Either that or they wanted no one to remember who they were. Not one guest cared that the rooms were no more than an old bed and nasty bathroom. Here, John Thornton—a cover identity that he used often with Lucy Steele in his early days with Obsidian—was just another strung-out druggie, another criminal in hiding, another homeless drifter, another gambler who’d lost everything. For God’s sake, he looked the part right down to his dirty fingernails and month-old scraggly beard.

  In his vigilance to remain undetected for a few weeks following his death, this flea bag hotel had hardly become a home away from home, but Panama itself, was an amenable destination in which to spend his time. Just as he recalled, it was an interesting mixture of international business and cosmopolitan nightlife, yet managed to maintain its exotic island-like charm. The food was incredible, and the people were friendly. Liz would have liked it. And in better times, when this part of their life was long behind them, he’d bring her back here.

  He opened the door just a crack and peered in before entering. Bone tired from ten consecutive, two-mile winding jogs to the summit of Ancon Hill, he stretched out on the unmade bed; the springs groaned and squeaked under his weight. Liz would cringe if she saw how he was living. Sure, he could have stayed in high priced, classy digs, but that would have been counterproductive, drawing too much attention to himself.

  Where is she now? Where is she living? Are the guys taking care of her? He hoped she was staying with Jane—or better yet, that she had decided to remain in Asheville to be near the horses and their little love shack. That would be the safest, best-case scenario, and he grew cold at the thought of her as the desperately lonely widow (something he hated to have done to her), returning to Longbourn to take care of both those selfish assholes! She had enough money to go anywhere her heart desired and, rest assured, he’d find her when this was over. But until then, he would not ask his father-in-law. He ached for news of her, even just a photograph, but resisted using the code Bennet provided to access the necklace comms transmitting 24/7 to the satellite phone. In his heart of hearts (and Bennet had successfully added to the guilt), he knew that would be considered spying on her, invading her privacy. That part of his plan—meant to lessen his worry for her—didn’t sit well with his conscience. And many nights in this shithole, he lay there, tempted … just to hear her breathing while she slept.<
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  And what the fuck had his death done to Georgiana? Thank God she had Justin. But she’d be safe now that her assassin brother was six feet under, and that was all that mattered.

  He pulled the envelope from his pocket and flipped it over in his hands. His mind drifted, as it frequently did, to his trip back to Leesburg nine days ago.

  Since the evening of his narrow and well-planned escape from Hungry Bay, time had passed torturously slow. The only satisfying highlight, which had sent him on another bender with Jack, had been observing his wife from three hundred yards across the headstones. The more things changed, the more they’d stayed the same. Never had he imagined that he’d once again admire her beauty, be moved to such emotion through a rifle scope. His heart ached, his guilt rose, but keeping sentry over her that day was necessary. Maybe I should have told her my plan. No, she would have insisted on coming with him, and he couldn’t successfully do this last mission with her by his side. His life was expendable; hers was not. Would she have agreed to stay hidden in North Carolina if he had told her? Again, his gut knew she would not have been safe, not have taken every precaution to remain hidden—no matter what Dixon or Higgins said or did. After a week up there, she had been going stir crazy—wanting to go shopping, wanting her sister to visit. He had the advantage of living a stealth life for many years; she had not. As for faking death and causing her grief … for that he was guilty as charged. But her tears would throw off the enemy; she would not have been able to fool a man such as Morales otherwise.

  As it was, the funeral had exposed two unfamiliar faces among the mourners, but he mistrusted the male, believing he had “other” designs on Liz. It was all over that guy’s face and it upset him, watching how he watched her through the assembled crowd of mourners.

  Suitors immediately coming out of the woodwork for her affections weren’t something he’d planned for in his absence. Her grief and the guy’s lingering to talk with her at the end of the service was too much to witness and he was thankful to leave for Panama in 36 hours. In time, he’d get up the nerve to ask Bennet who that man was, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was Charlie’s friend, Wentworth.