“It was August 4th, and his wife is really struggling. That’s sorta why I’m calling. I’m not gonna beat around the bush, but I need some information regarding the ballistics found at the estate following the explosions in July. The Department’s forensic chief informed me that everything is gone, wiped clean from the server, evidence stolen and that the whole investigation has been shut down. I’m not buying it. I need answers and justice on behalf of Darcy’s wife, you understand. The guy who did this shouldn’t get away with attempted murder. In fact, this could be a real case for you to break—get you away from writing tickets.”
Silence again.
“Can you help an old friend out, make some inquiries for me?”
The tone in his voice had changed, lowering and turning serious. “I already helped an old friend out.”
“What do you mean?”
“This case. It’s been taken care of out of state—closed up in Morgantown, West Virginia.”
West Virginia! Holy fuck.
“Who closed the case?”
“Technically, a friend of our mutual old friend who recently died in a diving accident in Bermuda.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. Together, we made the problem go away. Tell Mrs. Darcy justice has been served.”
Served? By her husband … “Oh, shit. Did he smoke him?”
“No, just put him out of business. Call it a mercy for a wayward kid.”
“Wayward, my ass. He was an assassin for one of the most notorious cartel kingpins. The ashes of Pemberley are still smoldering.”
“I don’t know anything about assassins or cartels. We only deal with small time drug busts around here.”
“Hmm. Do you realize the trouble you can be in for this? How the fuck could my cousin ask you to do what you’re implying?”
“He didn’t. I offered. All he said was that he wasn’t pressing charges, that he had no interest in the arsonist going to prison for the destruction of Pemberley and that he had other plans for him if only he could find him. This is Darcy we’re talking about. I knew exactly what he was asking, without his actually asking. He’s very persuasive in his silence.”
“Let me guess, this was your payback for some ass-saving he did on your behalf.”
“That’s right. I owed him big time.”
He sighed. “So you put your entire career at risk? Foolish, man … foolish.”
“Not foolish. Loyal. And I also know that if shit fell on me, he’d have my six. Isn’t that what you military guys say?”
“Yeah. You are right about him.”
Damn. Who didn’t owe Darcy something? For a man who hated snakes, he always managed to save them, charm them, and then … use their venom to his advantage at a later date. And if he couldn’t use them—he’d destroy them under his boot.
“If you don’t mind me asking—is that how you can afford two horses and the taxes on your grandparents’ 150-acre estate on a detective’s salary? Darcy paid you off to make the case go away.”
“No comment.”
Yeah … I’d say you’ve changed. Just goes to show that money talks, and that there was more to the story of the hows and whys Darcy moved it around. Had he paid the kid off in Morgantown to tap his resources? Why was the money really moved to Panama?
“Let it go, Rick.”
Darcy had said the same words to him the night before they left for Bermuda. Unfortunately, having been too focused on laying out the op, he missed a very-telling reference that his cousin inadvertently revealed: “stupid kid.” So that’s how his cousin knew he was a kid? And what will said wayward “kid” owe Darcy in exchange for his clemency, for his life?
“Are you going after him?” Rick asked.
“He’s no longer worth Obsidian’s focus.”
“I disagree. His mission for Morales may not be complete. After all, you are still alive.”
“I wasn’t meant to be the target. Diablo’s picking off all of you, one by one, to get my attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he, again, looked at the photograph of the assassin who tried to kill Liz. “I don’t think we’ll see him again.”
Rick bitterly laughed. “Iceman is so confident.”
“On this … yes I am. He’s just a stupid kid who got charmed by the money that comes with the life of a hired gun. Let it go.”
He removed the image from the tack board and handed it to his cousin. “I already deep-sixed this, you should, too.”
“Thanks for telling me, Jimmy. Say, I’d like to keep in touch?”
“Sure, I’d like that, too. Don’t be a stranger, old friend—and I’m real sorry about Darcy’s death. He was one of the good guys.”
“Yes he was. Take care.” Rick hung up and that strategic military warrior Sun Tzu spoke in the back of his mind, unnerving, niggling words: “It is essential to seek out enemy agents who have come to conduct espionage against you and to bribe them to serve you. Give them instructions and care for them. Thus, doubled agents are recruited and used.”
“All warfare is based on deception.”
Deception. Could it be that everything had been a clever deception? Even Bermuda? He wouldn’t put it past his cousin. He, himself, had stated there was nothing Darcy wouldn’t do to protect Liz. Would he have gone so far to … to … fake his death?
As Sarah would say, “Absobloodylutely.”
***
“Hey, boo. I’m home.”
“Hey. Did you have a nice time?” Charlie robotically replied, his gaze fixed on his laptop screen. His eyes were tired and his mind raced, pulling him in a million emotional directions, from anger to understanding, to disappointment, and to absolute astonishment. Running his hand through his hair, he added “I’m in my cave,” his eyes falling to the stack of seven—not eight—passports that Rick had given him this afternoon. The flight activity of number eight—a British one —was right there on his computer monitor facing him.
Above the head-banging music playing, he could hear cabinets opening and closing in their stateroom, and Jane said something about Wentworth. However, he couldn’t focus on her right now, not that he didn’t want to, but shock was gripping him by the balls.
“Hmm, right,” he replied, not even sure if that was the correct answer.
“Are you listening to me?” she huffed, sliding back the pocket door to his Grateful Dead über-fan sanctuary.
Finally, he leaned back in his chair, mindfully shaking his annoyance away when she smiled at him. That feminine pink dress and the way her shining tresses fell around her cheeks as she looked down at him touched his heart, lightening his mood. Whenever Janie walked into a room, she brought rays of sunshine with her. She’d had that effect on him from the first time he saw her at the dance school 18 months ago.
“Is everything okay, Charlie?”
“Sure. I’m sorry; I’m just trying to get my shit together before Istanbul.” He flipped over the legal-sized pad he had been jotting notes on and then turned off the music, giving her as much attention as he could muster.
“I forgot you were leaving tomorrow,” she said dejectedly. She walked to him and bent down, depositing a soft kiss to his lips. “Damn, I needed that. I missed you.”
“Did you?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
That little bit of snark from her tipped him off that either the visit to Longbourn for lunch hadn’t gone well or it was something else—maybe him, maybe something happened with Wentworth—something he didn’t even want to think about but he had to test the waters. “By the way, our houseguest cut-out this morning. He’s headed back to Tennessee.” He waited, examining her expression for any slight change.
But she just nodded, walking around the tight space, mindlessly touching things. Now that his anger over his project findings was temporarily checked, fear rose in its place. Was she upset with him? She was acting like a woman about to kick his ass to the curb, and yes, that did frighten him. Th
ey’d been “off” since Darcy’s death, and she had been distracted by Wentworth’s six pack abs, but that was nothing new. At the same time, she had been patient and understanding of his grief and guilt. The onus was solely on him; he needed to get back on his game both at home and at the dance school. He vowed that he would get their relationship on track when he returned from Operation Zeybek.
Forcing his unexpected research project to the back of his mind, he gave her all his attention, even if he didn’t want to hear her say “I’m calling us quits.”
“Why don’t you cop a squat and we’ll talk about what’s gotten you so upset. I’ll make us a couple of Long Island Ice Teas to get you through it.”
“No booze.”
“Okay, shoot. What’s up?”
“She’s back.”
“Liz came home early?”
“Yes. She’s home but that’s not who I’m talking about.” Standing over him, she put a hand on her hip and shook her head, then looked away from his confused expression. She ran her other hand down her face then looked back at him, holding his gaze, her blue eyes on fire. Oh boy … here it comes. He braced himself for what was about to unleash on him when those pretty pouty pink lips of hers curled. Finally, after what felt like forever, she emitted a groan of absolute disdain, “My mother has returned.”
He let out an audible sigh of relief. “Ho-ly crap. For reelz? Your mom?”
“Yyyup.”
“Whoa.”
She sat with a plop onto the sofa, looking about to cry. In truth, this announcement was much easier for him to hear, and while he felt bad for her, he was damned glad he wasn’t the reason for their needed “talk” and breathed another sigh of relief. After today’s discovery from those passports, he didn’t think he could handle anything more.
“Remind me to never again take an unnecessary day off from the museum. Unless it’s for Obsidian, I’m not doin it, nuh-uh. No one messes with my mojo there.”
He rose, crossed the two feet separating them and sat beside her, sliding his arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe. Where was she?”
“England. She’s a chef for some Michelin-rated restaurant in London.”
“Did she say why she bailed on you?”
“Dad and some guy. She cheated and split.”
Wow …
Resting her head on his shoulder, she sighed. “I’m so confused. Until today, I didn’t realize just how angry I’ve been at my mother for leaving. I mean, all along I knew I was blowing it off as not such a big deal, when it really was, trying not to upset Liz, but today I thought I’d be the forgiving one. Instead it seems to be my sister who’s the forgiving one.”
“Maybe it’s because of what she’s been going through. Maybe she needs her mother even after all these years.”
“Or maybe she’s just numb. I don’t know. I realized over lunch that I’m not ready to let go of my mother’s psychological beat-down of us even if she said she wanted to take us with her.”
“Why didn’t she?”
“Dad pulled his usual manipulative bull crap. Lied to us and her. Damn, I’m so over him. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it tonight. I’m sorta mentally burned out. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Whatever you need, my shoulder’s here even if it’s over the phone from Turkey.”
“Right, Obsidian business.” Again, she sighed. “Liz is splitting on me tomorrow, too.”
He ignored the “too” part. “What do you mean?”
“She’s leaving in the morning for North Carolina, something about visiting all the places she and Fitzwilliam wanted to go.”
“Is Dixon going with her?”
“No. She let him go.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Should he tell her what he might have stumbled upon? Should he tell Rick? What the ever-loving fuck should he do? He squeezed her shoulders, pulling his girl in closer to him and kissed her head. “Can I make you some of that chamomile Zen tea you like so much?”
On his lap, her fingers wrapped around his and she sighed again. “No thanks. I’ll deal with it. It’s just, I don’t know … everything is changing. I want it to go back to how it was after we came back from Operation Cancan. We were all so happy then.”
“I hear ya’. Lately, I’ve been feeling the same way. Change is in the air, and Darcy’s death ushered it in. I’m not sure about a lot of things now.”
“Oh?”
“Not us—Obsidian.”
“Thank goodness.”
“And the sad part about it is that I’m also learning that not everything is as it appears, even with evidence. The devil is in the details we often miss, or maybe ignore.”
“What do you mean?”
“Take your mother for example. You thought she didn’t want you and Liz, but that was only your assumption because the evidence said so.”
“My father’s implication—and deeds—being the evidence provided to us.”
“Exactly my point. Planted evidence. Under the cloud of mourning, it can hide a multitude of obvious hints to the truth. You and your sister were blind-sided and all your deductive reasoning fell to the wayside in shock. It’s more common than you realize.”
They sat there for a couple of minutes in silence, he toying with the hair at the side of her head and she snuggling beside him. No doubt she was searching her mind for all those moments she’d hidden away that had indicated her mother’s love. For him, he was considering all the convenient evidence Darcy had left for them within Hungry Bay—without even a body to dispute or confirm them! That long walk he took the night they arrived in Bermuda … had it been to plant the evidence? There was only one way to tell: revisit the cam footage from the night of the dive.
Jane broke their silence with an open clarity that came from nowhere and utterly shocked him. “I love you, Charlie.”
Swallowing hard, he replied, “I love you, too Janie.”
“I know you do, and I’m glad Dave is gone.”
“Are you really?”
“Yeah. I really am.”
“Then can I ask you something?”
She looked up, searching his face. “Sure.”
“Are you gonna bolt for some other guy? Do I have to worry about every wet-worth who comes along?”
“Never. I’m not my mother. You’re the only guy, Charlie … and truth be told, my days of splitting when things get complicated are over. Things’ll work out for us. I know it.”
A beaming smile broke out in his heart and on his face. With it, he put to bed—for the night—all thoughts of John Thornton (aka Fitzwilliam Darcy) currently landing in Bolivia after visiting Panama, Virginia, and having departed from Bermuda four days after his death (as confirmed by the UK Home Office’s HM Passport Office and private and commercial flight manifests.) Thanks to said databases, he now knew that after Bolivia, Iceman was booked on a cargo flight to Peru.
Damn you, Darcy. Liz is gonna fry your ass after I get through with you.
He’d address this “non-dead issue” tomorrow on the long flight to Istanbul. Jane needed him tonight—all of him.
17
Dragon’s Fire
September 2
North Carolina
Liz hated weepy good-byes. Having endured several of those with Fitzwilliam in the course of their relationship, it had been the reason she’d insisted they part ways on the motorcycles before he left for Operation Gombey. Yesterday’s departure from Longbourn had been easy: not a tear in sight. Brought on by the knowledge that her mother had sent the Lady’s Slipper orchid to her from England—and because she really liked the prized flower—she did sort of promise to return to see her mother (definitely not her father). The jury was still out on her decision to get to know her mother better—and search her heart for forgiveness—as she was still processing everything in the shock of it all. The extent of her father’s unmitigated deception had knocked Jane and her for a loop. There had hardly been time to address it before Jane abruptly stoo
d after eating, feigned a headache, and drove away in the Camaro. An awkward hour later under the guise of Dixon needing to leave, she also left her childhood home and all its memories. All that remained of their Disco party reunion were ghosts from the past and haunting truths of what really happened, not what their father had said happened nine years earlier. Grrr.
As painful as it all was, she felt a measure of pride that despite her fragile mental frame of mind, she’d handled it better than expected when she walked into the dining room. Fitzwilliam would have been proud of her. Was she ready to embrace her mother again? Only time and healing could tell. First, she had to survive the next 11 miles of deadly roadway winding through the Great Smokey Mountains—but was survival really the plan? The jury was still out on that, too.
As for sad good-byes, there was no getting around releasing Dixon from what he viewed as his obligation to have her back. It was time to cut the strings and attempt to go forward, and that she did so with tears in her eyes. Quick and to the point, she handed him the keys to the H2 and a check for $100,000 along with a hug at eight o’clock last night. The man argued and fought her tooth and nail to the decision, even tried to object to the money, but she wouldn’t hear any of it. They’d been through too much together and he deserved the money and the Hummer, and deserved to get on with his life.
Although barely dawn and defiant of her husband’s cautioning voice playing inside her mind, she straddled her new SuperLow, swapped out in the barn only two hours earlier under the cover of night—and Lennox’s shotgun at the ready, in the parking lot of the Tail of the Dragon souvenir shop. Located at Deal’s Gap Motorcycle Resort near the Tennessee and North Carolina state line, it seemed every adrenaline junkie and motorcycle group were ready for the brave or brainless challenge of 318 turns in 11 miles. To her right, a giant dragon sculpture attempted to intimidate, but she wasn’t swayed and neither were the true disciples of this insane biking ritual.
In Good Conscience Page 22