In Good Conscience

by Gardiner, Cat

  “You’re right. I’m sure that’s what he meant. Forget I said anything. Shall we continue the ride to its glorious finish?”

  “Not so fast. I have a question for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Does the town Morgansville, West Virginia mean anything to you?”

  “Hmm … sure, yeah.”

  Taken aback, she verbally jumped on him. “Yes?”

  “Yeah. When we were up at the farmhouse, Higgins took a trip back to Leesburg and then onto West Virginia. Why do you ask?”

  “Do you know who he met with?”

  “Can’t say I do, but he did say it was a productive trip and that there was one less snake out there to harm you.”

  “Geez … what did he do?”

  “That’s all behind you now. We fellas did what we had to do, and you’re not to think about it as you start a new life. Just promise me, as you would Mr. D, practice with those knives every day, and contact me if you need anything.”

  “Um, okay, I promise. I know I said it before, but I’m going to miss you, Dixon.”

  “I’m gonna miss you, too. It’s been my honor to watch over you and be there for you through these dark times. Don’t let them drown ya’, kid. You gotta keep livin’. Mr. D would want you to.”

  Yeah, he would. She wasn’t entirely confident that Dixon wasn’t blowing smoke up her butt about leaving her to look after herself, but she wasn’t going to worry about it any longer.

  18

  Dreams

  September 2

  Peru

  Darcy lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, expecting sleep to overtake him in his exhaustion, but it didn’t. He had several hours yet before meeting his Peruvian National Police contact for an explosive night-time chopper ride over Morales’s coca fields. The same ones he should have blown five months ago after rescuing Rick and Sarah.

  Trying to focus on the hypnotizing sound of rain pelting the window of his hostel room in Tarapoto, it competed with the noises made by the sexed-up couple on the opposite side of the thin wall, and promptly tried to replace them with the stratagem for his next destination: a full-on attack to Diablo’s transport convoy between Paraguay and Brazil.

  The banging of the headboard in the neighboring room grew louder, faster and he hoped their romp would be coming to an end, but it made him groan and—truth be told—long for Liz. His anger at Morales and guilt for having not immediately sought retaliation after Moscow was always—always—at his surface. Revenge had become a genome in his DNA, yet … with meditation on his wife, a little of his glacial heart melted, only to re-freeze with focus on his mission, his resolve becoming harder than diamonds.

  Putting aside thoughts of Paraguay and Diablo for the moment, he couldn’t help where his mind wanted to go, and he tapped the Bluetooth always settled around his ear. He could hear Liz’s caution about it “That thing’ll give you brain cancer,” but it would be a thing of the past in another week. For now, until go time, it was essential in delivering Otis Redding’s soulful love songs, an evocative reminder of his and Liz’s day spent at the cabin. “For Your Precious Love” dulled the razor edge of his soul, and he imagined rubbing Liz’s feet and how he’d wanted more than loving massages on that glorious afternoon.

  He reveled in the memory of his hand sliding upward from her toes, up her sensual shin bone, circling her knee before caressing her toned thigh. His fingers stroked her inner thigh, concealed by the over-sized T-shirt she wore. The tingling sensation of how she’d felt against his palm remained engraved in his consciousness, and he opened his hand recalling her soft moan below his touch. His other hand rested on his chest, rising and falling with his breath. Man, he could still remember how soft her skin felt and how it was kissed with a fine layer of perspiration that made her ivory skin shimmer in the afternoon sunlight.

  Longing to go back to that lazy, romantic afternoon—a respite from his worries—he smiled at the images before his mind’s eye and recaptured the tranquilly he felt when observing her sleep on the sofa. She looked very delectable, lying there with disheveled hair and slightly parted lips.

  His photographic memory recalled every sensual detail; he felt those same overwhelming emotions that had led to each of the three times they’d made love. Their intense intimacy had left them spent.

  His index finger lightly trailed along the edge of her panties, until gently tucking below the silky fabric. He skimmed it along her soft flesh until meeting that small patch of dark hair that drove him mad. Although still fast asleep, a moan came from those perfect lips of hers, but the soft folds of her sex felt deliciously ready. What was she dreaming about? Him?

  He watched her face for any changes in expression as he intimately stroked her. She must have been having one hell of a dream, and he licked his upper lip desiring to burrow his mouth against her wet heat, to taste her with his tongue. He needed the deeply erotic intimacy that came with the act.

  That playful smile of hers slowly appeared and she opened her eyes, but she said nothing—just enticed him, welcoming him and clearly of like mind when she pushed her panties down.

  His finger felt bereft sliding from her honey, but another yearning part of his body was about to be satisfied as he slid from the sofa, taking the silk and lace with him.

  Rock hard, he fought the urge to shag her without foreplay, especially when she pulled the T-shirt over her head. Seductively, she laid there naked and gorgeous, eager for whatever his plans as demonstrated by a bend to her knee, opening herself up to him.

  Everything about her called out to him: her glorious mound, her taut peaks, her succulent mouth. He was a man on fire—needing to feel every perfect part of her against and within his mouth, on and around his throbbing shaft.

  But he tempered himself, wanting to take his wife to blinding heights without immediate intercourse. He grinned naughtily and kissed her toes, one at a time, dragging his tongue up her leg between kisses. Oh, how her inner thigh called to him when she bent her other leg, giving him room. The salty flavor of summer heat that clung to her soft flesh was a huge aphrodisiac and he relished each tickle he made to the skin leading to her slick entrance.

  One kiss to her folds teased her; the first tongue swipe between them sent her hands to clutch his shoulders; and the second slow lick along her sex to her pearl caused her to rake and pull his hair. She guided his head into her with a needy moan commanding him to ravage her.

  Oh yeah, that is what he planned to do! His lips met sweet heaven, coating him with an abundance of delicious nectar. With each suckle he delivered, she arched her back, spreading her legs wider. Soaring high in his ability to turn her on like this, he glanced up for a satisfied peek at the ecstasy written on her face. She was breathing heavily, and her hazel eyes were dilated with passion, watching him make love to her sex. This expression on her face would carry him through hell.

  Then she closed her eyes and dipped her head back against the arm rest; the delicate tunnel of her throat and collar bone rose up and down with her heaving chest from each pant she made whenever his tongue touched her.

  He flicked and licked, nuzzled into her, and she went wild. One of her hands slid down her chest, over a swollen nipple and she cried out. Oh, he would taste her there, too. He would taste all of her tonight. Inflamed by her arousal and his own passionate enjoyment, he needed to enter her, wanting to feel her when she climaxed. Gently, he slid his finger in beneath his tongue’s ministrations. In the soft passage of her heat, he tickled that place—that magical place, which set her writhing below him. Her cries filled the cabin and her legs, covered with the wet sheen of perspiration, thrashed as he pleasured her to the point of no return. His finger worked in concert with his tongue and she called out his name, making him feel like the greatest lover ever. Above her head, her hands grasped the sofa arm and she arched her back, crying out in those delightful mews of building climax that he adored.

  Another deep tickle and delving suckle sent her over the edge with st
iffened legs until they trembled, wrapping around his neck to hold him to her. Silently filled with gratification and his own bursting need, he bathed in the rush of honey from her climax, and only when she moaned in absolute satisfaction and dropped her legs beside him, did he stop loving her with his mouth, just kisses—delectable, tender kisses.

  His rock-hard arousal had grown from ready to near exploding, and he stood. Red hot and swollen with desire it breached to the top of his briefs. Their eyes locked onto each other’s. Liz looked radiant from ecstasy, her cheeks were rosy, her chest flushed.

  Taking his offered hand, he led her to the bed and she dropped his briefs. Gloriously sexy, she lay among the red roses scattered along the quilt, guiding him to lie beside her. Could he hope for reciprocal foreplay? God, it had been way too long since her talented mouth pleasured him.

  She laid him down, kissing him and moaning at the lingering taste of herself on his lips—her tongue dragged over his mouth before sliding down to his chin, his neck, his chest.

  “Oh, babe,” he moaned when she nibbled his nipple.

  Liz’s hand cupped his tight sack, massaging him as her mouth blazed a path to his shaft.

  He didn’t mean to make so much noise when her lips covered his tip, but he cried out, about to burst in her mouth. His reward was a tug to his balls. Those lips, that tongue worked its magic, sucking and swirling, alternating with her teeth as they slowly teased upward against his throbbing veins.

  Crazy mad in the best of ways, he ran his fingers through her hair, loving the feel of her head going up and down on him. But he couldn’t take it any more!

  He tugged her up and flipped her on her back, fighting the urge to explode—those pink nipples of hers called to him. They would be his undoing. Like a sweet berry, he surrounded one with his lips, causing her to arch her back and cry out. He suckled harder. “Yes! Yes! I can’t take it. I need you inside of me.”

  He felt that way, too!

  The plunge into her slick essence—and the feeling of being sheathed inside his woman sent him to the absolute edge. He thrust all nine aching inches deep to its hilt, reaching her core, delving hard and making her cry out with each pounding impale. Her tight tunnel felt fantastic surrounding him; his head felt light—euphoric from the frenzied coupling and how he’d made her feel, how she responded to his love making.

  He could feel it, she was about to go over again, only different this time. It was more powerful, the most powerful they’d both felt in a long time. By God, he’d give her everything today—all of him and his essence, his undying love.

  “I love you. I love you, Fitzwilliam!”

  Her body shook and trembled below and clenched around his shaft like a full-bodied orgasm and he burst in white blinding ecstasy.

  He fell onto her and she panted into his ear. “I will love you forever.”

  The recollection of those five powerful words gave him even more determination to finish this to the end.

  ***

  North Carolina

  Liz recalled the nervousness she’d felt exactly four weeks ago when last she rode the SuperLow down these mountain roads toward the cabin beside the reservoir. Although exhausted, after having survived the white-knuckle ride of The Dragon, this dirt passage was nothing. When her tire wobbled a little over the gravel, she naturally thought of how Fitzwilliam had coached her through it on their way to the love shack. But not now—now it was only her. She’d mastered 11 miles of the unthinkable and the pride she felt could not be measured. It felt unbelievable to her, and she knew unequivocally that he wouldn’t chastise her for having taken the chance. No, he’d be beaming with pride if he were here because all it took was the spirit of him, his excellent training, and their love that had kept her focused on his memorial Dragon ride. But there was something more that she could not ignore: she was on her own for the very first time in her life and surviving. Perhaps overcoming being trapped in Pemberley’s panic room had made her stronger; perhaps she had overcome those fears and memories in light of the scary road ahead—and the one she’d just mastered.

  Her wheels slipped into the carved-out dirt and she recalled Fitzwilliam’s stories of his SEAL days with such clarity that it made her bite her lip to keep from crying. He was the best of the best—and yet, he was dead. How could that be? It defied logic.

  She gripped the handlebars when her thoughts traveled down the rabbit hole of Dixon’s words at the edge of the overlook and his not-so-tactful implications. Marion—yes, Dixon’s first name was Marion; he confirmed it at their final good-bye—was indirectly questioning the veracity of the claim! What the ever-loving hell? Of course he was dead!

  She conceded that Marion was right about a highly-trained SEAL; Fitzwilliam would not have messed up or been reckless. They had been trained to be thorough and precise, and her husband, of all people, was fastidious about details and execution of everything.

  And who the hell had Nick gone to see in West Virginia? Clearly Fitzwilliam had known about it. Then there was the issue of the money transfer there and to Panama. Ugh. Her head hurt thinking about all of it.

  The sun reflected off the cabin’s tin roof, creating a lighting-like flash of brilliance through the trees, like a homing beacon for her; she stopped the bike and walked it through the field.

  Honestly, she never expected to come back here alone, but for a moment, she toyed with the idea of moving here. She climbed the stairs of the front porch, pulled her shoulders back, and removed the key from her jacket pocket, preparing for the onslaught of emotions she’d no doubt be hit with. Her stomach churned with nervous anxiety, a familiar feeling these days, like a bad tuna melt that wouldn’t go away.

  Silence and dank stillness met her when the door pushed open. The first thing she fixed on was the coffee can of wilted dead daisies in the center of the kitchen table spot lit by heavenly rays of afternoon sun streaming through the glass. Dried brown rose petals were scattered across the floor leading to the bed, carefully made before they departed. Sigh.

  She removed her jacket then the sketchbook from her back pocket, placing it beside the flowers. Half-filled already, the book would memorialize these oxe-eyes later today.

  “I’ll not elaborate, but I hope you know that because of my love for you and my professional experiences, I may do things without explanation. You just need to trust me, no matter what. Right now, our life is not a normal one, but it will be after I set it right. I promise you. I … just ask that you—as you always do—continue to use lateral thinking in all things.”

  She recalled with crystal clarity his index finger sliding down her cheek. What had he meant? It seemed he was always doing something that got her panties unnecessarily in a wad: pulling back from her, not communicating, driving too fast, planning for things and their future without discussion, not sharing his past, e.g. Caroline, Lucy, contract-killing. Even his SEAL days were kept locked in the Iceman freezer unless prodded.

  A tear pricked her eye as she lowered herself onto the bed and laid back. Lord, she felt guilty for all the crap she’d given him over the last year, especially knowing how, in most things, he’d held back for her benefit. Hindsight was rearing its ugly head; all of it was so irrelevant now that he was gone forever. Who cares about his former lovers? Who cares if he left his muddy stable boots in the foyer, and not in the mudroom at the back of the house? Who cares that he always balked at her driving the Ferrari?

  Right now, our life is not a normal one, but it will be after I set it right. Those words nagged at her. For all the stupid things he didn’t do—he did two things very well: loved her with all his heart and soul with powerful devotion, and fiercely protected her from preying family and foe. He was her lover, best friend, and brave champion!

  So tired … she was so tired of fighting the pull of sleep and the push of bawling tears, but her mind and heart conjured the details of their lovemaking on this very bed.

  She had been so ready for him that day; the mere caress of his hand was elec
tricity against her skin. She’d never been so primed, so hot to have him inside her. Maybe because she believed that it would be the last time for awhile. Little had she known that he’d wake her a few hours later for a moonlit dance and tender, languid lovemaking under the stars.

  A smile crossed her lips when she recalled how it started with his gentle caress up her leg then a tickling swipe of his finger under her panties while she slept on the sofa, or rather, pretended to sleep. It was all a test of course, to see what he’d do from his seated position. Otis Redding proved to be the most seductive music for a lazy day after being cooped up and celibate for so long.

  His finger’s tickle made her open her eyes, his tender insertion made her moan, until finally she couldn’t take much more and slid her underpants down, delighting when he took them with him off the sofa. Heaven—absolute heaven, she thought when his tongue caressed up and between her legs. She heard a small moan from him when his mouth surrounded her pearl. He was enjoying himself as much as he was giving her pleasure. Oh, how she loved watching him go down on her. Horniness was too limited a term for the arousal he brought out. It was so erotically charged that she fought the urge to pull him up to her, demanding intercourse and immediate satisfaction, but she tempered—allowing and relishing in his ultimate expression of love. His talented tongue always took its time to bring her to climax before his own aching need was gratified.

  And then he gazed up at her with expressive eyes filled with so much more than passion. What was there behind them? An ache? A feeling of completeness with her? Such tender love lasted only a few seconds before his mouth consumed her again.

  Tilting her head back, she focused on each lick and suckle and arched her back, bursting from the fire his tongue ignited. The palm of her hand swept over her taut nipple and the ecstasy shot right to her apex. She was so sensitive … more so than usual.