Tonight she was leaving with the only two prizes of their loveless union, and enough Euro to help them disappear into thin air. While her husband had given her the former, El Negro, her husband’s sworn nemesis, had provided her with the latter. Terror and glee dwelled in her heart.
The wrought iron gate surrounding their compound squeaked slightly when the child’s nanny opened it, but not one security guard stopped them from leaving. They knew. How could they not? She’d been ostensibly locked in this townhome with them for years. Several were more loyal to her than to her husband. So much so that three sombrillas would be transporting them to the airport under protection. Her kindness and prayers offered for them and their families were much appreciated and gained their devotion. Those who travelled and guarded her husband were devoid of any moral clarity or godliness, but some, here in Prague were a different lot.
The tears were not so much for the decision to leave or to separate the children from their father as they were for the contents of an overnight letter that had been delivered the day before. Juan had just left for urgent business in Venice, and she was all alone (yet again—and thankfully because he had been at his worst) when the delivery came.
Her finger stroked her name printed on the shipping label. She’d never before received correspondence here, and considered it a mistake. Nevertheless, she walked through the marble foyer, pulling the tab to the cardboard envelope.
Handwritten in Spanish, it read:
Dear Señora Sanchez-Morales,
It is with a heavy heart and the grace of all that is holy that I send this package to you. Enclosed you will find the details of your husband’s nefarious activities, which consist of much more than the cultivation and trafficking of coca on three continents, which I am sure you are aware of as they have added to your comfort as his wife and mother of his children. However, I am sure that you are not aware that his other activities, which keep you living in grandeur, are crimes against humanity. I have been instructed to forward this letter to you by the organization which has been responsible for your husband’s downfall: El Negro.
I have agreed to do this because I cannot stress enough how evil Juan Sanchez-Morales is and I feel that it is my sacred duty to inform you of his trading drugs for men and women to human traffickers, as well as weapons running, which brings despair to nations and furthers La Muerta Mundial’s cartel goals of “death to the world.” According to the man responsible for my safe passage to another country, your husband is also involved in the cultivation of various nerve and psychological agents to help destroy his enemies and perpetrate his crimes. These will inevitably—I am sure—fall into the hands of our youth one day. Do you wish that to happen? Maybe your own children will find them in your home?
Listed below are the fake corporations he has established to launder money through. However, you will later learn that all his fortune has already been seized and transferred to non-governmental organizations to help rebuild the lives of those he has ruined. Your husband’s days are numbered and you will not want your name associated with his when everything comes to light.
Here is the part that will hurt your heart. He rapes, beats, and uses women all over the world. I was one, but I got away thanks to a very good man. I now have a new future ahead of me—and this letter to you releases me from all debt I have to him for my new life. I had been trapped by Juan’s power and thought myself in love because of his sexual attentions. How foolish I was! Oh, how I lost my way! He paid handsomely for me to please him in sick fashion, but I was able to care for my mamma. As evident by the enclosed photographs and I caution you they are not for the faint of heart, his dark, sexual pleasures are sinister. I call upon your sensibilities as a mother to protect yourself and your children from him.
Leave at once! For tonight is the open window to your new life where El Negro has established finances and travel to New York City for you and your children. You can never go home, but you can create a new one where your wounds and heart can heal, just as I am learning to do. I am sure that after Diablo’s murder, you, my friend, will not want what remains of your finery for they have been purchased by the blood of innocents. The attached piece of paper details your course of action (if you choose to take this opportunity) before your husband’s return on September 9 to Prague.
With respect,
Pilar Montegro
Soon she would be free from him and forever grateful to El Negro for destroying him.
27
Back to Black
September 9
Somewhere in the Czech Republic
The Orient Express was three hours away from pulling into Prague’s main railway station, and Darcy sat drinking tea (because the smell of coffee turned Liz’s stomach) in the lounge of her luxury cabin. His eyes had hardly left her as she readied for the adventure ahead, and that unnerved him. In no uncertain terms, there would be no adventure on her part!
He glanced to his left at her packed luggage, ready for her porter’s conveyance, and internally he shook his head. This brief but incredible respite in her arms was a gift and he owed Jane and his father-in-law. It gave his angry, tired soul the determination to fulfill Operation Black Ice to its glorious finish without worry over her absolution of him. Only, with that, new worries surfaced. Whereas before he only had himself to think of during the op’s execution, he now had her safety to consider. Would she listen to his warnings and do everything he instructed? Or would she be as headstrong as she was in every other operation they became embroiled in?
That luscious mouth, he thought admiring the way she applied lipstick. Occasionally, she’d glance up at him through the mirror as if to reassure herself that last night had actually happened and that he wasn’t an apparition.
“I’m still here,” he said, bringing the cup to his smiling lips. The spill of her heaving cleavage in the reflection stirred him … yet again, but his worry over her superseded his carnal desire.
“And you’re a sight for sore eyes, my husband.”
“How do you feel?”
“Better, not as nauseous as before.”
He placed the cup back in the saucer then rose, coming behind her and thankful that he was with her when she got sick. To hold her head and rub her back felt so insignificant given all the tumult he’d caused, but he was grateful that he could be part of all the nuances of their growing baby and be there to help her through every joy and challenge. Her slender waist felt wonderful below his sliding hands and he imagined with delight how it would feel expanded by their child.
Pressing himself against her back, his fingers clasped over her belly.
“You look beautiful this morning.”
“Thank you. It must be because I’m so happy.” She dipped her head back to rest on his shoulder. Their eyes met within the reflection of the glass. “Oh, Fitzwilliam. I never want to be without you again. To feel you inside me, loving me with all your emotion and tenderness brought me to life again.”
Too choked up to speak, he placed a lingering kiss on her temple.
Lost in the moment, a quiet calm settled around them and she closed her eyes, feeling the security of his arms as the train rocked them both. She laid a hand over his upon her womb. He’d been so devoid of anything for the last few weeks that for him, too, this felt unreal. Time had halted just for them.
“We have to talk,” he said breaking the spell before depositing a kiss to the curve of her ear.
“I thought we were talking.”
“We have to discuss Prague.”
“I guess we do.”
Liz turned in his arms to face him and he held her tightly against him, unwilling in body and spirit to move from this moment, but they had no choice. “I have to get my gear from my cabin and then I’ll be back. Once we step off this train, everything will change, Liz.”
“I know that.”
“I’ll change.”
“I know, but I understand.”
After depositing a quick peck to her lips, h
e said, “I’ll meet you in the Cote d’Azur dining car—please eat something.”
“Yes, darling.”
***
Liz had entirely missed the touted dining experience on board the train. Needless to say, she was excited to be sitting in the nearly empty restaurant carriage at a table for two. Each table had been set with the finest china and fresh flowers. And although the view beyond the window showed cloudiness and a heavy mist hovering between mountain and river, it was still breathtaking. Funny, how she’d been aboard this train for 24 hours and she’d not even admired the scenic journey, which was the reason for the trip for so many. Was this and last night real? Maybe it was all a dream. Perhaps, she’d wake up tomorrow realizing that her husband’s presence and lovemaking had been nothing more than a figment of her desperate imagination.
She ran her hand up her arm, mimicking his manner of caress and she smiled. It wasn’t a mirage. Only Fitzwilliam would have gone through such insane measures to keep her safe. A dark, suffocating cloud had lifted from her head and heart, and her spirit rejoiced for her and their baby’s future. Although not a praying person, she whispered under her breath. “Thank you, God and whoever you are, Saint Lucy.” It didn’t matter whether magical or miracle, just that he’d risen from the dead like Lazarus.
Above the clinking dishware and quiet conversations, his throat clearing rose above the din, and she looked up at his severe expression.
“Is everything okay?” he asked with a crinkled brow.
“Perfect. I was just thinking of last night.”
He bent and peeking out the window remarked, “I’m sorry the weather isn’t better. This part of the Czech Republic’s countryside is exceptional.”
She could sense the change in him by the mundane topic of the weather. His chilly severity rolled off his black jeans and long-sleeved gray Henley and she secretly wished that if he was going to speak of the weather it would be something more along the lines of how the earth quaked from their tornadic intimacy the night before.
“I don’t mind the weather. I’m just glad we’re together. These clouds … and others … will drift away.”
“Yes they will.”
“Although it is suddenly cold in here,” she couldn’t help stating.
He said nothing, just sat, eyes not leaving her face when she raised the tea cup to her lips.
“I ordered you coffee,” she nervously stated as she lowered the cup with a sharp clink (perhaps done with definitively more emphasis.)
He just nodded a wordless thank you then forced a smile. It was clear that Iceman had banished Fitzwilliam back to their stateroom. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t warned her.
“What did you think of the opera the other night?” he asked.
“Oh! Incredible. You didn’t tell me why you were there.”
“Business.”
Soooo tense. Where had Fitzwilliam gone in the span of thirty minutes? She no longer cared much for Iceman.
“Okaaay. Then what did you think of the opera?”
“I wasn’t watching it. I was watching you. Why did you put yourself through the agony of Madama Butterfly?”
“I know. What can I say? I guess I’m a glutton for punishment, salt in a gaping wound and all that.” She laughed lightly and looked down, toying with the handle of the tea cup. “Still, I guess I owe my sister big time, huh?”
“I owe her along with an apology for underestimating her for far too long. She rose to the occasion and didn’t bolt when you needed her, and she pulled off getting you to Venice. That accounts for something.”
“Are you feeling guilty?”
“About my opinion of Jane this last year?”
“No. Guilty about leaving me?”
“Yes—and no. No, for the simple fact that the grave in Leesburg is not yours, and yes, for the obvious reasons of making you go through what you did and my missing you.”
“Were you successful in your business?”
“Yes.” He averted his gaze to the couple at the table beside them.
“What have you done?”
“I became him. I’ve stripped him of everything, just as he almost did to me and he’s been on defense ever since.” He glanced at his watch. “The final blow he is about to discover when he returns to Prague.”
The waiter came to the table bearing a small coffee carafe and spoke to them about the lunch. Pleasant chit-chat with the Hungarian server was welcome because she got a final glimpse of the husband she knew and loved—the one summarily banished at the return to his cabin. But the chill descended again the moment the waiter departed.
Minutes passed in silence. Iceman watching her and enjoying his coffee and, she, staring out the window feeling his intense gaze. Finally, she said what needed to be said. “You should know, Fitzwilliam … I haven’t quite forgiven you yet, but at least I understand where your mind was.”
He grunted. “I didn’t expect you would immediately do so even after the incredible night we had together.” Pausing, he then added. “It was … amazing, Liz.”
Victory!
“It was and we’ll have others.”
Nodding, he gazed out the window, unable to meet her smile.
“Tell me about the money.”
“I guess we’re getting down to brass tacks now. I had every intention of sharing the details with you, but in private after this ends.” He glanced over his shoulder to be sure that no one sat directly behind them. “The money is spread out all over the place to pay for assets and to set up our future. I couldn’t have done the things I’ve done without the cash or the cryptocurrency to pull it off. Money solidifies the markers I’ve called in.”
“And the wire transfer to West Virginia?”
“It was payment to one last vital asset.” He half-smiled and shook his head. “Not a woman.”
“I don’t feel entirely bad about accusing you of that; you always say ‘paranoia is the height of awareness’,” she teased.
“True, or in my case it’s just plain jealousy. I’m sorry I thought you succumbed to the cowboy’s slick moves.”
“I must admit, you weren’t too far off from his true intentions, but your assumption was entirely wrong, babe. No matter how lonely or in need of comfort you believed me to be, it would never happen.” She laughed wryly because he should have known this by now. “I was born to find you and love you and only you and that means that even after your death, I was still yours not just mentally but my body, too. You know that for me, sex … is making love.”
She reached her hand out to him across the table and he took it. His gold wedding band was back in place on his finger, clasped against hers and her heart soared. That small yet powerful symbol shined like a beacon on the man hidden beneath the cold warrior exterior seated before her.
“And now you understand the depth of my feelings for you. Why I did what I did. Why I must finish this mission tomorrow.”
“Yes, but promise me when it ends there is only a new beginning ahead.”
“I promised you that the morning Pemberley blew, then in the stable at the farmhouse, then beside the waterfall. Oh, and when we parted ways on the interstate.” He gave her a pointed look. “I keep my word.”
Sighing, she admitted. “You always have with me, and I’m sorry I gave into the doubt. At first, I didn’t believe that you were killed but the guys assured me.”
“It’s okay; we’re together now. But you have to understand that a new beginning means a new life for us in every way. We can’t go back but I assure you, I will never be this person you see before you, again.”
With a reflective smile, she spoke softly. “You know, I admit that I fell in love with the enigmatic Iceman in Monte Carlo, but after I discovered Fitzwilliam Darcy buried below the surface, Iceman pales significantly to the man I married. My husband is an amazing man, a devoted husband, an accomplished horseman and dancer, a fabulous lover. He’s an intelligent businessman and my best friend. He’s the hot but sensible biker, the man
who loves life and romance, who’s loyal to his family and friends and he makes me laugh.”
“Is that all?” he joked.
He joked!
“Hardly. The man I adore won’t watch horror movies and never complains about my watching chick flicks. He’s an avid reader, a music aficionado, and a wine connoisseur. And yes, he’s the hero of the bride, too—my bad-ass former Navy SEAL protector who looks so damn sexy when playing with knives. And in eight months he’ll be a gentle and loving father, a real role model of what is good and honorable to our child.”
She watched his jaw flex and how he swallowed hard fighting the two personas that dwelled within the once broken and healed man before her. “Fitzwilliam is my perfect match in every way. But Iceman on the other hand only knows one thing …”
“Two,” he choked out.
“What’s the other?”
He squeezed her fingers. “That above all those things, he treasures and worships you, and that’s what drives the one thing Iceman does best.”
Le sigh. How could she not forgive him?
She thought of how her father and mother forgave each other; how her father was willing to relinquish the absolute malice he held onto toward Frances and to commit to caring for her because deep down he knew that she was the only person to fill the void in his heart and soul. And Frances knew that in her final years, there was no one that she’d rather spend it with than the man who still held all her affection—if not love—despite his keeping her from her daughters. Could it be that their forgiveness of each other and nine years of separation and lies could become an example to her? Perhaps.
Yes. Hers and Fitzwilliam’s trials were unique to them, but their love was steadfast in the gale forces that blew their way. She could absolve him. “I forgive you,” she said followed by a bite to her lip.
Lifting her hand, he bent toward their clasped fingers, and then kissed her wedding ring. “Thank you.”
“But please don’t leave me again. I proved to myself that I could go on without you if I had to but I don’t want to have to.”
In Good Conscience Page 34