In Good Conscience

by Gardiner, Cat

  “I will have to leave you one last time when we get off this train.”

  “And what about me?”

  “As Mrs. John Thornton, you’ll be staying at the place I arranged.”

  “And where will you be?” was met with silence and a gaze out the window. His hand withdrew from hers.

  “So is that it going forward? We’ll no longer be Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy to the world?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then I should have chosen a better name than Margaret.”

  “Aliases don’t matter, babe. You’ll always be Lakmé to me.”

  ***

  Prague

  “She is not in the garden with the children, Jefe,” Luis said entering into the master suite. Based on the state of the room, he didn’t need for anyone to read aloud the letter he held in his hands for Diablo. Standing in the middle of the room, his employer’s stiff posture and angry profile confirmed what they both surmised.

  Strewn clothing and empty hangers littered the bed and floor. The bed was unmade and dresser drawers were left partially open attesting to the fact that Maria took only what she needed. On his way to the master suite, Luis had noted the same tornado in the children’s bedrooms. Those remaining on her residential protection squad were going to hang for this.

  “She is gone,” Morales morosely said turning to face him. The man's dark scowl cautioned him to approach with trepidation and the man’s hooded eyes seemed to glow blood red like Satan himself. There was not much more el jefe could take before snapping in an unstoppable murderous rage.

  It was good that she’d left as he’d personally seen the bruises she’d received by el jefe’s hands. Hers was a gentle nature, and Diablo’s penchant for bondage and submission in the bedroom was a violation to her sensibilities labeling her defiant and uncooperative. When she produced an heir, her husband had left her alone.

  Luis was not a timid man by nature—in fact, he prided himself on being ruthless when necessary, but couldn’t help but to internally shiver when he held out the letter left for his employer. “This was left for you on the dining room table from the señora.”

  He examined Diablo’s expression turn scarlet with fury not embarrassment as he read the contents.

  “And there is this,” Luis added, sliding the already opened 8x11 envelope out from under his arm.

  Diablo dropped the letter from his wife to the floor, dismissing it when he swiped the overnight express from his hand.

  “You have read this?”

  “No, señor. I only test the paper for chemical sabotage for your protection.” It was a short missive—and to the point. He knew because he had read it.

  It is time to meet face to face to discuss the end of La Muerta Mundial. Unarmed and alone. 7:00 a.m. tomorrow—Vysehrad, overlooking the Vltava River outside the gallery.

  Know this, I have anticipated your every move, tomorrow will be no different. —El Negro

  Luis braced himself when Diablo ran his hand through his hair. “I want our best sicario! This ends tomorrow morning with El Negro’s death! The dog will be destroyed once and for all!” he commanded with the false bravado of a broken man who knew full-well that he’d already been defeated.

  “There is none, señor, even our finest cruzadors have been murdered by El Negro. Jorge was killed with the narcosub in Bermuda. Benito was blown in Paraguay escorting the caravan. Dmitri was found dead on the docks in Cadiz, and both our CIA contract killer and the girl you sent to Washington are still missing. There are only a few loyal soldiers left. Many of our sombrillas have departed with Señora Maria and the children.”

  Luis stepped back, but not fast enough. Diablo withdrew his knife and, in less than two seconds, it was pricking the notch of his throat. Oh, it would be so easy to take it from his boss and, turn it on his throat sliding it into his neck … slowly. Oh, to hear that gurgle sound of defeat come from Jefe de Jefes when the steel blade took his last breath.

  “Find someone!” Diablo shouted.

  Damn loyalty, he thought as his boss’s foul breath invaded his space. He could not bring himself to do it, just as he could not kill Pilar before her escape. There was a big difference between calculated ruthlessness and pure evil.

  With a measured calmness, he lowered the man’s arm and locked his eyes with Diablo’s. “Sí, señor,” he placated before removing the mobile phone from his pocket. He knew of a few contract killers … but none who would work for free now that the money was gone.

  “Perhaps, you will consider enacting your own revenge with your own hands on this El Negro.”

  Juan stepped back. Knitting his brow, he ran his hand through his hair. “If I must, then I will. I want the park filled with every soldier you can find. It is time to call Carlos back from Moscow. He enjoys torture.”

  28

  Macaroons

  September 10 – Pre-dawn

  Prague

  Prague looked to be a city worth exploration in Liz’s brief estimation. Unfortunately, the extent of that opinion was based on a taxi ride from the railway station to the decrepit flat she now sat in. What a difference a few hours made in going from top-shelf luxury to a metal bed with a layer of dust and kitchen faucet running rust-colored water. This once Czech national police, anti-drug surveillance apartment clearly hadn’t been used in at least a decade if the musty smell and the dated calendar on the wall was any indication. Still, she couldn’t help but to be impressed by her husband’s connections and itched to grill him on every facet and asset of Operation Black Ice, but he was too far gone to the dark side right now. Cold and impenetrable, even more so than on the last leg of the train trip into the Mother of all Cities, he squatted at the bedroom’s curtained window with a military-grade night vision binocular pressed to his face for the last six hours.

  She understood his hyper-vigilance. The third-floor, railroad-apartment was situated two hundred feet behind the Sanchez-Morales townhome and that was the target of his surveillance. He hadn’t expected her to be with him but she agreed, for the sake of their baby, that she couldn’t go with him and would stay in the most inside room, farthest from the windows. Everything was different now.

  Within the living room, she sat cross-legged wearing Fitzwilliam’s T-shirt and gym shorts, fighting the pull of her eyes closing on the remaining time they had together. She heard him zip his gear bag closed and her heart sank.

  The wooden floor boards creaked when he walked through the kitchen and dining room, entering the living room; his commanding presence and dark aura filled the doorway. Black as usual, down to his leather jacket and wool cap. “You’ll be okay, just … sleep. You need to sleep,” he repeated.

  “I’m afraid to.”

  “You’re safe in here. Diablo’s compound just went dark. And dammit, Liz, don’t go out and don’t make any unnecessary noise until it’s time to leave. Get dressed and be at the ready for anything.”

  From his back waistband, he removed a pistol and chambered a round. “If you have to use this, leave everything except our ID and travel documents and meet me back at the railway station at 1:30 this afternoon. Find a coffee shop or bookstore until then and just blend in. Do not call anyone.”

  “Okay.”

  “In fact, just keep the passports and money in the neck wallet in case you need to make a quick getaway.”

  “Then maybe I should be going with you.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  He placed the gun on the table near the archway connecting the living room to the hallway that ran alongside all the rooms, a little smile escaping as he walked to her. “I would never put you in harm’s way. If you have to get to the train, remember that Mr. and Mrs. Thornton will be finishing our trip to London in the same stateroom as before. I made arrangements before we arrived yesterday afternoon.”

  “And what if you’re not there?”

  “Trust me; I’ll be there.”

  Rising from the armchair, she smiled back, even if her heart felt like
jelly convulsing inside her chest. She would trust him this time.

  The rippled frown lines across his forehead indicated how he straddled two worlds, struggling to maintain control of Iceman when he stated, “Damn, I should have sent you ahead.”

  “But you didn’t because you knew that I would have objected. If this does end badly at least I’m here with you—and it ends for both of us.”

  “Not an option,” he added and she knew why.

  “Did you get in touch with Dad?”

  “Yes, everything is in place. He’ll have satellite visual on the park and I’ll have my receiver in my ear.”

  “But no gun.”

  His lip twitched. “I don’t need a gun.” The telltale sign of his affection attempted to put her at ease when he ran his finger down her cheek then forced another smile. “Don’t worry so much, beautiful. I have to go now.”

  His kiss felt non-emotive, but she understood. This was not her husband. The expressive, romantic Fitzwilliam was safely protected below the tundra for both their emotional protection.

  Sliding her hand into his, she walked with him to the door.

  “Stay away from the window,” he directed for the third time this morning before letting go of her and turning toward the darkened staircase.

  As in days of old, the last she saw of her husband was his back as he descended the stairwell.

  After closing the door, she ran to the bedroom window, ignoring his caution for just a minute—just to see him leave her one last time. Peeking between sash and curtain, she spied him exit out into the night. But, he suddenly stopped in front of the abandoned jewelry shop then glanced up to the apartment as if he’d forgotten something. Abruptly turning, he took two determined strides back into the building.

  Her breath caught and she could hear his creaking footfall up the steps, most likely two at a time, and she held her breath, waiting … wondering.

  When the door opened, his gear bag dropped to the floor.

  “Liz!”

  She bolted from the bedroom, exiting into the foyer hallway. The chasm separating them across the long, near-empty space seemed so great when their eyes locked with wordless, breathless anticipation. The look in his eyes spoke volumes and she ran into his arms, jumping onto him with her legs wrapping around his waist.

  “I love you, baby,” he said with a passionate pant before his lips slammed against hers.

  She kissed him hungrily, consuming him and relishing his response, ignoring the hard Kevlar vest under his shirt.

  He kicked the door shut behind them then strode to the center table; his searing lips never left hers. A powerful swipe of his arm cleared the table as his other cradled her backside.

  His kisses grew fast and frenzied, hungrily devouring her when he sat her on the table and her hands did what they did best, unzipped his jeans and immediately released him into her palm. Long and stiff with every emotion, his manhood felt hot to the touch, throbbing in pent up words needing cathartic expression.

  He tore the baggy shorts from her body then slid her to the edge of the table. Lying back against the wood, she was more than ready for him.

  Looking down at her, black-clad Iceman stood between her spread legs, the expression on his face nearly exploding her heart. His dark eyes looked onyx with passion-filled dilated pupils. Naughty and sexy, dark and dangerous, he was that fearless rebel on the motorcycle. His torrid ferocity was a hot turn-on, overtaking her with an intense fervor unlike she’d experienced before.

  Engorged with desire, his tip rubbed against her slick heat, scorching her throbbing pearl. “Now. Please,” she begged needing all of her bad boy biker—hard, fast, and deep.

  But even in his haste to be one with her for what might be the last time, he took occasion to tease her.

  His tip’s dilatory touch made her writhe with each tormenting dip followed by its taunting removal until it became too much for either of them to bear.

  Her body was on fire. Her womanhood trembled and clenched in absolute hunger for satiation and he knew it.

  The joining, unhurried slide of his thick nine inches shot her through the roof in quivering spasms.

  Sheathed in her womanhood, he stilled and gazed down at her with a seductive smirk as if asking “are you ready?”

  Oh yes, she was.

  “Ohhhh…” he moaned with a releasing breath when he seated to its hilt. His strong hands grasped her hips to keep her from sliding across the table.

  In piston precision, each powerful thrust reached that place of white light and electricity. She cried out in rapture, but his index finger touched her mouth, and it took every ounce of willpower to silence her ardor with a bite to her lip as her orgasm ignited again and again.

  Faster, faster, building like a crescendo of stifled moans and table legs banging, he made love to her soul—pounding her, their flesh slapping, their hearts pulsating until he pulled her flush against his hips and spilled into her all his love.

  Their eyes never left the other’s—an unspoken promise that they would be reunited on the train to their future home.

  ***

  The creeping sunrise was hidden behind the dreary clouds as Jane’s hiking boots beat the cobblestoned, mosaic sidewalk. Focused, she remained vigilant to her surroundings especially since all hell was to break loose in Vyšehrad Park in a couple of hours. Burrowing into Charlie’s camo jacket, she wished she’d worn her slouchy wool hat and gloves given the cool temperature, but was thankful she was only a block away from her destination, at least that’s what her mobile phone’s GPS indicated.

  Externally and internally, she shivered thinking of the big day ahead and the role Charlie would play in it. Gone by the time she woke at five, he left her feeling confident of their plan for both their days, covered back and forth over the last 24 hours since her arrival to the motel shithole. By now, he was carefully positioned in the bell tower of St. Peter and Paul’s Basilica overlooking the gallery and the river and she was on her way to see her sister.

  In the end, she and Crash had determined that there was no way she could pull off covert tailing of Liz and it was best to face her head on. She’d have to eventually have her day of reckoning anyway. It’s not like she was blameless in the ruse to get her to Europe.

  She glanced over her shoulder—just to make sure she wasn’t being followed—and then scanned the windows of the passing tram. Man, she felt like she was in some Mission Impossible movie, or better yet Lara Croft!

  This “old” section of Prague was way cool with its ancient vibe and very mysterious passages of trendy stores and cafés. She wondered how the night life was and considered that when things settled down maybe she and her fiancée could come back. Yeah, fiancée.

  Even that was cool and she had no regrets blurting out her proposal the other night. On the flight from Venice, she’d read Liz’s text before her death ride for what seemed like the one hundredth time: Stop selling yourself short on love. Make the commitment you want—live life filled with true, constant love. Don’t run away—run to Charlie; he adores you just as Fitzwilliam adored me. And you are worthy of it! And when her heart skipped when she saw him, and she noticed how tired he looked and how he held her so tightly against him, she knew then that she wanted to be with Charles Bingley forever! She couldn’t help blurting out her pseudo-proposal.

  She glanced over her shoulder again.

  Yeah, there was a definite change in Crash, like he had finally gotten over his depression and anger at Darcy. Sure, he did say that he’d like to have a go at him on the mats, but that was guy talk and expected. Her brother-in-law had played everyone but, unlike the others, she wasn’t angry. Apart from her concern over the nightmare Liz had lived through this last month, she got it. In fact, she admired the man for taking the ultimate risk to protect her sister. Sarah was spot on in her assessment: what girl wouldn’t dream of their lover going balls out for them? Charlie would do that for her, no doubt, and perhaps that realization is what snapped him out of
his guilt-ridden, crappy attitude. He’d go all Iceman for her; she was sure of it. After all, these big bad military, Black Ops assassins thought they could conquer the world without their chick screwing it up beside them. Pfft.

  She stopped at the entrance of Lucerna Passage in New Town when she caught a heavenly whiff of strong coffee and the sight of sugary sweets displayed in a café window.

  Upon pushing the door open, an exiting guy barreled into her as she passed through the threshold. He did not even hold the door for her, but instead tried to pass her. In his hand he held a cup of coffee.

  “Ooff!” she said, pushed to the side of the glass door that her body held open.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized glancing up with a frown. Wide-eyed, he gaped at her as if he’d never seen a blonde before. Or maybe one as cute. She’d always considered this pink shade of lipstick her favorite and smiled in response.

  “Boy, you must really need that coffee this morning,” she replied. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted and his body relaxed. “Do I know you?”

  “No. It’s my first time to Prague.”

  “You are American?”

  “Yuppers! I’m from Virginia. Have you ever been?”

  His silent reply was a full crooked smile before turning on his heel. Through the window, he glanced back at her as she watched his departure. Yeah. It was the cool camo jacket and lipstick.

  The glass display cases were filled with every goody that her sweet-tooth yearned for and after ordering a cup of tea for Lizzy and a cup of coffee for herself, as well as a box of pastel-colored French macaroons, she, too was beating a path out the door. There was no possible way her sister could be mad at her now.

  With the most vital task completed, she stood at the curb, waiting for another tram to pass then crossed the double lane to the building across from her. She considered it a lucky break that someone was coming out the narrow door beside the closed jewelry shop, and she ran to it before it locked.