“I don’t want you blaming me for being late,” he told her, his eyes twinkling. “Go on, get out.”
She kissed him hurriedly on the cheek and fled through the door. Richard shook himself and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. He’d eat too, before checking in with Will and heading over to the Gardiners. No sense facing Gunny unfortified.
Elizabeth paced the small room like a caged animal.
The hostages had been located, and the house was under surveillance. Bob was working on something, and Arch was reading—she stopped to read the title—a biography of Ada Lovelace. She chuckled a bit. He was always surprising her.
She figured Bob was analyzing the floor plans for the safe house. The extraction team would be gathering information tonight and likely striking in the pre-dawn hours. He was probably preparing himself in case things changed or went wrong. They often did. She slipped in behind him to glance at the screen. What she saw there made her freeze.
She felt a numbing cold pervade her legs, her hands, her arms, her heart. Somewhere inside, a bomb went off, blinding her with its light, and still, she couldn’t look away.
On the screen was a still photo grabbed from a video feed. She could see the bottle blond hair, the goatee—George Wickham. Or what had been George Wickham. Everything that she most hated about this job grabbed her like a giant hand and squeezed all the air from her lungs.
Bob had sensed her behind him and opened the screen up for her to see.
“Just closing the loop on your boy,” he told her. “I don’t think you’ll have any more problems from that quarter.”
When she didn’t respond, he turned to face her. He gazed at her a moment, then reached behind him without looking and pushed the screen down. She blinked a few times, nodded, and went to her room where she fell on her cot, pulled the scratchy blanket over her head, and closed her eyes. A few hours later, she heard Abby and Bob leave—they would liaison with whichever extraction team had been assigned to the rescue. She and Arch normally didn’t hear anything until the deed was done. She made sure her bags were packed in case they needed to beat a hasty retreat, then returned to bed and fell back into a disturbed sleep.
Elizabeth woke the next morning before the sun was up. She remained on her cot, hugging her pillow. It was Christmas Day, and she was stuck thousands of miles from home. She tried to imagine what the morning would bring. Her family would still be asleep now. As soon as the sun began to rise, the boisterous boys, quiet Moira, and demanding Sarah would all leap from their beds. She breathed in, smelling the pancake breakfast Uncle Ed would cook after the presents were opened and Aunt Maddy returned to bed for an hour. Jane would lead the cleanup if she wasn’t working. She’d invited Will and Georgiana—would they be there? Richard, she suspected, would join them, invited or not.
Just as the sun was coming up, movement in the kitchen jarred her back to the present.
“Hey, Dutch,” called Arch from just outside the curtain that separated her bed from the main room, “you hungry?”
“No,” she called faintly, trying not to aggravate the burgeoning drumbeat in her head. She reached for the acetaminophen.
The curtain was pulled aside unceremoniously, and Arch loomed in the entry. He tilted his head and stared at her, his normally warm eyes cool, assessing. In a move much too fast for a man of his size, he snatched her up, nearly oversetting the cot, and tossed her over his shoulder. Elizabeth didn’t even offer a protest, just a thin, “What are you doing?”
Arch carried her to the small dining table that had been shoved into a corner of the room. It had been covered with equipment, but most of it had been packed now. He dropped her roughly into a chair and slapped a full plate of food down in front of her.
“Eat,” he commanded. “And drink some water.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not hungry.” She pushed the plate away. She drank the water and swallowed her pills.
Arch shook his head at her. “I don’t get it,” he said, an edge in his normally affable voice. “You should be over the damn moon. That was probably the single most brilliant catch I’ve ever been involved in. My frickin’ name is Archimedes, and I didn’t think about using pi as the code key. And that asshole—it’s not like you didn’t know it would end like that. It always ends like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Her hackles began to rise. “Christmas,” she shot back.
He continued to stare at her without speaking.
“It’s Christmas,” she repeated. His expression didn’t change. “And I’m here.”
Arch looked at her askance. “That’s never mattered before,” he said slowly.
“But I wasn’t expecting to be home before,” she explained. “I was really . . .”
Arch slapped his forehead. “I’m a moron,” he exclaimed, interrupting her. He shoved the plate back at her. “Eat it all,” he said in his booming voice, and then added mysteriously, “or you won’t get your Christmas present.”
Chapter Three
Elizabeth’s stomach lurched dangerously, but she finished the final mouthfuls of the food and showed Arch the empty plate. “Your turn,” she told him. “It’d better be good.”
“Ten-minute window,” he said from his seat, preoccupied with something on the screen, “to send some music.” He held out his hand. She took it and was pulled over to him. “Sorry, it’s all I could manage. You can send to their accounts from yours. But hurry. We’re in the satellite’s blind spot . . . now.”
Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide. She dove into the chair as Arch abandoned it and began typing furiously.
“Five minutes,” warned Arch, eyes on the time, and then later, “two-minute warning.”
Elizabeth leaned in close, her fingers flying. At last, one hand rose in a flamboyant gesture.
“Done,” she told him.
Arch moved in to remove any trace of the unauthorized activity.
“Arch, you didn’t create that tunnel for me,” Elizabeth said slowly. She frowned. “You were clearing it to send songs to your family.”
Arch smiled and shrugged. “My sister. But she doesn’t appreciate me messing up her playlists anyway.”
Elizabeth placed her hand on his massive forearm. “Thanks,” she said, choking up a little. “I really needed that.”
He pushed her away playfully. “Don’t go all soft on me, Dutch.” He resumed his seat near the computer and concentrated on whatever he was doing. Elizabeth felt oddly outside herself as she eyed Arch, the room, her notes. This was an important part of who she was. Could she really give it up? The answer came swiftly. Yes. I’m a ghost here. As for going soft, she considered it objectively. Too late.
The Gardiners’ family room was littered with heedlessly torn wrapping paper, discarded ribbons in a rainbow of colors, and empty boxes. Pajamas, socks, and other clothes were set aside in neat piles, and toys were strewn haphazardly across the carpet. The adults sat on a sofa and chairs arranged in a ring to contain the destruction, trying to behave as though nobody was missing. Will was sure he wasn’t being any help at all, as he found it difficult even to be in her family’s house on Christmas morning. It’s my fault Elizabeth’s not here with them.
He’d promised Richard and Georgiana he’d try. But it was hard.
Suddenly, the youngest Bennet squealed. “She sent me a song!” she screeched excitedly.
“Who, Lyddie?” asked Maddy calmly.
“Lizzy!” she nearly shouted, then laughed as everyone in the room sat up at once. Will felt his heart pounding double-time.
“Listen!” Lydia ran to the stereo system and jammed her power cord into the USB port. Cobie Callait’s “Try,” blasted out, and Will smiled a little at the lyrics, especially when all the girls, even Moira, got up and shouted the words.
When they all collapsed in a giggling heap and Sara launched herself on top, Will asked quietly, “Did anyone else get a song?” His fingers twitched, but he was afraid to look. Surely Elizabeth’s time had been l
imited, and she’d reach out to her sisters first. He tried to quell the hope rising in his chest and told himself to wait until he was alone. If she hadn’t sent him one, he didn’t want his disappointment to mar their celebration.
Everyone scrambled for their phones or iPods or computers, and there were soon competing songs being played out across the room. Finally, Maddy put a stop to it and demanded that everyone take turns.
“You first, Aunt Maddy,” Mary said sweetly. But Maddy shook her head, her cheeks suddenly pink. Ed read something on her screen and brightened, whispering something in her ear that made her scowl and shake her head.
Ed played his song first, an old one by a country singer named Petra Conners simply called “The Man.” Maddy snuggled up next to him, and he tossed his arm around her shoulders as the they listened: “He was the man of the family / The man of the hour / Everyone’s father, everyone’s dad . . .” By the end, Ed was blowing his nose into an oversized handkerchief. I didn’t even know they made those anymore. Will’s spirits lifted a bit as he felt a brief flare of affectionate amusement. And Georgiana thinks I’m old-fashioned.
Kit and Mary had songs—Rachel Platten’s “Fight Song” and Cyndi Lauper’s “True Colors,” respectively.
Mary was perplexed. “Cyndi who?” she asked the room.
Will smirked as Maddy let out a moan. “No,” she whined, “I cannot be that old.” Mary just shrugged.
“Old age is always fifteen years older than I am,” quipped Ed.
“Oh, stop with your Oliver Wendell Holmes quotes,” sighed Maddy. “I’m having a mid-life crisis here.”
Ed smiled suggestively at her. “I’m very good at managing your crises.” The Bennet girls all rolled their eyes and collectively ignored them.
Will watched Ed and Maddy with equal parts fondness and anxiety. He didn’t begrudge the Gardiners their closeness, not at all, but just now it served to heighten the piercing loneliness that had dogged him from the moment he’d realized Elizabeth was gone. At least he knew she was all right, wherever she was. That was huge. He just wished she was here. Your own damn fault, he told himself sternly. Suck it up.
Georgiana waited until the other songs had played, but Will saw her glance at her phone when she thought nobody was watching. She bit her lip and looked up. “I have one, too,” she told them, pleased. “’Brave,’ by Sara Bareilles.”
“Oh, I love her,” Kit gushed, and the other girls nodded.
Georgiana has a song. If she sent one to G. . . . “I’ll be right back,” he told Ed, and headed directly for the bathroom. Once inside, he found himself trying to catch his breath. He placed his hands on the vanity and touched his forehead to the cool glass of the mirror until he could convince himself to look. If she’d sent a song to G but not to him, he’d know.
Despite the slight tremor in his hands, Will removed his phone from its holster and held it securely. He swiped at the home screen to get to his music. He blinked and read, E.B. has sent you a song. There, at the top of his playlist, was April Keane’s “Wait for Me.” Girl song, he thought affectionately. He tapped the icon to play it. When he heard, “Couldn’t miss you more,” he shut his eyes. When Keane sang, “We have things to say,” he bowed his head. The song repeated the title, “Wait for me, wait for me,” and Will felt an intense wave of sadness crash over him before it gave way to a bittersweet relief.
“I will, love,” he breathed, his body sagging back against the wall as he seemed to lose some of the weight he’d been carrying over the past weeks. “You, too.”
There was a commotion outside. From the voices, Will surmised that Richard had finally returned with the elusive Jane Bennet. She’d been expected for dinner last night, but had been held over until this morning, and Richard had offered to pick her up. As if anyone else had a chance. His laugh was weak, but it made him feel more like himself. He put his phone back in its holster and stepped outside.
Everyone was laughing as Jane showed her song: “Let it Go.” The little Gardiner girls knew it by heart. Maddy released an exaggerated groan. “The girls watched that movie every night for two months—I just got them to stop singing that!”
Will smiled to himself. He knew Elizabeth so well that he immediately understood the song was both perfect for Jane Bennet and a teasing payback to Maddy for the hotdogs.
Jane gave her aunt a wink, waggled her eyebrows, and turned the song on, pushing the volume as high as it would go. “You know, girls, there’s a second movie, too!” She laughed.
Maddy pretended to be appalled, covering her ears with her hands and hurrying out of the room. The girls giggled, Ed followed his wife to start preparing breakfast, and Jane laughed as she directed the children in the cleanup. Mary already had a few garbage bags at the ready, and the room was soon cleared.
Only Will observed Richard carefully removing his phone to see if he, too, had a song. His expression hardened at what he read, and he quickly excused himself to make a call.
Will followed his cousin out to the front porch. “What is it, Richard?” he asked bluntly. His cousin’s eyes were stormy as they met his. He held out his phone, and Will peered at the first title on his list.
“No One Mourns the Wicked,” it read.
For a brief, irrational moment, Will felt a surge of fear knock him back on his heels. But Richard grabbed his arm.
“Wickham, Will,” he reassured his cousin quickly. “Wicked, Wickham.” He let go. “I think she’s telling us we don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
They exchanged grim looks.
As he stood on the Gardiners’ porch in the late December chill, Will Darcy touched his phone. The song from Elizabeth was the best Christmas gift he’d ever received. She was well. But was she safe?
“Will you call Oscar?” he inquired, an edge in his voice.
Richard nodded. “Was just about to. Go back inside, Will. Enjoy Christmas.”
‘Enjoy’ might be a bit strong. He turned towards the front door. But it’s another step towards getting her home. And then, he thought, I’ll never let her go again.”
When Will stepped back inside the house, another country song was blaring in the kitchen. When he rounded the corner, he saw the Gardiners in the middle of the floor, facing away from him. Maddy’s back was against Ed’s chest, his arms embracing her as they swayed to the music and he sang softly in her ear. “She can’t help it if they look her way,” a rough voice crooned, “She was simply born that way.” Will took a step back into the hallway as the song picked up. “Sexy in her jeans and tee,” Ed sang with the music, louder now, “She was made to be with me.”
As he turned to leave, embarrassed to be privy to such an intimate moment, he nearly collided with Jane. Judging from the gentle expression on her face, she’d been watching as well.
“Lizzy will be back soon, Will,” she said softly. “She knows you love her.”
The doorbell rang. “That’ll be the Lucases,” she told him, and patted his arm as she walked past.
Will smiled at Charlotte and her parents as they came into the house. Charlotte’s mother was shorter than her daughter and weighed more, but otherwise they looked a great deal alike. He saw that Dr. Lucas had a newspaper under his arm.
“Merry Christmas, Jane,” Dr. Lucas said with a curious glance at Will. “Your uncle’s paper was in the bushes again.”
Jane laughed. “No Christmas tip, I’m guessing.” Charlotte grinned, and her mother shook her head in mock disapproval.
Ed emerged from the kitchen in time to catch the end of the conversation. “He’s forty years old and throws the papers from his car,” he retorted, giving Mrs. Lucas a peck on the cheek. I gave him a gas card.” He took the paper from Dr. Lucas and tossed it on the hall table. “Oh, Will,” Ed said suddenly. “I meant to pass on a thank you from Lopez at the VFW. He said the new roof looks great.”
Will acknowledged the praise uncomfortably and squinted at the paper—half a headline was visible, and it had caught his eye. �
�May I?” he asked after everyone had been introduced. He motioned to the paper. Ed nodded and ushered his guests into the family room.
Will waited until everyone was gone before picking the paper up and spreading it out. The headline read: “A Christmas Miracle.” Above the article was a color photo of four exhausted men being led off a plane in Germany. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew.
Richard returned inside, and Will handed the paper over.
“It’s her,” he said quietly. Richard didn’t reply.
When Abby and Bob returned to the apartment, Arch met them at the door. “Well?” he asked when they didn’t say anything. Bob just stared at him, but Abby nodded.
“Done,” she said succinctly.
“When can we get out of here?” Elizabeth asked immediately.
“When they tell us we’re cleared,” was Abby’s smooth reply. “I’ll get you home as soon as I can, Dutch.”
Elizabeth threw herself down on a chair.
“Are you sulking?” Abby asked, amused.
“No,” Elizabeth grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. Great, I’m channeling Lydia.
Arch snorted. “How much was the bonus?” he asked.
Abby smiled, a full, cheerful smile. “A lot,” she said, pulling something up on her computer and swiveling the screen so he could view it. Arch whistled. “And the promise of as much work as we can handle.” She strutted to Elizabeth’s chair and peered down at her. “I think you’ll hit that million a lot earlier than you thought, Dutch,” she said confidently. “Merry Christmas.”
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