Will felt the corners of his mouth turn up. “I do.”
“Careful, there,” Richard said amiably mocking his cousin, and held up his hands. “You don’t want to utter that particular phrase to the wrong person.”
“Elizabeth, you mean?” Will asked bitingly.
“What, you don’t think she’d accept a proposal if you asked?” Richard gave him a disbelieving look.
Will shrugged. “She might, but now’s not the right time.”
“So,” Richard said, stroking his chin, and moving around the desk to join Will, “no big romantic gesture when she comes home?”
Will ran a hand through his hair. “As much as I would appreciate being shot down in public, we have more pressing issues.”
“Hence the use of your alumni benefits?” Richard stated more than asked, gesturing to the Harvard library database displayed on the laptop.
Will steepled his hands and tapped his fingertips together. “Turns out she’s far from alone. But all of this”—he gestured at the article—"doesn’t tell me how to help.”
“Shall I tell you Dr. Bennet’s prescription?”
Will relaxed into the lighter tone of the conversation. “You’ll tell me anyway, so go ahead.”
“Show up,” said Richard simply.
Will rolled his eyes. “Pithy.”
“Sometimes you just have to be present.” A strange, goofy expression crossed his face, and Will bit his tongue to keep from harassing Richard about it. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with that woman.”
Will raised an eyebrow. “Really? I don’t think anyone’s noticed.”
“Shut up,” Richard retorted.
With raised eyebrows, Will stuck his chin out and replied, challengingly, “Make me.”
They both laughed softly.
“I have to admit,” Will said, “I’ve also been thinking about Wickham.”
“What about him?” Richard asked. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“No,” Will replied. “And I don’t expect to. But I’m not convinced he was involved with FORGE.”
Richard took a seat. “Why not?”
“Doesn’t it seem strange to you that Barker would go to all the trouble of hiring George Wickham to seduce G and then turn around and launch a direct attack on FORGE?” Will asked carefully. “The whole point of using Wickham was to get G to go abroad willingly, or at least to get close enough to make it look that way. To get her to hang herself, you know?”
Richard nodded. “Maybe he was desperate?” he asked. Then he answered his own question. “No. It doesn’t make sense to me, either. He couldn’t afford to break any laws, or he risked losing everything he wanted if he was ever tied to it. If Georgiana went willingly, he could just say that he didn’t force G to do anything she didn’t already want to do.”
“But that’s not what the attack on FORGE was—it was clearly an attempt to steal information. It broke all kinds of laws.”
“Wickham might have been working for another employer,” Richard said thoughtfully.
Will shook his head. “I don’t buy it.” He grunted. “I think we’ve got a second problem.”
Richard leaned against the end of Will’s desk. “Do you think whoever attacked FORGE is also to blame for the disruptions at the apartment?”
Will had taken all his systems offline, and nothing had happened since. He nodded gloomily. “That’s exactly what I think. But I have no proof.”
Richard rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Will.”
Finally, Will changed the subject again. “Does the therapy help, Richard? I mean, I’d like to suggest it to Elizabeth when she gets back, but if you don’t think it’s worth it . . .”
Richard entered the room and took a seat. “I’d like to think it does,” he said, “but seeing someone once a week or a few times a month—sometimes it’s too much.” He tilted his head back and stared resentfully at the ceiling. “And sometimes it’s not enough.”
Will tried to make sense of that. “Better than not going at all?”
Richard kept his gaze averted. “Yes. Better than not going at all.” He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. “Do you really think she’d refuse to marry you?”
“Maybe not,” Will admitted, “but she should. And I won’t ask. Not until we have time to really talk about everything.” He stared at the floor wearily. “I hate talking. I’m not good at it.” He closed his eyes. They sat together for a while without speaking, and Will had resumed reading his article when Richard’s phone buzzed.
He read the text and said slowly, “Oscar’s found a ticket sending her to Seattle.”
“Elizabeth?” Will asked tersely.
“No, Emma Stone,” Richard replied sarcastically. “Yes, Elizabeth.” He paused, reading another text. “Although she’s under a different name—Oscar wasn’t able to get that, but his sources will tell us when she lands.”
Will eyed his cousin and twisted the watch on his wrist. “Why Seattle? It’s on the other side of the country.”
“After a mission like the one I presume Elizabeth’s been on, you scatter. Then, if you have more work, you convene somewhere else at a predetermined time. If not, you make your way home. It’s safer if you aren’t all flying to the same place.”
“They might send her somewhere else?” Will stood up, remaining at his desk for a moment, thinking. He opened the top drawer and grabbed a few things, placing them in his computer bag and sliding his laptop in, too. I’ll need to grab my toothbrush and some clothes. Georgiana. I’ll have to call the Gardiners and let them know I’m leaving. G will understand. His sister had hit it off with Mary Bennet at Christmas and was staying overnight in New Jersey. “When does she land? I need to talk to her.”
“About an hour,” Richard replied, watching him.
Not enough time. “And we’re sure she’s on the plane?” Will asked, all business.
Richard shook his head. “Just have the ticket.”
Will stood still for a moment, his feet itching to race down to his room for his suitcase. Damn. He couldn’t trust that Seattle was where Elizabeth would be, then. There had been too many red herrings of late for him to trust it. He sat again, not wanting to be on his way to Seattle if she called from somewhere else. She’ll call when she lands. Then he remembered that she didn’t have her phone with her. Ed had found it in her apartment. He’d have to be patient and hope she’d buy a cheap phone or find a pay phone. Do those even exist anymore? He sighed. I hate being patient.
Richard’s phone rang. “Oscar?”
“Are you alone?” his brother asked tersely.
Richard glanced over at Will, who was watching him expectantly. He shook his head at Will. “Not her,” he said, and Will returned to his reading. “I can be,” he told Oscar and headed for the door.
“I don’t want Will to hear this. Not yet.” Oscar’s voice was tired, and Richard’s concern was stirred.
He slipped into his room and shut the door securely. “What’s going on?”
Oscar began talking, and Richard’s stomach turned. He sat heavily. “Firebomb?” he asked, his voice echoing inside his head. “Were they still there?”
A few hours later, Will glanced up to see his cousin in the doorway again. “Is she in Seattle yet, do you think?” he asked, rising from his chair. “If I can get in touch with her, I’ll fly out to meet her. She can fly back in first class with me.” He grinned, feeling confident she would want to return home. “She likes first class, even though she teases me about it.”
“Will,” Richard said haltingly, “Elizabeth didn’t get off the plane in Seattle.”
Will frowned and dropped into his chair with a groan. “Where is she, then? Did Oscar say?” When Richard didn’t answer, he stopped to study his cousin’s face. Richard was almost a ghostly white, and there was anguish in his eyes. “Will,” he began, but faltered. He tried again. “Elizabeth was . . .” his voice trailed away.
Will’s heart
froze over. “Where is she, Richard?” he demanded. “If she’s not in Seattle, where is she?”
Richard just shook his head.
Eight hours. It had been eight hours since Oscar had called with the news that Elizabeth was missing and presumed . . . his sources said that the handlers hadn’t been able to confirm the location of any of the team members. It was possible they were all in transit, ready to convene at another site, but Elizabeth would have wanted to come home. He was sure of it. She should have been on the plane to Seattle.
“I want the letter, Richard,” he said flatly. “I know she must have left one. You may not think I can handle it, but I know you wrote one, too. I’ve known for a long time.”
Richard wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s a little early for that, Will,” he said softly.
“Do you have it?” Will asked.
Will could see that Richard was considering lying to him, but in the end, he just said, “Yes.”
I still have hope,” Will said quietly. “But I need something, something, to feel close to her.” He swallowed. “Please.”
A few minutes later, Richard handed him the letter and a whiskey.
“She’s coming back,” Will said aloud. Richard nodded silently. He held the letter for a moment, then tossed it on his desk.
They waited in silence for another hour, Will slowly turning the whiskey glass and staring at the envelope. “Mr. Will Darcy” was written in cursive across the front.
Richard’s phone buzzed. He stared at the screen, his lips pursed.
“What is it?” Will asked.
Richard hesitated, glanced up. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Will stood. “Richard,” he said unsteadily, “give me the phone.”
“Just let me verify these first. It’s not anything you need to see unless we know for sure.” Richard bent his head over the phone and was typing out a message when Will grabbed it right out of his hand. Richard reached to take it back, but Will just turned his back and walked to the desk. Richard didn’t try to follow him.
On the screen were several photos of a bombed-out apartment building . . . somewhere. The building had collapsed into the earth, into what was probably a basement. Had been a basement. He swiped to the next photo. There was a punctured soccer ball in the foreground, deflated and peeling.
It meant nothing. Millions of people across the globe had soccer balls like that. Just because Elizabeth liked to juggle one when she worked . . . He swiped again and nearly dropped the phone. A few feet from the remains of the soccer ball was part of a whiteboard, with a few letters still visible. It looked like . . . He enlarged the photo. There was just a fragment, really. A line straight up and a word, or part of one: drey. He checked his name on the envelope, small, even letters, a tight loop on the ‘y’. Then he looked again at the photo.
The word was Audrey, he realized in a flash. They’d been playing hangman. It was Elizabeth’s writing. He was sure of it. He looked up.
“It’s her,” he told Richard. His cousin leaned forward in his seat and lowered his head to his hands.
Will set the phone down on his desk and picked up the letter. He ran his hand over the envelope, then slid a sharp opener along the top and plucked out a single sheet of paper.
Dear Will, it began.
If you’re reading this, I didn’t make it home. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am about that. Will fumbled a bit and took a drink of the whiskey. He couldn’t feel his fingers holding the glass and nearly dropped it.
I worry that you’ll shut yourself off from everyone and try to find some way to blame yourself for this. But I chose this with my eyes wide open. You didn’t choose it—I did. So get over yourself.
He smiled, but it hurt.
I am not afraid to die for what’s right, Will. I came to terms with that a long time ago. It’s just hard to think about all the people who will grieve when I go—you most of all. Please know I tried my best to make it back to you, and that when you’ve had some time to recover, I expect you to find someone else you can love.
He shook his head. Impossible.
Have a good life, Will. That’s an order.
A strangled sound escaped his throat.
I’m sorry this is so short—I don’t have a lot of time. Please know that I love you wildly, with all of my heart, with everything I have. I love your integrity, your intelligence, your strength, and your heart. You have been the best part of my life.
God bless you, Will Darcy.
Elizabeth
“Will?” Richard asked quietly.
Will was holding his letter in one hand, just staring at it. “I shouldn’t have read it,” Will said, his eyes stinging. “If she finds out when she gets home, she’ll be angry at me.” He lightly traced one of the lines on the paper with a fingertip.
Richard nodded. “It’s been less than a day. Elizabeth could still pop up on our radar, Will.”
She could, Will thought. He’d feel better if they could confirm that the other members of the team were stateside, but even Oscar evidently didn’t have that kind of information. And the sad fact was that the longer they went without hearing anything, the higher the odds that they wouldn’t ever hear anything at all.
The buzz and vibration of the landing gear jolted Elizabeth awake. She pushed up the window shade to reveal the gray of early morning. It had taken two lengthy layovers in sketchy foreign airports and a run through the terminal to make the last connection, but she was at last arriving in San Diego. Flying to Seattle would have gotten her home twelve hours ago. No good deed, she thought. Still, the first leg of the flight to San Diego had left right away—she’d barely made it to the gate--and given their expedited exit, she’d not minded at all. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes and went over her list. Buy a phone. Call Will. Pick up Arch’s Harley. Head north.
Unlike her flight home after De Roos, she was able to slink away from the plane and into the terminal unnoticed. There was one pay phone, but it didn’t work. She wondered how long it had been out of order—did anyone even use it anymore? She grabbed some food and then found a place to sit and wait for the electronics store near the gate to open. Faster than running around the city trying to find a place. She drummed her fingers on the table and barely tasted her food. She’d had so much coffee in the past weeks that she eschewed her morning cup for an insanely expensive bottle of water out of a machine. It’s water, for heaven’s sake, she groused, but purchased it anyway.
As she finished the bottle, she heard the security gate being lifted across the hallway. She entered the store purposefully, grabbed the first phone on the rack, and paid for a SIM card. The young man behind the counter had her set up quickly, and she was on her way.
The terminal was still nearly empty in a lull between the early commuter flights and the more popular flights nearer to mid-morning. Elizabeth sat at the table and held the cheap plastic phone in her hands. She let out a breath and entered Will’s number. Please pick up, she pleaded silently, worried that he’d not recognize the number and let it go to voice mail. Please pick up.
The phone rang once, and then Will’s voice was in her ear. “Hello?”
Chapter Five
Elizabeth pressed the phone tightly against her ear. For a long moment, she couldn’t speak, so overwhelming was her relief. She released a breath that came out like a broken sob.
“Elizabeth?” Will asked, his voice frantic. “Is that you?”
“Will,” she breathed anxiously, abruptly dropping her elbow on the table to rest her forehead in the palm of her hand. “It’s me.”
“Oh God,” he said hoarsely. “You’re okay?”
Elizabeth’s heart beat a hard, erratic pattern in her chest. “I’m fine. How are you?”
His laugh was strained. “Fine, I’m fine. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
Elizabeth smiled. Good. He said it’s good.
“Where are you?” he asked.
She gazed down the long terminal. “I’m
in an airport.” Silence. “In California.”
“So not Seattle, then,” he replied, almost to himself.
He knew about Seattle? “No, not Seattle. How did you . . .”
“Oscar,” he replied, as her voice trailed off.
Elizabeth rubbed her eye. They were watching for me? Something warm settled in her chest and her throat tightened. She was suddenly flummoxed. She’d been waiting for this conversation for so long but now she didn’t know exactly what to say. Apologize, idiot. “I’m sorry I left like that,” she blurted out. “I tried to call, but . . . I just couldn’t sit by.”
“Don’t,” Will said forcefully, cutting her off. “I was wrong to send you home, and not to answer the phone was just . . . You knew the risks and were willing to take them. I should have respected that.” His laugh was hollow. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to stay put.”
She half-laughed, half-sobbed at that, tipping her head back to watch the sun and clouds through one of the skylights. “Yes, you know me well enough to suspect me of that,” she agreed. “But I understand why you did it.”
He let out a breath. “Thank you.” After a pause, he asked again, “Where are you, Elizabeth?”
“Will,” she started cautiously, “I have some things to do before I come home.” She waited for his protest, but there was no response. “I am coming home. Soon. I promise.”
“Please let me meet you,” he persisted. “I can drive you where you need to go. I just have to see you.”
“I promised to take a friend’s motorcycle home for him, so I’ll be riding that, Will. I’m going to go sleep for about a day, and then I have a few stops to make.” She bit her lip and uncurled Bob’s slip of paper. “A few things I need to do on my own.”
“These stops you need to make,” his asked, voice ringing with tension, “they’re not for Abby, are they?”
She hiccupped. “No.” A very small smile tugged at her lips. “They’re for me.”
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