Beautiful White Lies Duet

by K L Clare

  I pulled Lissie onto my lap and held her quivering body to my chest as she cried for Isobel. Once the car was on the road, I closed my eyes, battling hard for control of my own emotions.

  “You’ll be safe for now at your beach cottage,” Will said.

  I nodded. I didn’t know where else to go—there was no one left, nowhere for me to turn.

  Though I could feel his eyes on me, scrutinizing every breath as I struggled to keep it together, we rode in deafening silence until we reached the main route.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Ellie.”

  I turned to the window and focused on the blurred passing terrain, fighting tears. One word. That’s all it would take for me to break apart.

  He slid closer and narrowed the gap between us. “Look at me,” he ordered in a soft tone, placing his hand on the back of my head. I turned to meet his eyes. Neither of us spoke. My eyes dropped, and I swallowed against the thickness at the back of my throat. The pressure of his hand remained steady as he lowered it to my nape. I lifted my eyes, and his were still there—waiting for mine to come back. We were stuck there for a moment.

  “I swear I’ll protect you.”

  “Who’s Ethan?” It was a quivering whisper. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, nothing that wouldn’t break me.

  “My brother.”

  “He knew my sister?”

  “Quite well. They met in London.”

  Isobel spent an entire summer studying in London eight years ago.

  I dug beneath Lissie to pluck the sketch from my pocket and held the paper at an angle so he could see only the name and numbers. “Is this his phone number?”

  “Yes.” He let his hand fall. The strength it provided fell with it.

  “None of this makes sense.” The first tears tumbled free, and more quickly followed in an unbroken stream. I knew I trusted him, but I wasn’t sure why. Isobel had ties. I trusted her. What would I do without her?

  I choked on the silent panic strangling me.

  The back of his fingers lingered near my cheek. He was about to wipe the tears but changed his mind and let his hand drop again. “When you’re safe, we’ll talk. I’ll explain.”

  I wiped at the burning tears, tilting my head toward the young driver. “Who’s this?”

  “John. He’s my youngest brother.”

  “How many?”

  “There are four of us. John is seventeen. Thomas twenty-eight. Ethan’s thirty-four.”

  “And you?”

  “Thirty-two.”

  John peered into the rearview mirror and revealed eyes almost identical to Will’s. The one difference was John’s youthful innocence. A sharp breath stabbed my lungs. I looked down at the little girl curled on my lap and then stared back at the mirror, comparing his eyes to hers. I’d been staring at the same eyes on my niece since her birth.

  Will still watched me. He shifted his weight. “How old?”

  I studied his eyes and made the same comparison. “She was seven in April.”

  He turned his head and cursed under his breath. When he came back to me, he found the single tear that loosed itself before I could stop it and wiped it away with his thumb.

  That one tear unleashed another round, and as the watery pain streaked down my face, it hit me—I was responsible for Lissie’s life, but I didn’t know how to be that for her.

  “What’s going to happen? To their . . . to them?” I asked.

  “They’ll be held at the medical examiner’s office while police look for you. Ben will go back to ensure authorities find them. I don’t want our location traced by phone.” He tucked a finger under my chin and lifted my wet eyes to his. “I won’t leave you alone in this.”

  I believed him.

  Even though it was fleeting, relief washed over me as we pulled up in front of the seaside cottage. It was my safe place—the haven to where I always ran when something in my world failed, when I was broken. But this time, I wasn’t alone.

  5

  The edge of the sea reached up to soothe me, knowing I was adrift with grief as it cleansed my legs. I stood in the water with my arms outstretched and eyes clenched shut, inhaling the salt-laden breeze as it whipped my hair about. Breaking waves rolled in and pushed me back as if to save me. I was lost.

  “How do I get through this?” I whispered into the familiar briny depths.

  Will stood nearby. He refused to let me out of his sight, refused to allow me beyond arm’s reach, and he’d tried hard to convince me to stay inside, but I needed to feel the sea.

  Two-hundred feet behind us were several cottages nestled high among boulders and stones. At the foot of the hill, sea oats grew tall along weatherworn fencing. The cottages had white-painted cedar-shake siding as was traditional for Lords Point, but each had varying shades of gray and brown caused by winter beatings. Mine stood out only because of the flickering candle in its kitchen window.

  “We should go inside and talk while the young one sleeps. There’s something you should have been told long ago,” he said.

  The moment I stepped out of the water, his hand was low on my back, guiding me up the rocky hill path. His touch was warm and strong, filled with energy, similar to the summer storm about to hit the beach. His presence was powerful. It tugged at me, drawing me to him.

  Inside, Will leaned forward from his seat at the edge of the sofa and raked long fingers through his hair as he stared at me. “You noticed the cross?”

  I sat at the opposite end with my legs pulled up and the side of my face resting against the soft back cushion. “Yes.” I would never forget the sight.

  “It’s a signature—a calling card.”

  I lifted my head and swallowed a ragged breath. “You know who did this?”

  “What do you know of your lineage?”

  “What? My sister was just murdered, and you want to discuss my lineage?”

  He raised a brow and waited.

  “I know my grandparents were English. My grandfather’s parents settled here just before the turn of the twentieth century.”

  “And your parents?”

  I shrugged. I never knew my parents. “There was an accident. I was just two. They’d taken a trip abroad without Isobel and me. The plane went down. My grandmother raised us.”

  “I’m sorry for that, for the losses you’ve suffered. You’re English. Raised here, but your blood is pure. What do you know of your surname?”

  “It’s a name,” I snapped. “What’s there to know? Look, it’s pretty clear I’m uninformed where my family tree is concerned, so if you know something, please just tell me.”

  His eyes shifted to the floor, and he shook his head, cursing under his breath as he had in the car. It was his thing—raking his hair and cursing beneath his breath. It was . . . sexy.

  When I realized he was watching me stare at him, it jolted me from my head, and I snapped at him again. “What does this have to do with what happened to my family?”

  Will took my hand, his attempt at patience. He took a deep breath through his nose and let it go. “Christ. Did they tell you nothing?”

  I watched his every move, studied him, waiting for him to say something more. His moods shifted fast and without warning.

  Another call on my cell from Josh went unanswered.

  “This will sound mad, but I give you my word it’s the truth. The ancient blood running through you has been hunted and eliminated for generations.”

  “What do you mean hunted?”

  “A covert order of British assassins believes your blood is a threat to the Crown. They refer to themselves as the Order.” He went on after assessing my silent emotional deliberations. “Your ancestors and mine made a pact that’s been in play for centuries. The terms were designed to protect your bloodline. My family was contracted to defend yours.”

  I pulled my hand away. Was he joking? What he said sounded insane, even as he said it with absolute conviction. “You’re right, it sounds ridiculous . . . like a story by the B
rothers Grimm. But go on.”

  “My job is to keep you alive.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve done that. So you’ll be leaving.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere without you.” His words were sharp. He meant it.

  “You’re telling me that my life has been a lie—some tragic, untold fairy tale—and that Prince Charming has at last been dispatched to rescue me. What do you expect me to do with that?”

  “Never confuse me with the good guy. I’m not some fucking prince, and this has nothing to do with fantasy.” He paused. The same hand he’d held mine with was now fisted. “Do not doubt my word when I give it.” His anger was palpable. He’d absorbed mine and made it his.

  I had an impulsive urge to soothe him. Touching the inside of his wrist, I encouraged him to open his hand, and when he did, I slipped mine back into his. “Suppose I believe. Why is this important? Does the Crown even have power?”

  “The Crown makes countless moves by way of royal prerogative, without consulting Commons or the public.” His thumb caressed the bright blue veins on the inside of my wrist. “Jesus, you’re delicate.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “The Queen is aging and unwell. Most countrymen find her heir to be a self-indulgent arse. The prince’s outspoken positions on great issues are unpopular. Public mood could become unstable when he inherits. That’s the driving force behind the Order’s renewed focus of its objective.”

  “Preservation of the reigning bloodline.”

  “Yes. The elimination of all threats.”

  “Political complicity—that I get. But secret societies that execute families? It feels too Shakespearean, if not medieval.”

  “American culture is in its infancy compared to most civilizations, and most Americans know nothing about their heritage or its histories.”

  Others may have been offended by the remark, but he was right. I’d studied art history for six years before earning my master’s, and ancient European cultures were esoteric. “How far back does this conflict go?”

  He hesitated in thought, something dark filling his eyes.

  “Tell me everything, Will.” I touched his forearm and dragged my fingers to his palm.

  He stiffened, his gaze locked on my hand. “I believe the first group of assassins emerged soon after the death of Queen Anne—that was three centuries ago.”

  “So you’re saying this . . . this ancient Order survived three centuries and now wants the prince to inherit, that it feels just in safeguarding the Crown’s sitting bloodline even as public opinion is low. There’s worry of a referendum or perhaps another heir coming forward. But I don’t understand how my family was drawn into this. Please. I need to know.”

  “Yeah, you do.” His long fingers curled onto mine. “Your father was the last successor of King Edward the Fourth’s patrilineal descent.”

  “What?” I stretched my brain to recall the significance of Edward IV’s reign. It had been eclipsed by the Cousins’ War. York versus Lancaster and then the Tudors. “Patrilineal? But none of his sons survived.”

  “One survived. Your English history lessons here in America are wrong.”

  “This is crazy. My last name is James. And historians at the nation’s most prestigious universities still debate over who murdered Edward’s sons, the Princes in the Tower.”

  “Richard lived.”

  “I’m sure many descendants of the dynasty still live.”

  “None like you. You’re a direct descendant of the one successive line of a beloved king. And in the eyes of the Order, that makes you a threat to the Crown.”

  “And since I’m female, since my father had no sons, I’m the end of the line.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is insane. How can it be? And that’s an archaic, sexist notion, by the way.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched as if he were amused. “You asked for the truth, and I gave it to you.”

  “And my sister, she died for this.” The last four words faded to a whisper. I winced in pain as the image of Isobel and our grandmother lying dead filled my mind.

  “She did, but I won’t allow that to happen to you.”

  “It’s too much. I can’t. . . .” I shook my pounding head, holding it between my hands, pushing back at the agony and that gruesome image.

  His hand went to my arm, his touch hesitant as he tested my reaction. “I’m here.”

  “Will, I don’t—” I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t get the words out before the sob trapped in my chest finally broke free and released my heartache. I closed my eyes, but tears raced down my cheeks anyway. My body trembled and my teeth clattered.

  My family was gone. Oh, God. They were dead.

  Will wrapped a throw around my shaking body as he gathered me in his lap and pressed my face to his chest. “Shhh. I’m here now. Never leave you again. I’m here,” he said, purring the words against my hair.

  6

  I padded across the wood floor and pulled the white draperies back from the doors. Golden beams of sunlight radiated through the east-facing panes of glass. My throbbing head tortured me, allowing thoughts and images from the day before to collide into one another as they whirled around inside my mind.

  Ben was on the other side, standing guard. He raised one hand in greeting and gave a quick nod. I stared stupidly before opening one of the doors wide and stepping out onto the veranda.

  “Where is he? Where’s Will? I need to see him.”

  Both hands went back to the impressive-looking rifle strapped to his shoulder. His muscled body tensed. “He’ll be back soon. Stay inside until he returns. Please.” When I nodded, his face and shoulders relaxed.

  “Why don’t you sit down? There’s no need to stand.”

  Ben shook his head and pulled his phone from a pocket. He removed his dark sunglasses to read a text message. His eyes crinkled, and a smile lifted his face, causing the scar on his forehead to pucker. I turned to go back inside, but he stopped me. “Wait. Here . . .” He was beaming as he extended his phone and revealed a picture.

  “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

  “Chelsea.”

  “Well, Chelsea certainly has a striking smile. She’s gorgeous. You must miss her.”

  “Yeah. We celebrated her third birthday at the end of May.” He looked down at his boots and forced his feelings to retreat.

  I noticed his empty mug on the side table. “More coffee?” Maybe he’d talk if I pumped him with caffeine. I wanted to know more about everything, more about Will.

  He nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Be right back.”

  I went inside and pulled the curtains back across both doors for privacy. Lissie was still sleeping. It was close to seven, but she was used to sleeping until nine or later during the summer months. I brushed my teeth and changed out of dirty clothes.

  John was in the kitchen. He was dressed like Ben but wasn’t armed with a rifle. A handgun was on the counter in front of him. His broad shoulders and chest—even the same sun-kissed, dark blond hair—reminded me of his brother, though he stood only five feet ten or eleven.

  “Ellie,” he said by way of greeting before he stuffed his mouth with sausage.

  Finding him in my kitchen surprised me, and for some reason, it warmed my heart. I wanted to smile but couldn’t yet find that strength. “Where is Will?”

  “Back at his place. Thought he’d be back before you woke. But don’t worry, you’re safe. We won’t leave you alone.”

  “So he said.”

  I busied myself making a fresh pot of coffee and rifled through tall cabinets on tiptoes, searching for a thermal carafe. Coffee was essential for survival, and it had to be steaming hot. Once I’d filled the carafe, I composed a meager smile for John, then stepped out onto the veranda again to continue my conversation with Ben.

  “When did the three of you arrive in Stonington? Sugar? Cream?”

  “Black. Will came over in May. John and I joined
him near the end of June when Ethan sent us to bring him back.” He sipped from his steaming mug.

  “Yet a month has passed, and you’re all still here.”

  He raised and dropped his free shoulder. “An army couldn’t have moved him.”

  “How does this work for you guys?” I sat and invited him to do the same.

  He remained on his feet and removed his sunglasses to knife me with his dark stare. “Listen, it’s not my place to have this conversation with you. I know you need a distraction, but—”

  “And will he? Have this conversation with me?”

  “I think he will.”

  We both stared out to sea and worked at our coffee. A laughing gull filled the air with its raucous call, then swooped down to pluck a dead fish from the seaweed that had washed ashore during the night’s storm. The sulfuric odor of the decaying algae drifted along the breeze. I wrinkled my nose.

  “Will’s not my brother, but we’ve been close for many years. I manage security ops for the family,” Ben offered.

  Before I had the chance to explore Ben’s remarks, John burst through the door. “There’s a policeman in the drive.”

  Ben barked orders. “Get back inside and cover the young one. Do not leave her. Ellie, you must answer the door, but don’t allow him in. I’ll stay close to you, just don’t give me away. We can’t allow anyone to know we’re here with you.”

  “But—”

  “Damn it, don’t make me ring Will. There’s no time for it. If you don’t open the door, the police will come in.”

  “Okay,” I snapped.

  He was on my heels as I headed for the front door. He rotated his rifle so that it rested on his back, and he drew a pistol from his belt, hiding just out of view, with his gun sighted on the policeman.

  I swallowed hard and opened the door.

  After flashing his badge and identification, Detective Parker apologized for the early hour and told me he’d transferred from Mystic’s police department a month prior. One of his hands gripped the frame so I couldn’t close the door, and the other was pushed down into his trouser pocket, jangling keys or coins or something metal.