Adapt

by Melanie Rachel

  Your Juraj is George Wickham. Attended prep school with your prince, Cindy.

  He’d gone to school with Will?

  Underneath Abby’s message were two photos of Juraj. In one, he was an adult with a full beard and red hair; in the other, he was clean-shaven with short brown hair and young, probably still in school. Both were obviously the man who was sitting across the table from her. He reached into his own pocket, but she wasn’t worried. She’d given him a good look when he entered. He couldn’t have hidden a weapon in those pants. Nothing could be hidden in those pants. She was sure he was reaching for his phone.

  “Well, this is a very interesting text indeed,” she mused. “Shall I share, G?”

  Georgiana’s face was pale as she glanced at Juraj and then at Elizabeth. She nodded.

  She held up the phone. “George Wickham, I presume?”

  Juraj froze, then withdrew his hand from his pocket. “I don’t know who that is,” he replied, reaching for her phone. Elizabeth pulled it away.

  Georgiana stared at Elizabeth.

  “George Wickham,” Elizabeth repeated. “His name is not Juraj.”

  Georgiana looked up at her companion, whose face had smoothed into an expression of harmless bemusement. “Is that true?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he replied, sounding genuinely confused. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  He’s good, Elizabeth thought bitterly. Very choirboy.

  “Juraj,” Georgiana asked, her blue eyes trained on him.

  “Yes, my love?” He cooed. Acid burned in Elizabeth’s stomach. He’s really spreading it on thick.

  “Why. . .” she continued in a small voice Elizabeth had never heard her use, “why is your name Slovak instead of Slovenian?”

  Elizabeth gave a silent cheer. Juraj—George, she corrected herself—stared at Georgiana in shock, like she’d just hit him over the head with a bat. His Adam’s apple moved up and down rapidly. Elizabeth used his distraction to stand and pull Georgiana from her chair. Wickham reached to grab G’s arm but missed. He had the audacity, then, to appear pained.

  “Do you really believe I would hurt you? Georgiana, I love you,” he said plaintively. “I don’t even know what this is about or who this is, but why would you believe her and not me?”

  They were interrupted by a woman coming from the front of the house. “Is there a problem here?” she asked in a soft voice. She glanced at the other diners, who either did not notice or had decided to ignore what was happening.

  Georgiana swallowed hard. Elizabeth could tell she was wavering. “Don’t,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. “He’s going to try to get you alone. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he went to school with your brother.”

  The girl’s forehead creased, and her lips moved silently to form her brother’s name.

  You could be wrong, Bennet, she warned herself. This sort of intervention was more Abby’s thing. But she shoved those fears away. Something was going on here, and she intended to solve the puzzle.

  “Darling,” George was saying, holding out his hand, “please? Let’s go talk about this privately.”

  The manager took Elizabeth’s arm. “I can’t have whatever this is aired in my dining room,” she hissed. “Please, take it outside.” Elizabeth shook her off before her phone emitted the buzzing of a rattlesnake shaking its tail. Though muted, it was loud enough to draw some annoyed attention from the tables immediately around them.

  She pulled her phone out and read the alert. “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed, aiming her outrage at George Wickham. “You’re trying to hack my personal information? Do you have any idea who I am?” Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she laughed at the notion of using that phrase like some over-indulged, demanding actress. Life is absurd. Almost as absurd as George Wickham thinking he can hack my phone.

  She cleared her throat, ignoring the increasingly angry insistence of the manager that they leave. She had an audience here. She needed an audience. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said loudly, “I highly recommend that any of you using Bluetooth at this moment shut it down and that you go through your credit information with a fine-toothed comb. This gentleman is attempting to pick up credit card numbers with an app on his phone. That’s probably why he came here tonight.” She stared at Georgiana. “A target-rich environment.” All around them, well-heeled, panicked diners pulled out their phones.

  “That’s it,” the manager said, striding purposefully to the front of the restaurant, “I’m calling the police.”

  “You do that,” Elizabeth responded. “Please.”

  Georgiana’s mouth fell open the slightest bit, and she turned to Elizabeth, her eyes wide, no longer innocent, now both afraid and resolute. For the briefest of moments, Elizabeth mourned the loss.

  “Georgie,” purred George, “c’mon, baby. Let me take you out of here so we can talk about this. I swear, there’s a reasonable explanation for all of it.” Elizabeth shook her head. I have to admit, the guy’s got charisma. She inched around the table to position herself between George Wickham and the front door.

  “No,” Georgiana said firmly, holding her ground across the table from Wickham. “I don’t believe you. You lied to me, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “No?” he echoed sadly, deep brown eyes suddenly shiny. “You’re really going to push me away? I was going to propose tonight.”

  “Really?” Georgiana asked. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s the ring?”

  “I thought we could pick it out together,” he answered without missing a beat.

  G’s breathing grew ragged, but she glared at the other man. “Let me guess. You wanted me to use your mother’s ring, but we’d have to fly to Slovenia to get it, right? And I’m supposed to be so in love with you that I’m happy to follow you there like some lovesick dupe?”

  Wickham had no answer for that, Elizabeth noted with satisfaction.

  “Yeah, that story has no holes. Walk away, George Wickham,” G said heatedly, “and don’t come back.”

  He moved as if to follow her advice but found Elizabeth standing in his path. “Let me pass, you bitch,” he hissed, still putting on a show. “I know her brother sent you to break us up.”

  “I didn’t come here for that,” Elizabeth replied calmly. “But I did catch you in the commission of a crime.” She raised her voice. “My name is Elizabeth Bennet, and I’m performing a citizen’s arrest.” She spoke softly, directly to Wickham. “You’re not leaving before the police arrive. If you’re upset about that, you can just tell them your sob story.” He feinted right, but Elizabeth followed him. He moved left, but she just matched the move.

  She could hear sirens wailing in the distance and watched George Wickham’s line of sight alter. He lifted one shoulder.

  Who . . . ? She swiveled her head unconsciously to see, and when she looked back, George Wickham had launched himself at her. You turned away, Bennet. How stupid can you be? she thought as she wrapped her arms around him, and they both tumbled to the ground. She was vaguely aware of chairs scraping the floor and a number of surprised cries.

  Wickham was immediately scrambling, trying to get his feet under him. Elizabeth jabbed him in the eye with her thumb. He screamed an obscenity and clapped a hand to his face. As soon as she had room, she grabbed his shoulders, lifted her hips, and thrust her knee upward as hard as she could, right between his legs.

  Wickham gasped and doubled over, so when she pushed him over on his stomach, he did not protest. He did, however, keep his hands beneath him, both now covering his second injury. Elizabeth sat on his upper back and motioned to Georgiana. “G, come sit on his legs.”

  The sirens were screaming now.

  A large man in his early forties stood from the nearest table. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I weigh more.” He shoved Wickham’s legs together and sat on the back of his knees. “Does that hurt?” he asked.

  Wickham groaned.

&nbs
p; “Good,” the man said.

  A small sob broke through the dissonance of Elizabeth’s thoughts. Georgiana was still standing. Indignant, the younger woman turned to face everyone in the room after swiping at her cheeks. “I’m so sorry to ruin your dinner, everyone, but he lied to me,” she told the crowd, many of whom had their phones recording. “If you have a camera, please make sure you get his face plastered all over the Internet. He said he was Juraj Farkas, but his real name is George Wickham. He told me he loved me, convinced me to bring him here, and then he tried to steal your money.”

  “I am not a liar, Georgie,” Wickham protested hoarsely from the floor, wriggling to try to get loose. “I promise I’m not,” he cried. “You know me. I love you.” He reached awkwardly for Georgiana.

  “You want to marry me?” she asked disbelievingly, her voice pinched and high. “You want to marry me, and you don’t even know I can’t stand being called Georgie!”

  Another man approached Elizabeth and held out his hand to help her up. She shook her head.

  “It would be my pleasure to assist in detaining this criminal, miss,” he said with a mischievous grin and a lilting Irish accent. “I’ve not been so entertained at dinner since”—he stopped and laughed—“ever, to be honest.” He motioned at Georgiana. “I think your friend could use you.”

  She glanced over at Georgiana, who had dropped back into her chair, weeping quietly. Elizabeth sighed and held her hand up. The man placed one foot on George Wickham’s back and pulled her to her feet. He released her hand, but not before he’d placed a kiss on the back of it.

  “You were incredible,” he told her warmly. He stared into her eyes. “Would you be interested in having a drink later?”

  Elizabeth blinked. What is happening here? “You want a date with me? A woman who just incapacitated a man by kneeing him in the . . .?” She let the question trail off.

  “Absolutely,” he said, his foot still firmly in place.

  “Well, that sounds . . . intriguing,” she replied politely, “but I have a boyfriend.”

  She saw a brief flash of disappointment, but then he smiled again. “Lucky sod.” Elizabeth thanked him and moved to Georgiana.

  “I’m sorry, G.” she said softly, crouching in front of the girl’s chair. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I am so proud of you.” The aggregator she’d set up to push articles about her and Will to her phone was beeping in one long, nearly continuous note. Well, I guess they all know how to look up my name, she thought grimly. Ignoring the noise, she dug the phone, the car fob, and her wallet out of her pocket. She pressed all three into Georgiana’s hands. “Lucky you,” she said with a forced smile, “you get to drive the car.”

  Georgiana sniffled. “What?”

  “Just hold these for me,” Elizabeth said, plucking her driver’s license out of her wallet and trying to sound reassuring. “In case the police arrest me.”

  “Arrest you?” Georgiana gasped through her tears. “Why would they arrest you?”

  Elizabeth winced. “Well, I’m guessing I’ve been filmed assaulting George Wickham, so they’ll at least detain me until they can figure out what happened. And your George is a good liar.”

  Georgiana was furious. “But he tackled you! Everyone here saw it.”

  “It’ll take the police some time to sort it out, G. That’s all.” She pressed her lips together. “Maybe you should call your brother. See if he has a lawyer out here. You know, just in case.”

  Georgiana declared hotly, “I won’t let them put you in jail, Elizabeth. No way.” She took a breath and seemed steadier. “Yes. We definitely have to call Will.”

  Two police officers entered the premises. The deafening sirens were shut off, but the lights bled into the restaurant from the glass front door. Another two officers joined the manager, who waved them into the dining room.

  Elizabeth sighed and rubbed her forehead before leaning over to Georgiana. In a joke that sounded weak even to her, she said, “Will’s going to kill me if I can’t get back by Friday.”

  Will picked up the phone. “Hey, G,” he said, pleased she’d called. “Has Elizabeth contacted you yet?”

  “Um,” she said slowly. “About that. . .”

  There was a loud sound in the background—it sounded like people shouting.

  “Where are you, Georgiana?” he asked. “What’s all that noise?”

  “I’m at Le Fruitier, near campus,” she replied. Her voice was quavering a bit, like it did when she was upset. “The police just handcuffed Elizabeth.”

  “What?” he exclaimed, instantly alert. “What happened?”

  “It’s Juraj, Will,” G said, sniffling. “Elizabeth got a text during dinner. A photo. His real name is George Wickham.”

  Before the final syllable of Wickham’s name had made its way through the phone, Will was on his feet and moving. “Send me the picture, G.”

  “She wouldn’t let him leave,” G was saying as he grabbed a suitcase and began tossing clothes into it.

  “Are you in a safe place, G?”

  “I’m still at the restaurant. The police are questioning everyone.”

  “Okay,” he said, sitting at his computer to make reservations at The Clement. Who should he contact? Richard, for sure. Maybe his uncle and Oscar.

  “Will?” his sister asked plaintively. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here, G,” he said. “And I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you. Tell Elizabeth I love her, too.”

  “I’ll tell her, Will. I love you,” she replied.

  “I need to call Richard,” Will said, his voice clipped. “I’ll text when we’re on our way. I’m going to hire a lawyer. If the police take Elizabeth to the police station, tell her not to give a statement until she has representation. Otherwise, you can both go to The Clement.”

  “Okay,” Georgiana said, sounding a little steadier now, and they both ended the call.

  Elizabeth was standing quietly next to one of the officers when Georgiana stepped over to join the group. The men who had helped restrain Wickham earlier brushed past them and headed for the front door. The Irishman turned and gave her a wink.

  She sighed. Only she would attract a guy when she was in police custody. “My life is absurd,” she said under her breath.

  “She was just protecting me,” Georgiana said to the officer standing with her. Her voice was firm. “And she saved everyone else here from being hacked.”

  Elizabeth gave Georgiana a small smile.

  The officer greeted her statement with a nod. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Look outside, G,” Elizabeth said in a measured tone. “Those men speaking with George and the others? They’re detectives. They’ll get everything sorted out.”

  Georgiana walked to the window and looked out. “He’s walking sort of lopsided.” She turned back to Elizabeth. “Do you think you could teach me those moves?” she asked.

  “I’m surprised Will hasn’t taught them to you already,” Elizabeth replied.

  “He tried,” Georgiana admitted, “but I didn’t want to learn.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’d be happy to teach you.”

  When one of the detectives walked inside, Georgiana said, loudly, “Will said he’s sending a lawyer. I don’t think you should talk with the police until then.”

  “Stand down, Ms. Darcy,” the man said, amused. He nodded at the officer, who then removed Elizabeth’s handcuffs.

  Elizabeth rubbed her wrists. “We can wait to give our statements, I suppose,” she said. “There’s no rush, right?” she asked the detective. “Can we just come to the station in the morning?”

  “Probably,” he agreed. “As long as you stay in town. We’ll definitely want to speak to you.”

  “We’ll be at The Clement,” Georgiana said.

  The detective smiled. “Nice place.”

  “I was supposed to be at the North Bay Holiday Inn,” Elizabeth informed him. “I’m guessing this is
an upgrade?”

  He laughed at that. “A bit.” He handed her his card. “Someone will call you before noon.”

  Georgiana turned to Elizabeth. “I’ll be there too, despite the fact I have a perfectly good dorm room. Will wants us both at the hotel.” She rolled her eyes. “He sounds just like Richard sometimes.”

  “You called Will?” Elizabeth asked, suddenly interested, and Georgiana waggled her eyebrows.

  “He’s flying in,” she informed Elizabeth. “By now, he’s probably already on the way to the airport. Richard’s probably with him.” Her phone pinged. “Yep,” she confirmed, reading the message. “Huh. My uncle’s coming, too.” She frowned. “I’m not sure why.”

  Elizabeth and Georgiana waited in the foyer of the restaurant for the official clearance to leave. After waiting for an hour, Georgiana finally laid her head down on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I wish we could just go,” she said.

  “Me, too,” Elizabeth assured her. What she really wanted was to ask a million questions about Wickham, but they were both too weary to make much sense of the situation at this point, and the setting was still very public. It wouldn’t do for anyone else to hear those details. Instead, she asked, “Hey, why don’t you pull up the videos?”

  Georgiana stared at her for a moment, a frown line appearing in the ridge just above her nose.

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I know someone had to be filming. If we can find one online, at least we’ll have an idea of what we’ll be asked.”

  Georgiana’s lips were set in a straight line. “Okay,” she said. She unlocked her phone and began to click on the links. Three videos had already been posted. For the most part, Elizabeth was pleased with what she saw—it seemed clear she was acting in self-defense. She could not help but smile at the knee shot. I wish Uncle Ed was here. I’m pretty proud of that move. It was unfortunate that there was nobody around who would understand. She let out a sigh and leaned back in her chair.

  Will dropped his bag in the storage closet at the front of the plane, Richard hard on his heels. His uncle, Senator Terry Fitzwilliam, was already on board. The older man stood from a small conference table situated in the rear of the plane when Will and Richard entered.