A trip like that would be scandal enough, even if she never made the final leg of the journey into Syria. Georgiana would be harshly interrogated, crucified in the press along with her brother, then placed on the watch list any time she flew anywhere, even just back and forth to Stanford. Every time she traveled, she’d be singled out for attention by security. And oh God, the Internet. Even if she was entirely cleared, she’d never shake the rumors; it would never go away. Georgiana would be her generation’s Patty Hearst. Not only would it taint the Darcy name and likely affect both the companies, it could be incredibly damaging to Senator Fitzwilliam’s bid for reelection and the influence he wielded. Who would vote for a senator whose own niece was a terrorist sympathizer? The party would insist he retire.
“Senator . . .” she said, musing over that. “You said this was connected to you. Who would want you to retire?”
“Barker,” he said instantly. “I don’t think he’d have actually sent Georgiana abroad. Not even he would attack a family member like that. The cost would be too high were he found out. But he’d have no problem framing her, smearing her reputation for his own gain.”
Will shook his head. “Barker might not have gone that far, but the Wickham I knew was a loose cannon. I doubt he’d have any qualms about taking G somewhere dangerous and threatening to leave her there to find her own way home. The boy I knew would have found that funny.”
“Or ransoming her off,” Richard said. His voice was controlled and very, very cold. “I suspect Oscar will find he owes someone a lot of money. This is too risky an endeavor unless he’s desperate.”
Or selling her. Elizabeth didn’t want to say that out loud. “You were friends with this guy?” she blurted out.
Will looked embarrassed. “I was arrogant enough to think he was as loyal to me as I was to him. I learned.”
Whatever the plan was, they had stopped it. By the thinnest of margins, they had blundered into the truth, and Georgiana was safe. Elizabeth was more worried for Will now. This was his greatest fear. Not knowing where his sister was, not being able to speak to her, not knowing whether she was all right, whether she was even alive—it would have killed him. She observed his reaction surreptitiously now that he knew what had nearly happened to Georgiana. He was staring at the credit card receipt in one hand and a copy of an itinerary in the other, as though everything else around him had faded away.
“Will?” she inquired softly, “are you all right?” Her inquiry drew the attention of his cousin and uncle.
Will didn’t answer right away. At last he choked out, “The tickets . . . they’re for today.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened.
Richard’s hand came down on his cousin’s shoulder. “But she’s not on the plane, Will. She’s right here, with us. We caught it in time.”
“We didn’t,” Will replied harshly, twisting away. “Elizabeth just happened to be here and knew what to do.” He swallowed hard. “We got lucky.”
Elizabeth tucked her lips between her teeth and was silent. Richard was focused on Will, but Will was suddenly staring at her. The same stare, she noted, he’d been using on the itinerary just now. She met his gaze briefly, but quickly looked down at her feet, uncomfortable with the piercing intensity behind his eyes. He’s too smart for his own good, she thought.
“Elizabeth,” he said with a single shake of his head, “you knew. You didn’t fly out here for an interview. You followed G out here intentionally.”
What do I say here? she wondered, flustered. Do I deny it and let him think it was a lucky coincidence? Do I tell him the truth and let him think he was wrong not to see it? What’ll cause him less pain?
Richard and Senator Fitzwilliam were watching her steadily now, their faces solemn. She barely glanced at them before she shrugged, discomfited. I am not a good liar, she thought. He already knows. And I can’t lie to him. I can’t. She took a deep breath and said, with a shrug, “I mean, there was actually an interview.”
Nobody said anything.
She shrugged. “Something was wrong. I didn’t know exactly what, but I’ve seen it before, and I had . . . concerns. I was going to turn the interview down, but I thought, you know, I could work for the winery if it got me out here . . .”
She never got to finish her sentence other than with an “oof,” because she was being hugged so tightly, she couldn’t speak.
“Thank you,” Will was murmuring fervently. She could feel the tickle of his warm breath near her ear, and she brought her arms up around him to return the embrace. “She was supposed to come home this weekend,” he mumbled brokenly. “What would I have done when she didn’t get off that plane? If I didn’t know where she was?” Elizabeth felt him struggling to control his emotions. “I can’t think about what could’ve happened to her.”
“Then don’t,” said Terrence Fitzwilliam gruffly. “If my niece boarded a flight to Istanbul, Homeland would have notified Oscar. They’d have pulled her off the plane in New York. She’d never have left US airspace.”
All four of them knew it was probably wishful thinking, but Will nodded and pulled himself together. Elizabeth was willing to forgive Will’s uncle a great many things for that bit of comfort. She never wanted to see Will in pieces, ever, but now especially was not the time for guilt or blame or self-recrimination.
Wickham was still at large. And they still had no proof he was tied to Barker.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It took longer than he would have liked, but Will Darcy could finally feel his panic subsiding in direct proportion to his anger. As he stood under the showerhead, the water blasting against his back as hot as he could tolerate, every dirty trick George Wickham had pulled, every injury he’d inflicted, every one of his successful lies, played out in Will’s memory. He berated his teenaged self for being so incredibly stupid. He could see each episode in excruciating detail, hear the warmth of George’s charm as he wielded it as a weapon. He had admired George once.
He grabbed the soap and tried to scrub away the memory of his brash, brilliant, now wildly insecure sister painfully sobbing out her fear and humiliation in his arms. He turned his face into the water and tried to ignore the weariness he felt closing in on him.
He had held a brief teleconference with his department heads before climbing into the shower, glad to hear that things were going well, that the last projects were slated to wrap up before the holiday and those scheduled to begin in January were on track.
Will felt calmer after the meeting. He’d taken a vacation for two weeks, they’d all been on holiday over the Thanksgiving weekend, and after one day back in the office, he’d flown out here to California. It looked like he’d not be back in the office until Thursday morning. Yet even with his absence, and now Charles’s resignation, the company was still chugging along, business as usual. One silver lining in all the upheaval of the past month was that he now knew the FORGE executive team could handle a good deal more responsibility than he’d been giving them.
It felt good, normal, to think about FORGE. It was an anchor, something right in a sea of things going badly wrong. When this terrible mess was resolved and they all returned to the city, he would work on a role for Richard. His cousin could fit in any number of places, and if the entire structure of the company was more flexible—well, he suspected that it was just the kind of environment in which Richard would thrive. Will turned so the hot water would hit the knot in his lower back and admitted that despite her insistence on going it alone, he still daydreamed that Elizabeth would eventually join them, doing work that wouldn’t give her nightmares.
As if his imagination had conjured her, the shower curtain slid aside, and Elizabeth’s arms wrapped around him from behind. He smelled the sharp, clean scent of shampoo and felt her hands tenderly caressing his scalp. He melted into her touch, his eyes closing involuntarily as she carefully directed the stream of water to rinse his hair.
“I think you reserve rooms here as much for the height of the sh
owerheads as anything else,” she teased in a soft, soothing voice. “There,” she said, making large, slow circles through his hair. “Are you ready to come to bed now?”
He changed places with her. “Let me wash your hair,” he replied, hoping Elizabeth would understand that he needed her here, in front of him, that he needed to be involved in something simple. With her. She handed him the tiny bottle and smiled up at him. He poured a bit out into his hands.
“Have at it,” she said, tilting her head and leaning back into his chest.
At last they were clean, dry, and lying in bed together, Will absently stroking Elizabeth’s hair as she slept. Will ran his thumb lightly along her cheekbone, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, her otherwise flawless skin, the way she smelled like wildflowers and salt water even though she’d been cooped up inside buildings all day, and fantasized about taking her to the beach house in the summertime.
They would walk along the water, holding hands, stroll through town to shop for groceries and good wine. He’d challenge her to another puzzle competition, and they’d nap in the library. I’ll watch her sleep in the window seat. They’d go out on the sailboat, and she’d lay on the deck in a bikini. A smile stretched across his face. Now I know this is a fantasy. She’d be asking a million questions about how the boat worked, not sunbathing, and she’d scoff at me for suggesting a bikini. Instead, she’d tell him swimsuits should be for swimming, not for show, and then give him that crazy lopsided grin she used when she knew she was denying him something. “Elizabeth,” he whispered in her ear as she slept, “I love you.”
At the end of the longest day he’d had since his parents’ funeral, he did not expect sleep to find him. But it did. He slept deeply and soundly, Elizabeth enfolded in his arms.
Elizabeth stood on a riser in the basement of the Gardiners’ house, half of which had now been given over entirely to an army of dress forms and bolts of fabric. This is ridiculous, she thought, peering under the blindfold just enough to see Kit bent at her feet doing something with a hem. The dress was black, but that was all she could see. I have work to do.
After he’d made bail, Wickham had, unsurprisingly, disappeared. Oscar was trying to trace who had bailed him out as well as his connection to Barker while she tracked Wickham himself. The flight home had been spent searching passenger lists out of SFO, and she’d finally been able to find a reservation for a George Darcy on a flight to Argentina that was already long gone. The name was an obvious jab at Will and G—maybe the Fitzwilliams, too. He was clearly not too worried about being caught, which suggested a powerful employer.
She hadn’t told Will that Wickham was using his father’s name. The man was already on edge. She didn’t want to push him over. Now Elizabeth was just waiting on her request—well, the senator’s request—to view the airport’s camera footage. She needed a visual confirmation.
“No peeking!” Kit said harshly, no small feat with a mouthful of pins.
“Kiiittt,” Elizabeth whined. “C’mon!”
“No, you won’t have to wait much longer,” her sister said, checking the back. “And I want you to get the full effect. Lydia’s going to do your hair.”
That was a horrible idea. “No, she’s not.”
“Yes, I am!” called Lydia as she clomped down the stairs. “Kit promised.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest, eyes still closed. “Kit doesn’t get a say.”
“Lizzy,” sighed Kit, exasperated, “I promise we’ll do a good job. We need the hairstyle to match the dress.”
“The dress I don’t get to see?”
She heard a long zip, and then Kit was asking her to step out of the garment.
“Nice gams, sis,” Lydia teased. Elizabeth was wearing only a very skimpy set of shorts and a thin tank top. Kit had protested, but Elizabeth reminded her that the boys had the run of the house. Lydia strolled over as Kit bundled the dress up and allowed Elizabeth to remove her blindfold.
“You should go upstairs, Lizzy,” she said. “Lydia will do your hair while I finish this up and then we’ll show you what you’ll look like on Friday.” She paused. “Except for makeup. Jane wants to do that.”
“Thank God,” Elizabeth mumbled, grabbing her hoodie and pulling it on over her cold arms. She wished Jane could attend Friday’s dinner, but as always, she’d be working. Richard had been philosophical about it, but he’d managed to exact a promise that Jane would do whatever she needed to attend at least two holiday parties with him. Jane had come to pick her up from the airport, but Elizabeth left her there with Richard, comparing calendars.
Lydia was packing up her curling iron when Will called. She rolled her eyes when she heard Elizabeth answer the phone.
“Hey, Will,” she said excitedly, “you’ll never guess where I am.”
He sounded serious. “Are you alone?”
What’s wrong now? “No, Lydia’s here.”
Lydia gathered her things and waved. “Not for long.” She took a step toward the door of Jane and Mary’s room but turned and yelled, “You should know she’s barely dressed, Will!” Giggling, she ran from the room. Elizabeth returned her attention to the phone.
“I’d apologize for her, but really, what would be the point?” she asked. She peered into the mirror, admiring the long, soft curls in her hair, Lydia’s skills have improved.
“Elizabeth,” Will said, cutting in, “my uncle called.”
She was quickly focused on the conversation. She’d thought the senator or Oscar would call with her clearance, not Will. “Yes?”
He fumbled a bit before telling her, “The FBI isn’t convinced you were in Palo Alto by chance.”
“I wasn’t there by chance,” she replied bluntly. “I was worried about Georgiana.”
“Well, Oscar’s contact says your name has come up in some of the FBI’s files.”
“In what sense?” she asked, more curious than concerned. “Am I being surveilled?”
“They won’t say,” Will replied sharply.
He’s not upset with you, she told herself. I hope. “Well,” she said slowly, “my understanding is they don’t talk much to anyone outside the agency.”
“Yes,” Will confirmed. “But until they decide what’s happening, you have to stay away from the whole mess.”
Elizabeth frowned. She was being benched? That didn’t sit right. “And they said nothing about how I’m on their radar? I could probably clear it up if they just asked.” She couldn’t stay away from G without staying away from Will, and that was unacceptable.
“According to Oscar, they’re being very tight-lipped about it.”
She gazed at her reflection in the vanity mirror and tried to quell a stab of frustration. How long will I have to stay away? “You couldn’t have told me this before Kit used me as a pin cushion or I actually allowed Lydia near me with a curling iron?” she groused.
There was a soft chuckle from the other end of the line. “I didn’t mean you had to stay away from me, Elizabeth,” he said. “Just G’s case. You’ve done an amazing job, but we’ll have to let someone else take it from here.” His voice took on a lighter quality. “Should I worry that you thought I was associated with the word ‘mess’?”
Elizabeth ignored the tease for a moment. She was reluctant to walk away. There was no proof yet that Wickham had been on the flight. Even if he had been, the man could return to the country at any time, and she didn’t trust anyone else to follow him as closely as she could. She worried her bottom lip and rebuked herself for being egotistical.
“Does your uncle have someone on it already?” she asked hesitantly.
Though she couldn’t see him, she could sense Will’s nod. “He does now. He’d like you to forward everything you’ve collected so far.”
“I’m sure he would,” she replied with a smirk. “I’m also sure you’re being politer about it than he was. I doubt it was phrased as a request.”
She barely heard a disgruntled noise before Will admit
ted, “No. It wasn’t.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “I don’t like it, Will, but if you think it’s the best thing . . .”
“I think it’s safest,” Will said firmly. “Safest for you. And my uncle won’t let anything happen to G.”
“Okay,” she responded.
“Okay?” he repeated, sounding surprised.
“Um,” she said, “is that a problem?”
“No, not at all,” he assured her. “I just thought you’d be tougher to convince.”
She sighed. “I don’t like it, Will, but I’m not as conceited as all that. I know there are better people for the job. I just hate giving anything up before it’s done. Especially when it affects G.” And you.
“Well, I don’t think there’s anyone better for the job, but I suppose I’m biased,” he said, a bit of humor creeping back into his voice.
She sat heavily on the vanity chair. “I’ll have to send you the info later, though.” She lifted her hand to run through her hair, but she stopped just in time. Lydia would kill me. Instead, she began tapping her fingers on the table. “I’m at the Gardiners’ playing dress-up for my sister.”
Apparently, this was of great interest. “Oh yeah? What’s it look like?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she nearly wailed, covering her eyes with a hand. “Kit won’t let me look until she’s done.”
This time the laugh was stronger. “You sound more stressed about the dress than you did about Wickham.”
“Yeah, well,” she huffed, “I understand criminals better than fancy dresses.”
“Good to know,” he teased. There was some noise behind him, voices growing louder. “Listen, I have get back to work. Call me tonight? We need to go over logistics for Friday.”
“Logistics?” Elizabeth replied, pretending to be offended. “Is that what you call picking up your date?”
“My date is a Marine,” he answered, amused. “She understands logistics.”
Adapt Page 26
