Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6)

by Cecilia London

  Oh, Caroline wasn’t quite ready to hear that. Her eyes grew watery again and she pulled the newspaper article out of her jacket, handing it to Christine.

  “We’ve got a big couch here, ladies,” Jack said. “How about we sit down?”

  “Yeah, you still look a little wobbly.” Caroline hugged Christine again, harder this time. “Nice necklace, by the way.”

  Christine fingered the Miraculous Medal she had around her neck. “Oh, you noticed? I always wear it.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Someone I love very much gave it to me. I wasn’t about to let it go.” She sat down on the couch between Caroline and Jack. Christine looked down at the article. “Where did you get this? I thought it was pulled.”

  “We’re the ones who pulled it,” Jack said. “The risk to your safety was too great.”

  “Are you saying that some sort of political maniac may have it out for us?” Christine asked. “I’m shocked.”

  Jack clearly didn’t find the humor in her remark. “If Santos knows we’re alive, the threat becomes greater.”

  Trust her husband to bring up a topic she didn’t want to touch, ever. “I’m so sorry, Chrissy. You’ve had to do so much the past two years and you were doing it alone.”

  Jack patted Christine’s knee. “We can’t thank you enough.”

  She wrapped both her arms around Caroline. “Nothing personal, Jack. I want to hold on to your wife for a little while. Maybe longer.”

  He put his arm around her anyway. “No offense taken.”

  All this affection was liable to drain them all. Caroline wasn’t about to complain. Whether hugs were at a premium or flowing like water, they were to be cherished. Christine was exultant to see them both and she wanted to revel in it as long as she could.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. Your children-” Christine stopped, composing herself.

  Yeah, Caroline couldn’t quite articulate it either. “Tell us about Mo and Feef.”

  “Maggie and Soph,” she said instantly. “I hope that’s all right. I couldn’t – I call them Maggie and Soph.”

  Understandable. “Are they okay?” Caroline whispered.

  “They’re doing well in the secret squirrel school they have set up for ex-pats, made some friends, seem to be putting up with me okay.” Christine sighed. “It’s been a long two years.”

  Caroline wasn’t about to mention Tom and Jess. Not now. Maybe later. “Are they mad at me? At us?”

  “Of course not, Punky.”

  “Don’t lie, Chrissy. I can hear it in your voice.”

  Christine let out a hard breath. “Any issues they have are going to be easily remedied once they see you.”

  Caroline didn’t find her words all that reassuring. “I never wanted to leave them. Jack and I fully intended to make it up here. I never meant to lie.”

  “Caroline, look at me.” Christine grabbed her hand. Her eyes were bright. “It is an absolute miracle that both of you are here. I am not going to take that for granted, and neither will they. The last couple of months have been difficult. Reading those files, hearing journalists talk about them on the news, speculating about them in the blogosphere…it makes me sick to think about it.” Christine started crying again. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a right to be upset about this anymore, do I?”

  “Of course you do,” Caroline said. “You’ve been dealing with who knows how much and then we showed up to take you on another emotional roller coaster.”

  “Today certainly hasn’t turned out the way I thought it would when I got up this morning. But I’m not going to complain,” Christine said. “Not one bit.”

  Caroline rested her head on Christine’s shoulder, hearing her breathe. “You recognized me right away.”

  Christine gave her a quick squeeze. “I’d know your laugh anywhere. The way you carry yourself. The way you said my name. And you’re the only one who would speak that way to Jack. Or to me.” She pulled back to examine Caroline. “You still have those wonderful, warm brown eyes.”

  “I know you’re trying not to call attention to my appearance, Chrissy.”

  Christine rubbed a strand of Caroline’s hair between her fingers. “This peroxide rinse could use a little work.”

  Caroline had been thinking the same thing. Maybe a change was in order. “I appreciate your decorum.”

  “It’s not decorum.” Her voice broke. “I don’t want to think about what happened to you while you were in that federal prison.”

  “Then we don’t have to talk about it. It’s up to you.”

  Christine turned her head toward Jack. “How are you dealing with all of this?”

  He regarded her wearily. “How much time do you have?”

  She rummaged around in her purse, sending a quick message. “I have a lot more time back at our apartment. Shall we go see your children?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You must love having a driver,” Caroline said.

  Christine shrugged, watching him load their luggage into the trunk. “It’s a nice perk.”

  “Are you in charge of all the American refugees?”

  “Unofficially. My official cover story is a family doctor working at a local clinic.”

  “Is that what you really do?” Caroline asked.

  “I provide medical care to the people who live in our building. It keeps me busy.”

  Caroline could only imagine how many distractions she’d needed over the past two years. “Is it very far?”

  “We’re just outside the city,” Christine said, sliding into the backseat. She looked pleased when Caroline sat in the middle.

  “I could make a joke about riding bitch,” Caroline said.

  Christine fastened her seat belt. “You think I should be the one in the middle.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You thought it.”

  Jack scowled. “Is it going to be this way the entire car ride?”

  Caroline could have a little fun at his expense. “This guy didn’t recognize me when I got to California.”

  “We’ve been over that,” he said. “Many times.”

  “It took him a little bit to figure it out.”

  “You weighed about twenty pounds less than you do now, and you were wearing contacts.”

  “You were that skinny?” Christine closed her eyes. “You’re underweight now.”

  Oh, she didn’t mean to bring anyone down. She had to take it back up. “I’ve gained some muscle. Eaten a lot of chocolate.” Caroline gave Jack a sly smile. “But when I got to the base it was like he didn’t want to believe it was me.”

  “Caroline, stop,” he said. “Christine wins the perpetual devotion contest. All right?”

  “I’m kidding, Jack.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “I know. I like giving you a hard time when the opportunity presents itself.” He looked over at Christine. “I was a very stubborn man when she first arrived.”

  “What happened with you two anyway?” Christine asked, then waved her hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to start now. We’re almost home.”

  Home. Where Mo and Feef were.

  The car pulled up beside a large converted mansion. “Let’s go see your children,” Christine said. “I may have a driver but sadly, there is no porter for your luggage.”

  “It’s going to be very difficult for me to carry both suitcases,” Jack said. “But I’ll try.”

  Christine frowned at Caroline’s bag. “You used to pack an entire car for a weekend trip.”

  She had a giant suitcase and a knapsack containing most of her worldly possessions. “I’m remarkably efficient now,” Caroline said. Couldn’t Christine tell she was anxious as hell? “Can we just go in there already?”

  “Hold your horses.” Christine opened the front door and led them down the hall to the stairs, where two Mounties were waiting. “Theodore Bourgeois, Josephine Mouton, meet Jack and Caroline McIntyre.”

  “We’ve been expecting yo
u,” Bourgeois said.

  His partner nodded. “When the Prime Minister calls, you listen.”

  Caroline and Jack shook their hands. “Have you been keeping our children safe?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Mouton said.

  “Thank you both.” Caroline winked at Christine. “And thank you for taking care of Senator Sullivan too.”

  “Just doing our jobs, ma’am,” said Bourgeois.

  Christine glanced at her watch. “The McIntyres will be staying in our apartment for the next few days.”

  Bourgeois nodded. “Go on up.”

  “You gotta be somewhere?” Caroline asked her.

  “No,” Christine said. “I just wanted to make sure the girls would be home. They were going to study in the library for a while.”

  Amazing that so much of their unconventional life sounded normal, the way Christine described it.

  “We’re on the second floor,” Christine said casually, as they went up the stairs. “It’s not much, but we each have our own bedroom and there’s enough space so we aren’t falling on top of each other. This is high security. Americans granted asylum are only allowed to live here after they go through extensive interviews and background checks. Many of us are living under assumed names.”

  “What’s yours?” Caroline asked.

  “Phoebe Mongeau. Marguerite is Monique and Sophie is Evangeline. They insisted on making our names French even though I don’t speak a word.”

  “You brought that on yourself,” Caroline said. “And you don’t have to explain anything. I’m sure your apartment is much nicer than anyplace we’ve stayed recently.”

  “Except that hotel in The Hague.” Jack smiled. “That was nice.”

  Caroline would have shushed him but she was too focused on taking the stairs two at a time. “Which unit is it?” she asked, when they reached the second floor.

  “221, but, Caroline-” Christine called, but she was already running down the hall.

  “She’s a little eager,” Jack said, when they’d caught up to her.

  “I know.” Christine tried to catch her breath. “Maybe she forgot I’m the one with the keys. She definitely forgot I was wearing slingbacks.”

  That may have been a bit inconsiderate. Combat boots were easier to run in than heels. But now was not the time for guilt. At least, not until she heard Christine slide the key into the lock. Caroline turned away, focusing her gaze on the carpet.

  Jack put his arm around her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Christine and I are both here.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. This was happening. This was happening and she couldn’t control the outcome. She couldn’t even control her emotions. “What if they’re mad? What if they hate us for making them leave?”

  Christine stopped midway through opening the door. “Punky, you’re overreacting. They’re going to be elated to see you. I promise. I’ll go in first.”

  She led them inside. Christine had been right. The place wasn’t all that large. But it was cozy, friendly even. It gave off a much different vibe than her house in Bryn Mawr, which was a little stiffer, more formal. It was a refreshing and unexpected change.

  “Maggie! Soph!” Christine removed her coat, hanging it up in the closet in the entryway. “You home?”

  “We’re in here.” A teenage voice answered from one of the bedrooms. It was lower than Caroline expected, but she recognized it immediately.

  “Mo,” she whispered.

  Christine pointed down the hall. “That’s her room.”

  Caroline wrung her hands, but they shook anyway. Christine patted her arm. “I’ll go get them. Will that make you feel better?”

  Jack guided Caroline to the couch and sat down next to her. “We’ll wait here,” he said. “Calm down, sweetheart.”

  Panicky terror. That was the best way to describe the way she felt. An unexpected response, which made it worse. After everything she’d been through, it seemed peculiar to be frightened of seeing her children. But she was practically in fight or flight mode.

  Jack kissed her temple, his hand at the small of her back. “They’re going to be so happy you’re here. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Easy for you to say. You look like yourself. What if they don’t believe me?”

  “They will. They know you.”

  Was he kidding? It was so much more than appearances and he knew it.

  Her husband wasn’t able to ignore the sharpness of her gaze. “The most suspicious, least trusting woman I’ve ever met accepted you without question a few hours ago,” he said. “Your children aren’t going to have any issues.”

  Caroline glanced over at the end table, spotting a picture she’d never seen before. A shot of Jack, Caroline, Christine, and Tom at Jack and Caroline’s wedding. She didn’t recall posing for it. Though they’d had an intimate gathering, it had been a whirlwind of an evening. She stared at the smiling faces.

  “Huh.” She pointed at the picture. “Do you remember this?”

  “How could I forget?”

  He’d missed the point of her question. “I don’t remember taking this picture. Do you?”

  “Vaguely. We posed for a lot of pictures that day.”

  “I wonder where Christine got it.” It seemed an odd thing for her to lug across the border when all of them had packed so light.

  He shrugged. “You’d have to ask her, I guess.”

  That day, that night, those first few years of their marriage…they seemed like another person’s life. It pained Caroline to think about it, even now. Jack took her hand and she shuffled closer to him, feeling the firearm resting on his hip.

  Shit. They’d made sure to arm themselves while leaving Langevin Block, despite the steely eyes of the Mounties assigned to escort them to their next location.

  Caroline grabbed her own holster. “Should we, um, put these somewhere? I don’t want to scare them.”

  “Our guns?” Jack’s tone made it clear he’d forgotten he was armed. “I’m surprised Bourgeois and Mouton didn’t search us.”

  “We might want to talk to them about that tactical error,” she said, grabbing her knapsack. “Hurry up, Jack. I’d prefer they not see us pointing firearms at them.” Caroline removed the magazine and shoved her Sig Sauer into her backpack along with his, closing it just as she heard Christine clearing her throat.

  “We were just putting our guns away,” Jack said.

  Caroline looked up. There were two blond teenagers staring at them. The older one had sparkling blue eyes, like her father. The younger one had brown eyes, like her mother. Beautiful, mature, proud young women. And they both looked confused as hell.

  Christine pulled them forward. “I told you,” she said softly, putting her arms around Marguerite and Sophie. “Your parents are here to see you.”

  It seemed so much more anticlimactic than it should have been, but it was enough. Caroline put her hands to her mouth, weeping.

  Jack wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “Jack?” Marguerite asked. Her voice had the same tone of disbelief as Christine’s had earlier in the day.

  Marguerite was staring at them both suspiciously. Distrust. Incredulity. Shock. Her eldest daughter didn’t believe what she was seeing. Not that Caroline could blame her. The pain cut like a knife and she began to cry harder.

  Sophie studied her face. “Mommy?”

  No. She had to stay strong. Even with all those bumps in the road, all the wounds they’d have to heal, Caroline had to be the parent. “Hi, Feef.”

  Sophie ran over to the couch and threw her arms around her mother, practically landing on her lap. Caroline held her tight, rocking them back and forth. “Oh, munchkin. Don’t cry.”

  “You are,” Sophie said.

  Caroline wiped the tears off her daughter’s face. “I have trouble controlling my emotions sometimes.”

  Sophie kissed her cheek. “I can’t – wow.”

  She gave her daughter a good look. �
��My God. You’re so tall. And gorgeous.”

  Sophie blushed. “Mo-om.”

  What a gift to hear that affectionate, chiding tone. From her child. Who was alive and sitting next to her, shaking from excitement, unwilling to let her go. “I’m not kidding. You-” Caroline bit her lip, vowing to keep any more tears at bay. “You grew up.”

  Sophie snuggled her for a minute. “I have a long way to go.” She hugged Jack hard, then turned to her sister. “You were right. We totally should have gone to see the Prime Minister.”

  Caroline looked up at Marguerite, who now had her arm wrapped protectively around Christine. “Mo, it’s me.”

  Marguerite couldn’t hide her skepticism, not from the woman who had birthed her. Christine gently prodded her toward her mother.

  “You’re dead,” she finally said. “I saw the records.”

  That was a story Caroline would save for later. A lot later. “I’m pretty sure I’m alive. And I’d really like a hug.”

  Marguerite took a step toward the couch, then backed away. “What happened to you? You aren’t – you don’t look much like yourself.”

  She could forgive the bluntness of her daughter’s comment. Marguerite was right. Sophie had simply been too kind to point it out. “The government thinks they killed me, so I can’t make it too obvious who I am,” Caroline said. “Christine has already commented on the quality of my dye job.”

  “You look like me, mom,” Sophie said, clinging to her. “Although Aunt Chrissy is right, the color is a little off.”

  Caroline didn’t know whether to find Marguerite’s behavior admirable or maddening. That stubborn streak had been borne from years of her mother’s influence. She could hardly begrudge her daughter for following in her altogether enigmatic footsteps. “Don’t faint,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “Chrissy did that and I don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor.”

  “I won’t.” Marguerite widened her stance, making clear her feet were planted firmly on the carpet. “Where have you been?”

  This was not going well. Caroline felt a soothing hand on her back. At least her youngest daughter was at her side. “We can talk about that later.” She started to get up, but slumped down when Marguerite took a step backward.