Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6)

by Cecilia London

  Christine rested her head in her hands. Not weeping, not speaking, not screaming, not yelling. Just agonizingly quiet. Caroline held her. It wasn’t her place to say a damn thing. She just had to wait until Chrissy was able to move along. She was starting to realize that Christine had been telling the truth. She really had never talked about this before. And the first time was always the hardest.

  Christine brought her head up. “Finally he grabbed my coat. He was so weak. I knew-” She blew her nose again. “I’m going to run out of tissues,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” Caroline said. “I’ve been there.”

  “I should have talked to the girls about this.”

  “You’re talking about it now. Keep going, if you can.”

  Christine smiled at her. “I really love you, Caroline.”

  That deserved another hug. And a kiss on the cheek. “I know.”

  Another deep breath. Another tissue. “There was nothing more I could do,” Christine said shakily. “Tom clutched my hand and told me to run, that it would be okay because he was with Jess. He said he knew he’d see me again, because I’d always been a good Catholic girl and I’d be going straight to the top without any layovers.” She shook her head. “That obnoxious man. And then, he was – he fell asleep.”

  Caroline kept her arms around Christine. “I’m so sorry, Chrissy. This is all my fault.”

  Christine wriggled away. “Say that again and I will smack you. I mean it. We knew what we were doing. We were fully prepared to do anything necessary to keep your children safe.”

  “I’m not worthy of friends like you. That’s too much.”

  “It isn’t. No sacrifice is too great for love.”

  Affection could wound as much as it could heal. She truly didn’t deserve Christine. But hell if she was going to ever let her go again. “Jessie,” Caroline whispered, and covered her face.

  Christine started crying softly. “Marguerite and I stayed with Thomas for a minute. She could tell I was…not well. The rest of the night is rather fuzzy. I just started moving robotically. I’m not sure what kept me going. But I knew Dundee was across the border. Sophie was still sitting in the snow by Jess. She’d given her that hippo, wrapped it in her arms. She said-” Christine gulped. “She said she didn’t want Jess to get lonely. I snatched her up and started dragging her toward the border. She was screaming, I think. I tried to block it out. We had their backpacks and what I had hidden in my coat, so we had little of value with us. Maybe some food, but nothing we could use to keep ourselves alive in the woods. Our window of opportunity was short. There was too much blowing snow, too great a possibility those border agents would come after us again. I can’t even remember how we got to the police department. Marguerite said I grabbed all the Canadian currency out of her backpack and bribed some truck driver. I’m surprised he picked us up. I was covered in blood and the three of us must have looked like hell.”

  “When we got to the police station, they called for a doctor to make sure we were okay. They called the chief in, which I guess isn’t a big deal because Dundee is pretty small. Once he got there I somehow found myself and demanded to speak with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. From what Marguerite tells me, I was a sight to behold, because it was enough to get us in a squad car headed for the Prime Minister’s residence.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Caroline asked.

  “Yes.”

  Dundee was easily 200 kilometers from Ottawa. “That’s pretty far.”

  “The drive is even longer when you’re in shock. They woke the Prime Minister up in the middle of the night and broke any number of Canadian traffic laws to get us there. I assume they wanted to get us away from the border as quickly as possible. I might have strong-armed Denis into putting us into witness protection, but whatever I said worked.”

  “My children have the protection of an entire country because of you?”

  Christine shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Well,” Caroline said. “That’s pretty flattering.”

  “I’d prefer to think it’s a reflection of my amazing negotiating tactics. I wouldn’t interpret it as anything else.”

  Caroline frowned at Christine. “You are not funny.”

  Christine teared up again. “If I do not laugh I will quite literally cry.”

  Wasn’t that true for everyone. She’d earned another hug. “The Prime Minister learned pretty quickly not to fuck with you,” Caroline said.

  “You can imagine how enthusiastic he is to deal with me on a regular basis.”

  She could hug and thank and kiss and joke but it would never be enough. Caroline looked down at her hands. “I want you to know how much I loved Tom and Jess. I never – I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I thought there was any chance you wouldn’t make it.”

  Christine kissed her forehead. “You have to stop apologizing, Caroline. I would do anything for you. You know that. Tom and Jess were more than willing to do what it took to get the rest of us to safety.”

  Jesus. There had never been any question about the courage of the Sullivan family, but now they had concrete proof. How precious a thing to know that someone would be willing to literally lay down their life for you. That was love. Deep, abiding love. “The three of you are amazing,” Caroline said. “Just amazing.”

  “The two of them,” Christine corrected. “I just followed their lead. And I miss them. So much. It’s like there’s this hole in my heart that can never be repaired. I wish I would have told them I loved them more often. I never said that enough. To them, or Susannah, or you.”

  “We all knew how you felt. Although it’s nice to hear it every once in a while.” Caroline let her gaze drift toward the door. How could she have forgotten? “Chrissy, I, uh, have something you might want.”

  “Another hug?”

  Humor. A much better defense mechanism than the alternative. “No,” Caroline said, and leaned in for one anyway. “Hold on.”

  She did her best not to disturb Jack. She rummaged through her knapsack until she found the watch, shoving it in her pocket. Christine had already turned down the bed when she returned, but Caroline got the sense they weren’t going to sleep just yet. What was the best way to do it? Hand it over casually? Make a presentation out of it? She didn’t want to set Chrissy off again.

  “It’s something that’s important to you,” Caroline said softly. “I just want to make sure it won’t upset you.”

  “We’re far past preventing our emotions from bubbling over.” Christine hugged a pillow to her chest. “Best get it over with.”

  Caroline took the watch out of her pocket, placing it on the bed next to Christine. “I took this with me to The Hague. As a good luck charm, a talisman, I don’t know. It helped me get through.”

  Christine turned it over, covering her mouth as she read the inscription. “How on earth did you get this?”

  “It’s a long story.” That ends with me kicking a guy in the balls.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  She could give Chrissy the short version. “One of my…interrogators. A double agent. Turned rebel spy but didn’t bother telling us he used to torture folks at The Fed. He kept Tom’s watch and gave it to me before we turned him over to international authorities.”

  Christine rolled the watch in her hands. “I have a feeling your stories are going to take a lot longer than just one night.”

  She was eerily calm. The way she would have acted…before. Was that a good sign? “Are you okay?” Caroline asked.

  “No.” Christine choked back a sob. “But this makes me feel better.” She pressed the watch to her nose before rubbing it against her cheek. A strange ritual, but Caroline wasn’t one to question. If it let her feel closer to her deceased husband, it was worth doing. “I remember when I gave this to him,” she said.

  “He’d want you to have it.”

  “I know.” Christine leaned over for another hug. “Thank you for giving it to me. I’m glad it
helped you.”

  “I hope it helps you too.”

  Christine slid the nightstand drawer open, carefully placing the watch inside. “Well,” she said. “Nice weather we’re having.”

  A ton of snow and it was colder than hell, but her circumvention was duly noted. “This all seems very surreal.”

  “Maybe we should get back to my story.”

  She didn’t sound all that enthusiastic about it. “Are you sure?” Caroline asked.

  “Yeah.” She clutched the pillow again. “It was hard. When we left you and Jack. Sophie cried for hours in the car. I tried to keep it together the best I could. So did Tom. Jess and Marguerite were doggedly stoic. I’ve never seen anything like it. You have an extremely tough daughter.”

  “God knows how she turned out that way. I’m a total crybaby.”

  Christine gave her a hard look. “You know damn well where she gets it from.” She gestured at Caroline’s wrists. “You wouldn’t be sitting here now if you didn’t have it in you too.”

  “Sophie’s had a rough time. I can tell.”

  “She has. And she’s a wonderful girl. She’s just sensitive sometimes.”

  Her children had suffered but they had survived. Maybe even thrived, in their happier moments. “You’ve done such an incredible job, Chrissy. I’ll never be able to repay this debt.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  Caroline rubbed her wrists. “These aren’t the only scars I have,” she whispered. “I’m a big ol’ bundle of them. Emotional and physical.”

  “They don’t have to dictate your life. They’re a reminder that you’re better than those bastards who gave them to you.”

  How perceptive. “Jack said almost exactly the same thing.”

  “Is there any way we can say I thought of it first?”

  Christine felt comfortable. Relaxed. If Caroline could tell the truth, she could show it as well. “This was a little present from Jeffrey,” she said, lifting up her shirt. “Right before I got out. This was how he wanted me to die.”

  Christine blanched. “That looks like it was stitched by a five year old.”

  “Oh, that was Crunch,” Caroline said absently. “D.C. was in the middle of a brownout, so he had to do it in the basement of the safe house we were staying in with some thread and a needle. All they had was a flashlight.”

  Christine sprang up and ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Caroline could hear her retching, then a toilet flush and water running.

  “Chrissy,” she called, knocking on the door. “Are you okay?”

  Christine emerged a few minutes later. The hair around her face was damp, and she still looked a little ill. She slumped onto the bed. “You can’t say things like that to me. Especially the way you say it, like it’s nothing unusual.”

  “It’s the truth,” Caroline said, in the matter of fact tone that she was sure was annoying the hell out of Christine. “I wasn’t conscious while he was doing it, anyway.”

  “Maybe you should have led with that.” Christine wrapped her arm around Caroline. “Not that it makes any difference. Oh, Punky.”

  “You said you wanted to know what happened. Don’t act like you didn’t suspect it was completely horrific.”

  “I can’t believe I let that piece of shit Murdock comfort me. Comfort your children. I’m sorry,” Christine said. “It’s not fair for me to be upset, either. You experienced this. I just have to hear about it.”

  Which was its own unique pain, one that deserved acknowledgment. “You had no way of knowing who he was. I don’t think any of us thought he was capable of what he helped do to me. And he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

  “He damn well better.” Christine yawned. “Can we go to sleep?”

  Such an innocent request. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes. Yes, it has.”

  Caroline patted the bedspread. “I, uh, don’t sleep very well.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I have nightmares.”

  “Me too.”

  “I say random things occasionally. I also have this weird leg thing where I kick sometimes.”

  “Are you trying to reassure or warn?”

  “Both.”

  “I do not do either of those things. You win.” Christine gave Caroline another hug. “I suspect I’ll sleep better than I have in years.”

  Caroline fluffed the pillows. “You’re probably right.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Christine made them a passable breakfast the next morning. She’d slept fairly well as far as Caroline could tell, but still jumped when the doorbell rang.

  “Right on time,” Caroline said. “It’s okay, Chrissy. Just our bodyguards.”

  Jack glanced at the kitchen clock. “I told them to be here at nine thirty.”

  “I asked them to stop somewhere first.” Caroline opened the door. “Hi, guys.”

  The three men hustled inside quickly. “Sir,” Gig said, as they saluted Jack in turn.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said.

  “How come you hardly ever salute me like that?” Caroline asked.

  Crunch threw his arm around her. “We know you won’t get pissy over it.”

  “And you’re so much nicer than him,” said Jones. “We don’t want to ruin your reputation by giving you a big head.”

  Gig gave Caroline a pat on the shoulder. “Those Mounties are an intense bunch. They took our guns. Can you make a call? We’re not very capable bodyguards without them.”

  “I’m on it,” Christine said, and headed toward her bedroom.

  Crunch gave Caroline a peck on the cheek. “We got that thing you wanted. I made Jonesie do it.”

  Jones set a plastic bag down on the coffee table. “You know what it’s like when I walk into a drugstore and buy white lady shit? Some strange looks. You’re lucky I like you, Princess.”

  Marguerite laughed. “You call my mother ‘Princess’?”

  “It’s a long story,” Caroline said. “Watch your language, Jonesie. We’re still operating under the assumption that my daughters are diffident and demure.”

  “It’s not a long story,” Crunch insisted. “I can tell it in about thirty seconds.”

  “What’s in the bag?” Sophie asked.

  Caroline handed it to her. “Open it up.”

  Sophie looked inside the bag. “Hair dye?”

  “Felt like it was time. Soon the whole world is going to know I’m alive.”

  “Do I get to help?”

  Her youngest daughter sounded so eager. “Absolutely. Hopefully we can find a towel that didn’t cost Aunt Chrissy eleventy billion Canadian taxpayer dollars.”

  Christine came back into the living room. “You may retrieve your weapons at any time. The Mounties know you’re allowed to keep them whenever you’re in this building.” She glanced at Jack and Caroline. “I also let them know you were carrying firearms as well. To remind them that perhaps they should do a better job of vetting visitors.”

  “We’re pretty dangerous,” Caroline said.

  “I’ve seen her in the field,” Crunch said.

  Jones laughed. “I’ve seen her make a wicked shank.”

  She could probably carve the end of a toothbrush into a point if she was determined enough. “No, you haven’t.”

  Gig shook his head at her. “I doubt you need our protection at all.”

  “You’ll notice none of them mentioned you, Jack.” Caroline winked at him.

  “Likely because they’ve never seen me do anything untoward. What do you think that says about you?”

  “That I’m fun?” she asked.

  “I feel much more comfortable knowing you’re here,” Christine said to Gig. “Regardless of Commander Gerard’s cavalier attitude.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Gig said.

  She extended her hand. “I’m Christine Sullivan.”

  He shook it. “I know. Steven Gigowski. I usually go by Gig. Very nice to meet you, f
inally.”

  “Gig used to be a cop in Chicago,” Caroline said.

  “That must come in handy,” Christine said.

  Caroline punched Gig on the arm. “We talk about pizza a lot.”

  Crunch came over and shook Christine’s hand. “Sebastian Rodriguez,” he said. “But please call me Crunch. You used to bring your suits to be tailored at the place I worked at on K Street. It was always a pleasure working with you.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Mr. Rodriguez. I was never all that nice to service people.”

  “Well, I was usually in the back. So my opinion isn’t based on personal interactions.”

  Christine smiled cagily. “Very diplomatic.”

  Jones came over to Christine and gave her a bear hug. When he let go of her, she looked mystified.

  Caroline patted his shoulder. “You’re going to scare her, Jonesie.”

  “What, she’s never been hugged by a black dude before?”

  “That’s not what I meant. You might want to be slightly more detached with people you just meet. Particularly since you’re a badass rebel soldier.”

  “She looked like she needed a hug. Especially if she’s been cooped up with you for the past 24 hours,” he said, holding his hand out to Christine, who still appeared baffled. “I’m Marcus Jones, but my friends call me Jonesie.”

  “Do you all have nicknames?” Christine asked, smoothing her blouse.

  “It’s easier that way,” Caroline said.

  “So what’s your story, Mr. Jones?”

  “Commander Gerard sent me to prison when I was a teenager. I had a gun when I shouldn’t have.”

  “I see. How interesting.” Christine’s expression changed. “Which of the three of you helped get Caroline out of that….place?”