“When did you first run into them?”
“At a resort in Costa Rica. I took their pictures and e-mailed them to the FBI.”
“To John March, you mean.”
“Yes.” She looked at Will and felt a rush of relief that she’d made the admission, even if he already knew and didn’t need her confirmation. “For personal reasons. But we’ve never met. I’ve only seen him from a distance.” It was the truth, if also a dodge. “I understand money, but I’m not in Norman’s league. I latched onto bits and pieces of what he was up to.”
“Did you tip off March in the first place?”
She shook her head, abandoning her efforts to muster together a dinner for two. “I wondered that myself, but no. He was already onto Norman. Simon took the big risks and got the most damning information against him. I did what I could to point whatever investigation might be going on in the right direction.”
“Norman trusted both you and Simon,” Will said.
“In different ways, but Norman has an unusual idea of trust. Relationships are entirely on his terms. He’s the sun in his universe. Everyone else is a tiny planet that revolves around him. I was an especially tiny planet-but desirable to have around. That was helpful.”
“Attractive, elegant, vivacious Lizzie Rush.”
She gave a mock bow. “Compliment accepted with gratitude, especially considering you’ve now seen me in a knife fight and up to my knees in mud and manure.”
“An image I shall never forget.”
She managed a laugh, but she couldn’t sustain it. “Norman’s father was a police officer, just a regular guy. From what I’ve been able to put together, Norman felt inferior to him, vulnerable even as he was embarrassed that his father never rose up through the ranks.”
“Going up against John March and the FBI makes him feel important. Why did you stay in, Lizzie? A year’s a long time.”
“I couldn’t unring the bell. Once I knew, I knew. And I was in a position to help. I wasn’t with Norman all the time. Not as much as Simon. I provided names, faces, numbers. I was careful. I didn’t want March to know it was me. If something went wrong, I knew he’d blame himself.”
“You never approached Simon or tried to find out if he was someone you could trust?”
“I couldn’t let myself trust anyone.”
But Will’s changeable eyes narrowed on her, and she felt a surge of heat, as if he could see through her, straight to her secrets, her fears.
“There’s more, Lizzie. Isn’t there?”
She avoided his eyes as she came around the counter and sat upon a bar stool next to him. “How’s Josie Goodwin? I figure she’s MI6, too. Has she provided a complete dossier on me by now?”
“It’s not complete.”
“Does she know I love the smell of lavender?”
A chilly breeze blew through the little house. Will was very still next to her. “Do you?”
“I never knew why until I went to Ireland for the first time in college. I was on my own-my father would never go with me. I was standing in a lace shop and picked up a sachet filled with dried lavender, and I smiled and cried and laughed. I had an emotional meltdown there in the shop. I knew it was because of my mother. She loved lavender, too.”
“Growing up without her must have been difficult,” Will said.
“I didn’t know any different. I’d watch other girls with their mothers…” Suddenly restless, Lizzie eased off the bar stool. “I love my family. My father’s a mystery to us all. My uncle and aunt are kind and hardworking, totally dedicated to the hotels and to my cousins. And to me. But you know all this, don’t you, from Josie?”
“Some.” Will gave her a near-unreadable smile. “Josie is very thorough and dogged. I, on the other hand, am not.”
“I don’t know nearly enough about you. London, Scotland, lords and ladies. Made your own money, or at least that’s what the U.K. government wants the rest of us to believe.”
“Lizzie…”
She’d gone too far, and if he kissed her again, she was lost. “I could see what’s in the freezer, or we could walk down to the river and have lobster rolls.”
He got up from the bar stool, standing close to her, and tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ears. “I believe I’ve met my match,” he said, a sadness coming into his eyes even as he smiled.
They sat at an outdoor table covered in red-checked vinyl. Tourists at nearby tables in the popular roadside diner glanced at Will as if they suspected he might be someone. Like British nobility, Lizzie thought, amused. “Forget cholesterol and calories,” she said, “and order a cup of clam chowder, a lobster roll and wild blueberry pie-warm, with ice cream.”
“With a salad?”
“Sure. You can order a salad.”
He smiled. They resisted the lobster rolls and ordered clam chowder and salads.
Lizzie pushed back the fatigue from her long two days. “How did you and Simon become friends?”
“He saved my life two years ago.”
“Because of Myles Fletcher,” she said.
Will leaned back, tapped a finger on a white square of the tablecloth. “You see too much, Lizzie.”
“My father taught me to be observant.”
“I led a team into a remote area of Afghanistan. We-I trusted Myles. He betrayed us. Until yesterday, I had every reason to believe he’d been captured and executed by his terrorist friends.”
“Your team,” Lizzie said, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. “What happened to them?”
Will leveled his gaze on her. “They were killed in action.”
“What were their names?”
“David Mears and Philip Billings. They were the best men the U.K. has to offer. The best men I’ve ever known.”
Lizzie was aware of a car passing on the street by their table and the smell of scallops as a waiter came out with a tray, but her mind was in Afghanistan, a place she’d never been, with men she’d never met. Finally she said, “I’m sorry.”
“I’d have died in their place.”
She knew he meant it. “People are loyal to you, aren’t they? Josie Goodwin. Your men.”
“Not Myles. I led Josie to him.” Will spoke without bitterness, without flinching from the truth. “I led David and Philip to their deaths.”
“You don’t want to trust or be trusted anymore, do you, Will? No one to disappoint or to owe.” Lizzie leaned over the table, aware now only of the man across from her. He was emotionally self-contained and mission-oriented, but he was also, in his own way, tortured by the past. “I’d love to see you really laugh one day.”
“Lizzie-”
“You need to know what Fletcher’s been up to the past two years. And you need to find out what really happened in Afghanistan. The answers you thought you had are looking a little muddy right now. Am I right?”
“I like clarity,” he said with a small smile.
A couple at another of the roadside tables laughed loudly, enjoying their late-summer vacation. Lizzie had pulled on a sweatshirt before leaving the house, but she still felt chilly. “Did John March have a role in what happened in Afghanistan?”
Will hesitated ever so slightly. “I suppose since I’ve told you this much, I might as well…” He sighed and looked away from her a moment. “Simon found me in the cave where I was trapped. I assume he was there because of March. David and Philip were already dead. Myles had already been captured. Simon had only an ax and a rope with him, but you’ve seen him.”
“He’s built like a bull. Do he and March know about Myles Fletcher?”
“Yes. Most certainly.”
This time, Lizzie noticed a trace of bitterness in his tone. “Fletcher will try to kill you if he gets the chance, won’t he?”
“He’ll make the chance.”
“Because you know he’s alive,” Lizzie said.
“Because if everything I’ve believed for the past two years is true, I know what he did.” Will looked across the narrow street at a flower shop and a pretty gray-shingled inn. “In a way, I hope if Myles wants me dead it’s because he can’t tolerate having us know he’s alive. Dead, he could still pretend he didn’t betray us.”