Behind the Mask (77 page)

He pressed his face more tightly against her and wept without control while Abbi wondered exactly why he was asking her forgiveness. His reference to being wrong and foolish and unfair had no apparent connection to his confession of once pondering suicide, as far as she could see. But it seemed there was a connection. When he finally calmed down, she said, “I don’t understand, Cameron. Forgive you for what?”

He sat up abruptly and penetrated her eyes with his. “Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t. That’s why I asked.”

“I’m not afraid to die. I stared death in the face a long time ago. I was eager to embrace it. Death represented the ultimate freedom for me. I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid to
live.
I didn’t realize until just now, but . . . somewhere inside of me . . . I’ve been more afraid to live than to die. Facing up to what I left behind feels far more terrifying than facing the end of my life. I promised you that I would be careful. I wasn’t. I can see that now. As much as I knew that my dying would break your heart, because I know how much you love me, a part of me truly believed you would be better off without me.”

Abbi watched silent tears spill down his face while her own weeping was not so discreet. She knew now why he’d said she would be angry and upset. She certainly was. But more than that, she felt his pain. At the same time, she longed for some evidence that he had come to his senses and had realized that she would never be better without him.

As if attuned to her innermost thoughts, he took both her hands into his and said with vehemence, “But I was wrong, Abbi. Oh, I was so wrong. I
need
to live. No one can do what
I
can do in this world. What I contribute may be insignificant in the vast scheme of life, but in this time, in this place, the world needs
me
to live. No one can be a husband to you the way I can. No one can be the father this child needs except me. And no one can bear my name and my position the same way that I can do it. I need to
live,
Abbi. While I know my life is in God’s hands, whether I face him tomorrow or in thirty years, I need to face him with the confidence of knowing I did everything in my power to stay alive, and that my leaving this world was
His
choice, not mine.”

He touched her face. “Forgive me, Abbi. I didn’t realize what I was doing. Forgive me for causing you so much worry and grief. I swear to you that I
will
be careful, and that living to share my life with you will be my highest priority.”

Abbi’s tears turned to relieved laughter as the light of determination shone more brilliantly in his eyes than she’d ever seen it. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as tightly as he held her. “Then everything will be all right,” she said, praying that fate would not intervene and cut his life short when he had come so far.

“I love you, Abbi,” he murmured with emotion. “God sent you to save my life.”

She laughed again through her ongoing tears and took his face into her hands, kissing him while she wiped away his tears. “I love you too,” she whispered close to his lips, and kissed him again.

Georg hummed as he went about his usual work in the stable. Everything was going as planned, and by tomorrow at this time, it would all be over. He chided himself for getting too comfortable when a woman rode into the stable, slipping off a huge work horse.

“Mr. Heinrich,” she said, glancing around nervously to be assured they were alone.

“Yes.” It took a moment to recognize her. And when he did his pulse quickened.

“I have brought the lace you ordered for your wife.”

He swallowed carefully. “I already got the lace I ordered for my wife.”

“Yes, but . . . this is a special piece.” She held out a wrapped package, but he didn’t take it. “I’m absolutely certain that you’re the one who ordered it, and you paid for it as well. Perhaps you meant it as a gift for . . . the bride.”

Georg looked into her eyes and saw huge tears forming. This woman’s husband was the officer of the Guard who had put everything on the line to help them. He was the man who held the final key in getting access to Gerhard tonight. Horrible images flashed through his mind. Had Farold Garver been caught? Arrested? Or worse?

Oblivious to propriety, Georg took hold of Mrs. Garver’s shoulders and deepened his gaze on her. “What’s happened?” he whispered imperatively. “Please don’t tell me they found out that—”

“No,” she insisted, “oh, no. He’s . . . ill. He’s very ill.” Georg’s sigh of relief caught in his throat as she went on. “He has a fever.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “The doctor assures us that it will pass, but . . .” Her voice lowered. “He told me what you’re trying to do,” she said. “If I could take my husband’s place tonight, I would do it gladly. He’s consumed with worry for you and those you are helping.” She shoved the package into Georg’s hands. “Our prayers are with you,” she said and struggled to get back into the saddle of her oversized horse.

Georg stepped forward and helped her. When she was seated, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you,” he said. “Our prayers will be with you as well.” She nodded, too emotional to speak, and galloped away.

Georg leaned against a post and groaned. “Oh, please God, no!” he murmured. Everything hinged on this one element—the only element for which they’d been unable to come up with a backup plan. Georg felt exhausted and drained. His brain was too weary and overworked to even begin to think how to handle this new problem. It would now be impossible to have Abbi’s father at the wedding as they had hoped, and yet it was so much more complicated than that in ways Abbi could never imagine. What they needed now was a miracle.

Abbi opened the bedroom door after Georg let them know it was him. He stepped into the room, looking especially somber. She was about to question him when he handed her a small package, wrapped in brown paper.

“What is it?” she asked, and Cameron glanced her direction from where he was sitting up in bed.

“A wedding gift,” he said.

“From who?”

“Some people who are praying very hard that your wedding goes well.”

Abbi tore open the package and laughed softly. “Oh, it’s beautiful. A lace collar, much like Elsa’s.”

She glanced up just in time to see Cameron give Georg a harsh stare that Georg returned with some kind of formless terror in his eyes.

“What’s happened?” Cameron growled, erupting to his feet so fast that Abbi feared he would lose his balance. But he stepped toward Georg like some kind of angry beast. “What’s happened, dammit?”

Abbi clutched the lace to her heart, realizing her beautiful gift symbolized something much deeper.

“He’s safe, if that’s what you mean. No one’s on to him.”

Cameron sighed so thoroughly that his shoulders slumped. “Then what . . .” Cameron pressed.

“He’s ill. Down with a fever.” Georg glanced at Abbi, but didn’t have the heart to tell her to leave. “I don’t know how to fix this one, Cameron. I’m drained. If we can’t get to the witness tonight, then . . .” He couldn’t even say it. Not when they were this close. “I should have found some way to back up this part of the plan.” Georg felt hard pressed not to sit down and cry like a baby. “I should have . . .”

“Georg, listen to me.” Cameron took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “If we can’t get him tonight, we’ll get him tomorrow night.”

“But how can you—”

“Georg,” Cameron interrupted firmly. “It’s so close now I can taste it. I feel alive again, Georg.” He actually laughed. “Do you know who I am, Georg?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“Well,
I
know who I am. I’d forgotten, you know. In my mind I knew, but my heart forgot. And now,” Cameron’s eyes sparkled with vision, “my heart is remembering. I know who I am. I know my mission. I know what I’m capable of.”

Georg looked into Cameron’s face, in awe to see a presence there that he’d not seen since long before he’d been accused of murder. All these years it had been hidden behind a mask of doubt and fear, and Georg had taken it upon himself to hold tightly to Cameron and guide him through the process of removing that mask. Finally, it was gone. His natural strength shone in his face, and Georg
knew
they would succeed. He could see it in Cameron’s eyes.

Cameron stepped back and took Abbi’s hand into his, saying firmly, “We’ll take care of it tomorrow night, Georg. Tomorrow I can do anything I damn well please.” Then he laughed. “Provided, of course, that civil war doesn’t break out in the meantime.” Abbi’s eyes widened frantically and he laughed again. “I’m joking, Abbi. I’m joking.”

Abbi hit him and walked away. Cameron added quietly to Georg, “I hope civil war doesn’t break out in the meantime, or I could end up divorced.”

“Amen,” Georg said, and they laughed together.

Abbi observed the relaxed attitude between the two men and hoped it was indicative of the potential outcome. Georg left them alone, saying he would meet Cameron at dusk in the stable. Abbi didn’t want to think about what might happen after that. Instead she relished this time with Cameron, basking in the calm confidence that exuded from him. Little was said, but they held each other while Abbi wondered if such tranquil moments would be a part of their life beyond this day. While Cameron’s change of attitude assuaged her concerns somewhat, she couldn’t deny the fact that he’d come within an inch of losing his life—quite literally, considering the bullet wound. Hot tears threatened, but she forced them back, instead praying that he would yet survive whatever lay ahead.

She realized Cameron had once again fallen asleep when Elsa knocked lightly at the door and it didn’t disturb him. “Forgive me,” Elsa whispered, “but the captain is here, and I thought for the sake of proper appearances, you should see him.”

“Of course, you’re right,” Abbi said. “Thank you.”

She quickly checked herself in the mirror, made certain Cameron was sleeping, and went downstairs. As she stepped into the drawing room and closed the door, Lance turned to look at her. For a long moment nothing was said, but his genuine concern, and the sincerity of his devotion, radiated from him. She felt safe in his presence, and nothing but relieved when his arms came around her while he urged her head to his shoulder. “How are you?” he asked quietly, and without warning, tears rushed out of her. She could only credit the security she felt for provoking all of her pent-up emotion to the surface.

“Abbi, what is it?” Lance asked, taking her shoulders to look at her closely. She only shook her head and put her face against his chest. “Abbi,” he muttered close to her ear and she undeniably detected fear in his voice, “please tell me he’s all right.”

Dread overtook her tears and she stepped back abruptly, wondering what he knew. “He’s alive, if that’s what you mean,” she said.

“It
was
him, then.”

“Please don’t tell me you had something to do with this . . . and don’t lie to me.”

“I would never lie to you, Abbi. And no, I had nothing to do with it beyond receiving the report. Surely you must believe me.”

“Of course I believe you,” she said. “May I ask what was reported?”

“I don’t know details. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to give the matter too much attention. A fugitive was pursued and shot, then lost. But the officer felt certain he’d hit the target and was puzzled at having lost him.”

“Apparently he is easily recognized by your officers.”

“Many of them once worked closely with him. They would know his face well.” Abbi felt a little queasy over that. Lance looked like he didn’t want to ask, but he did anyway.
“Was
he shot, then?”

“Yes.”

“And is he going to be—”

“He’s fine,” Abbi said curtly. “By some miracle the bullet only braised his side.” Lance heaved a deep sigh, and she found some comfort in the evidence that he wanted Cameron to remain safe. Apparently his desire for her happiness, and her pleas on Cameron’s behalf, meant something to him. For that alone she wanted to get down on her knees and pledge her undying gratitude and esteem. She opted instead to say, “I keep telling myself that it’s evident God wants him to live, but then I wonder if we’ve already been given more than our share of miracles.”