Authors: Sally John
At last they sat. The courtyard’s ambience resembled a cozy greenhouse. Its humid air was thick with an overpowering floral scent. Low clouds hid the palm treetops from view.
Luke said, “How is Eliot?”
“Fine.”
He angled his head, questioning.
“Really. I mean it this time, at least relatively speaking. He’s not his old self by any means, but we see improvements almost daily, not just with the pain but his mental health. We’ve made progress on his book. We plan to spend the day in Mesa Aguamiel—or maybe not.” She pulled apart a bun. “I suppose you have news for us?”
He nodded.
She imagined that Luke had been halfway around the world and talked with numerous people since she last saw him. That had been at her father’s funeral visitation eleven weeks and two days ago.
But who was counting?
“It’s not over, is it?” she said.
He touched her hand, busy with bread shredding, and stilled it. “Don’t worry. I’m not Gabriel this time. I’m not here to make some huge announcement and turn your world upside down. There are just a few loose ends to tie up. Okay? You look great, by the way. Much healthier than the last time I saw you. Tell me how you are, Sher. Sheridan.”
She searched his face—the green eyes, the thin lips, the attractive shape of his jaw. “I’m fairly good. Our life is so much better than it was even three weeks ago. It’s hard, though. It’s unbelievably hard. The day in and day out of being nursemaid, chauffeur, and secretary in Topala after I’ve pulled my head out of the sand is . . . is . . .” She shrugged, unwilling to fill in the blank. It didn’t help to say
tedious, excruciatingly nerve-racking, disappointing, desperate, bleaker than bleak . . .
Luke gave her hand a brief squeeze and let go. “But overall you’re fairly good?”
“Mm-hmm.” She smiled. “Learning and growing.”
“Everything out in the open with Eliot?”
She nodded.
“Did he know who you were when he met you?” He maintained eye contact.
She nodded again.
“And you’ve stayed.”
“Topala is not where I want to be. But . . . it’s the right thing to do.”
“That’s marriage.”
“According to the vows.”
“I’m glad for him.” Luke looked away.
She studied his profile. She knew she wanted to memorize it in order to hold it close after he was gone.
He spoke, still gazing toward the back wall. “I think we get tagged for things. This isn’t where you want to be, and yet here you are. No doubt you’re touching the lives of these villagers. Certainly you’re making all the difference in Eliot’s life. You are fulfilling some purpose even if you don’t know what it is.”
“I’ve stopped saying I didn’t sign up for this. That attitude doesn’t exactly help matters.”
He smiled at her. “Doesn’t change a thing, does it?”
“No. Are you doing what you signed up for?”
His smile faded. “Got tagged. Just like you.”
“What would you rather have done with your life?”
He gave his head a slight shake as if he didn’t want to answer.
It saddened her that he would leave once more and this time not return. In all their forced togetherness, she had been too busy rejecting him and the situations to discover much about him. Now she yearned for information about the man who saved her life.
And so she pressed him. “Tell me. I really want to know. What would you have signed up for?”
He rubbed his chin, glanced away, came back to her. “I’d have signed up for a white picket fence, amateur baseball, and marrying you.”
She returned his gaze, a world of questions, regrets, and dreams passing between them.
His brows rose and he smiled his little smile. “’Nuf said.”
They drank their coffee, sitting in a silence now grown comfortable.
While getting dressed, Eliot heard voices and looked between the curtains on the French doors in his bedroom. He saw Sheridan sitting in the back courtyard with Luke Traynor.
He heaved a sigh, part relief, part anxiety. Evidently it was time to finish things with the government.
Something captured his attention in the outdoor scene. Was something said? He couldn’t hear their words.
Because they weren’t speaking now.
But he sensed, though, that they were speaking. He felt it deep in his bones.
He let the curtain fall into place and sat on the chair to button his shirt.
What was the relationship between his wife and the agent? Eliot had complete confidence in Sheridan’s faithfulness. As she proclaimed the day she was late and he feared her gone, she was not Noelle. No. She was nothing like Noelle in appearance or demeanor or character. There was a solid core to Sheridan that nothing could shake.
Not even the agony of watching her husband almost die? How about nearly two years and counting of life with a deaf-mute who failed to meet any need or desire she might possibly have?
Traynor had rescued her, for heaven’s sake. The very nature of that event created a bond nothing could nullify. Eliot imagined it was a lifelong bond that neither Luke nor Sheridan could deny.
He had heard the details from Sheridan. Traynor wasn’t security, but he had been present that day for some obscure reason. He had intuitively covered Sheridan with himself. Once the shooting stopped, he extracted her from the volatile scene. He saw to her immediate medical needs for a broken arm and ribs. He accompanied her through the maze of hospitals and travel and accommodations.
Sheridan described it all in her usual candid, sensible manner. She wasn’t hiding anything.
But the bond was undeniable.
So what did that mean for Eliot?
He shut his eyes and leaned back in the chair.
It meant he better do some praying before he went outside and took a mortifyingly feeble swing at the guy.
* * *
“Mr. Ambassador.” Luke stood at the patio table as Eliot approached.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “Traynor, I told you before, enough of that nonsense.”
Sheridan walked to meet him, her eyes overly bright, and kissed his cheek. “Good morning. You’re up and about early. And just one cane?”
He smiled, the gossamer touch of her lips still tingling on his face. “I was a bit eager to start our special day.” Frowning, he made a show of peering around her shoulder at Luke. “Shall we take Traynor with us?”
“I don’t know if he’d be interested.” She walked to the table with him. “We could ask. Apparently he already knows our routine.”
“Spies.” He tsked. “Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.” He stretched his hand toward Luke and smiled. “Hello, Luke.”
“Eliot. You are looking well.”
“Thank you. Sit; sit. It takes me a moment to get myself lowered.” As he bent stiffly to sit on the padded wrought-iron chair, he noticed Luke the charmer wait politely before he himself sat. Eliot tried not to resent the man’s youth, vigor, jaunty air, sporty blue jeans, ball cap, and white T-shirt tucked neatly at the trim waist—generally everything about him.
The table was set for three. Sheridan poured tea for him. “Luke has news. Or rather a few loose ends to tie up. May I leave this time, Mr. Traynor?” Her voice went up. “I’ve heard all I care to about my father. Whatever the government wants to do with his legacy is fine with me. Not that they’re likely to ask my opinion.”
Eliot knew she was more concerned about him than Harrison. They had argued about whether or not he should admit to smuggling. Could they arrest him?
“Sher,” he said, “take a deep breath. We’ll get through this together, all right?”
She shook her head, clearly not wanting to stay and listen.
“You’re free to go,” Luke said. “Eliot can tell you later what he thinks you should know.”
Now Eliot shook his head. “She needs to hear everything directly. I want no misunderstandings between us later. We’re done with middlemen and holding back information. Sheridan?” He gazed at her until she met his eyes. “Except for Calissa and Bram, the people who love you most are here with you right now. You’re not alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered and cleared her throat. “Okay.”
If he had any remaining ability to read her eyes, he would say that the gold flecks glittered just for him now. She loved him.
Well,
he thought,
that exchange went better than throwing a punch.
The moment Luke began to speak, Sheridan scooted her chair nearer Eliot’s. Wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, she tucked her legs beneath herself and leaned against him.
Her self-defensive posture didn’t help much. Even tuning out the details of international trade didn’t help much. She followed Luke’s story down shadowy paths that frightened and appalled her.
“Harrison’s ties to the smuggling world go back forty-plus years.” Luke spoke in a whispery voice, as if trying to cushion the blows. “As far as we can tell, he engaged in everything. What started out as small-time when he met Ysabel grew into big business. He literally carried diamonds into the U.S. He laundered them and money. He recruited and blackmailed. He influenced national policy with lies and bribes and old-fashioned politicking.”
Eliot asked him about specifics, and Luke provided them.
Eliot said, “My word! You’re describing current international conditions.”
Luke nodded. “There are lingering effects. He didn’t work alone. There are still people out there who may have been involved.”
“Which is the problem.”
“Which is the problem, yes. His trail is murky. The man was quite crafty.” Luke winced slightly in Sheridan’s direction.
“Like I don’t know how despicable he was.” She frowned. The facial expression was less messy than crying over a heritage she couldn’t change. “Can you tell us anything about the trail?”
“It’s being followed.”
“Are you arresting people?”
“There’s more following involved. Tracing. Collecting proof. Trying to get to the sources.”
“And so,” Eliot said, “we can’t disclose this information to the world, can we? The repercussions would be too far-reaching, too damaging. International relations and the market would just be the tip of the iceberg.”
“Even disclosing what Harrison was up to decades ago would be like setting off an earthquake.”
“So he gets off scot-free,” Sheridan said.
“If there is a God, I would think not exactly scot-free.” Luke shrugged. “Years from now, it may be in the nation’s best interest to expose him. Tarnishing his legacy at this time would only hurt you and Calissa and his constituency.”
“It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. Neither is it fair to ask any more of you two.”
Eliot smiled. “But you will because I may be of some help. Where and when?”
Sheridan said, “Wait. What’s going on?”
“They need to talk to me, Sher. They know Harrison was in Caracas when I was. That he was by that time entrenched with an underworld that included the shaping of foreign policy. Just over eighteen months ago I was there again. As ambassador I discussed policy, influenced by him, with government leaders.” He turned to Luke. “How much do you know about me?”
“We suspect that you met Harrison Cole in 1983 because you were in the same place at the same time.” He shrugged.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Eliot glanced at Sheridan. She bit the inside of her lip.
Don’t tell him. Do not say a word. We’ll get a lawyer!
Eliot gave his head a slight shake. “Well, there’s a bit more to the story.” He proceeded to tell Luke everything.
Every little detail.
Luke listened, expressionless. After Eliot finished, Luke let out a low whistle. “Okay, thanks, sir.”
“I need to make restitution.”
“Then talk to us. There is no evidence of your ever breaking the law. I think your wife may be hyperventilating.”
She shook her head. “I-I’m fine.”
“He’s not going to prison.”
She nodded.
Thank You, God.
Eliot said, “Just to clear the air, Traynor, are you quite sure you overturned every stone in my past?”
“Yes, sir, every single one. And if I had found evidence, I would have considered it planted.”
The two men stared at each other, odd little smiles on their faces.
“What was the name of my first golden retriever?” Eliot asked.
“You never had one. But the name of your first English sheepdog was Tennyson. You were six.”
Eliot grinned.
Luke turned to her. “Your husband is so clean he squeaks when he walks.” He smiled. “And I’m not referring to canes and walkers.”
Eliot chuckled. “Back to the question at hand: where and when?”
“Are you up for Mazatlán? Say in two weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Eliot,” she said, “that’s too much for you. Why can’t whoever ‘they’ are just come here to the house and question you?”
He raised his brows. “I call her ‘naive princess.’”
“It suits,” Luke said. “Sheridan, it won’t work here. The meeting needs to be under the radar. Topala is out of the way, but a large group of American government types might draw attention.” He said to Eliot, “You’ll stay in a safe house. Our guess is two days, three at the most, largely depending on your stamina.”
Anxiety tightened Sheridan’s throat, pushing her voice up. “By himself?”
“Yes. We hope that you agree to drive him to the city. Once you arrive, security will be assigned to you both. A room at a resort has been reserved for you, Sheridan, but you’re welcome to choose wherever you’d like to stay. Think of it as a retreat for yourself. Lounge at the beach, read, and shop until it’s over.”
“Oh, that sounds just like my kind of vacation.” Except for the beach lounging, which she never enjoyed, it described her life for the past year, shopping and reading alone. “Eliot?”
“I’ll be just fine, Sher.”
That wasn’t the protest she expected to hear from him.
“We’ll get through this, and then we’ll be done.” He laid his hand, palm up, on the arm of his chair between them.
She placed her hand in his.
“It’ll be like the old days,” he said. “We’ll go our separate ways, complete our business, and meet up later.” He grinned. “And not talk about most of what we did. Life in the diplomatic lane, remember?”