Overcome Read online

  HEADSTRONG

  BOOK THREE: OVERCOME

  MELANIE RACHEL

  Copyright © 2019 by Melanie Rachel

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  First printing 2019

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Excerpt from I Never Knew Myself

  Excerpt from Ship to Shore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth was gone.

  Richard Fitzwilliam pulled into the hospital’s parking garage and swung Will’s car into the first available space. He hadn’t asked permission to take it, was too angry to make any such request. Will could call the cops if he wanted. Richard had changed into a set of clothes he kept at the office the night before but hadn’t bothered with a tie. He buttoned the top button on his shirt, smoothed the wrinkles out of his pants so he would look decent for Jane, and checked his phone for the time. She was on a twelve-hour shift, but she’d be off soon.

  When he saw her coming towards him through the ER’s doors, long hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing baggy blue scrub pants and a form fitting t-shirt, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a bit and moved to meet her. A look of pleasant surprise then trepidation crossed her face when she spied him.

  Jane approached him warily, lifting her arms to take out the bun and allow her long blonde hair to fall down her back.

  She gave him a tiny smile. “I didn’t think you’d be here today,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Is everything okay?”

  He reached for her hand. “Let me take you to lunch.”

  Jane placed her spoon on the side of her plate and glanced up at Richard, her brow furrowed, her eyes trained on her lap. Fear and confusion hardened in her stomach like a block of ice, but she folded them up neatly and put them to the side like the flimsy paper napkin she’d been using. There wasn’t much to say, but she needed to know she’d understood correctly. “FORGE was attacked, and Elizabeth called in a favor to save it? That’s why she’s gone?”

  Richard reached across the table, palm up, and with only a brief hesitation, Jane placed her hand in his.

  “It seems so,” he replied, his voice gruff and uncertain. Jane tried to keep her focus on the man sitting across from her, but her mind couldn’t help but wander to her sister. She broke their connection to search her purse, fish out her phone, and check for a message. There was a voice mail, brief and unsatisfying, but at least Elizabeth hadn’t left without saying her customary goodbye. She dropped the phone back in her bag and rubbed the pendant on her necklace between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Did she say anything about where she was headed?” Richard’s voice wafted across the table, breaking into her thoughts. She shook her head slowly.

  Jane felt suddenly warm and reached for her water glass. “When she disappears, she usually doesn’t know where she’s going. Not that she’d tell anyone if she did.”

  Richard gazed at her intently. “This happened a lot?”

  “Enough,” Jane shrugged, picking up the spoon and aimlessly stirring her soup without eating it. “When she gets back, she usually doesn’t even know where she’s been.” She dropped the spoon and leaned her head back against the high bench of the booth. “So she says.”

  Richard grimaced. “It’s probably true, Jane,” he said softly. “If she doesn’t know where she’s been, she can’t be forced to tell anyone else.”

  “To keep her safe?” she asked.

  Jane watched Richard struggle to answer. He began to say something and stopped. His cheeks puffed out before he released a gust of air. Finally, he just said, “More likely to keep the mission safe.”

  “Oh.” Jane closed her eyes. She’d not thought of that. She frowned as a blaze of understanding burned through her. She’d always known, sort of, but hadn’t wanted to dwell on it. I left her in Meryton. I left her there alone, and now she’s the one who leaves. Jane closed her eyes and heard Richard call her name, concerned. She opened her eyes and smiled wanly. “I just hope she’s up to it. Whatever it is she’s taken on this time.”

  Richard eyed her suspiciously. “Jane, you don’t have to be stoic about this. I’m worried for her, too.”

  “Oh, Richard.” She sighed. “There’s so much more than you know.”

  He took out his wallet and removed a few bills which he tossed on the table. Then he stood.

  “Let’s get out of here, and you can tell me.”

  FORGE FENDS OFF CYBER-ATTACK

  Typically, cyber-attacks focus on point-of-sale programs or wire transfers—in other words, your money. The attacks on New York City’s FORGE were rare in that the attack seems to have centered on acquiring the information available in the company’s patent applications database. It was an attempt, in other words, to gain access to intellectual property, which is difficult to monetize, particularly once the attack has become public.

  Another way in which this attack was atypical? It failed.

  William Darcy, owner and CEO of FORGE, spoke with reporters this afternoon to report that the attack had been repelled and no data had been lost. “I want to thank our team at FORGE that has been instrumental in protecting our clients’ information, our technical staff at Lights On, and everyone else who was called upon to assist. We are happy to report that the attempted breach was unsuccessful. Our doors will remain open while we review the incident and make any changes we deem necessary to further protect our systems.”

  Will tossed aside his copy of the Wall Street Journal. The crisis had been averted, the clients reassured, and the media coverage had been overwhelmingly positive. The story had made the national and international news, significantly increasing FORGE’s visibility. Their higher profile would likely have both positive and negative consequences.

  He had worked all night, calling Jerry to take him home only after the final press conference and interviews were completed. Richard had still been scowling, though he’d put on a good face and stood at Will’s right shoulder as the cameras recorded the statement. They’d agreed, afterward, that Wickham must have had an overseas buyer for the patent information but were confused that his attacks hadn’t broken through before Elizabeth’s colleagues had stopped it cold. Not that he was unhappy about that, but why attack at all if they weren’t sure they could get into the systems they wanted?

  Richard had returned from his tantrum with Jane Bennet in tow, and Wi
ll admitted to himself that he was more than a little jealous. If Elizabeth hadn’t left, he’d be headed to her place in Bloomfield no matter how exhausted he was. Of course, if she hadn’t left, you’d still be battling Wickham and probably signing FORGE’s death warrant. Now his company had a quickly growing reputation for being a difficult mark, something he hoped nobody would take on as a challenge. He’d left the team from Lights On in a heated discussion about how to anticipate and counter such a response. He’d warned them that he’d be interviewing other security companies but would allow them to make a pitch for the job as well. Maybe Elizabeth would be back to help evaluate them. He wondered if she’d consider taking on the job herself and building a team of her own.

  He tossed his keys in the blue bowl in the entryway and went immediately to the refrigerator. His gaze went to the bottom shelf where the last two bottles of beer Elizabeth had purchased for Richard still sat. He stared at them until the refrigerator began to beep, alerting him that the door had been open too long. He moved to the bar to pour himself something strong and wandered out onto the terrace although it was near freezing. He felt the cold slicing through his suit jacket but strolled over to the chaises he had shared with Elizabeth when they stayed up all night talking. He stretched out on one.

  What would she do when she finished whatever it was he’d just pushed her out to face? Now that she’d saved him? Again. Two saves in one week’s time. Would she credit him with trying to do what was best for her, even if he’d been ham-handed in the way he’d gone about it? Or would she decide that if he didn’t trust her, he was just too much work?

  As he reclined there in the rapidly darkening afternoon, he tried to think through the past week. He was sure the attack on FORGE had been launched only because the one on Georgiana had been thwarted. It was Plan B, he sighed. Will there be a Plan C, now that this one has failed? He wasn’t sure how long he could keep up his defenses when he was never certain when Wickham would strike next. He wasn’t even sure why Wickham was still angry—it had been a decade since they’d last seen one another. No, it has to be about money. Someone’s paying him. The public humiliation is just him having fun. He stared out across the road and into the park. He brushed his dark thoughts away and instead focused on the gratifying jolt of electricity that had struck him when he saw Elizabeth in her dress. Was it only last night? He held onto the memory tenaciously while he finished his drink.

  He remained outside longer than he should have, staring at the trees and listening to the enchanting echoes of Elizabeth’s voice in his ear, exclaiming delight over the view. It was only the increasingly bitter cold that finally prompted him to stand and return inside.

  After a long day of flying, Elizabeth stepped out onto the tarmac and donned a pair of sunglasses Abby had tucked into her kit. The sun was out and the weather mild. She judged it to be in the mid-70s, and it was bright after riding in the back of what she thought might be a C-17 Globemaster. She’d gone from flying first class to flying cargo, but she had no complaints. Arch and Bob were already in place wherever they were headed, and she expected good news on the FORGE front when she arrived. That makes leaving worth it. It does.

  They’d landed at a private airfield, which surprised her a bit, what with their arrival in a military plane, but she’d been on enough of these maneuvers not to ask questions when she might not want to know the answers. Judging by the time in air, the climate, and her own past experiences, she thought they were probably somewhere along the Mediterranean.

  A non-descript brown car with a dented front fender and a spider-web crack in the back window was waiting for them. Abby led them over and they shoved their bags into the trunk.

  “Welcome,” the driver said glibly. He opened the back door for Elizabeth. He hadn’t mentioned his name or where they were. It doesn’t matter, she thought. We won’t see him again. Still, she took a mental snapshot.

  At the drop point, they transferred to a taxi. As they pulled away, they passed the first car, now tucked into an alleyway. Elizabeth saw the driver peel the spider-crack web off the back of the car with a quick flip of his wrist and begin to remove the brown decals to reveal a blue car beneath.

  Two transfers later, they were dropped off on the corner of a very crowded street. Elizabeth followed Abby down an alleyway where they walked to the end and descended a flight of stairs. They walked through a maze of tunnels for twenty minutes or so. Like mice.

  “Abby?” Elizabeth asked, annoyed.

  “What?” Abby replied, staring ahead in the dim lighting.

  Elizabeth reached both arms out and slapped the stone walls at the same time. “There had better be some cheese at the end of this.”

  There was a soft laugh from the diminutive shadow in front of her as Elizabeth adjusted the strap of her bag and they trudged on.

  It took another five minutes or so to emerge from the tunnels into a quieter neighborhood and slip inside a storefront in a line of identical edifices. Down another flight of stairs, Abby reached a door and knocked in a complicated rhythm. The door opened, and they stepped inside.

  Elizabeth was in the room for only a second when she was bodily lifted from the floor in a bone-crushing hug.

  “Hey, Arch,” she said as the big man set her down. “How’ve you been?”

  “Good, Dutch,” he grinned, curly dark hair sticking wildly out at the sides. “I’d ask you how you’ve been, but the whole world knows.” He bumped her with his hip, which she was lucky didn’t send her flying. “Bagging a billionaire.”

  She tossed her head back to look up at him. “Never took you for a tabloid reader, Arch.”

  He shrugged. “It’s different when you know the person.”

  There was a redhead standing in the kitchen. He was slighter, barely taller than Elizabeth, and he held up his hand in an abbreviated wave. She held her hand up in reply and nodded at him. “Bob.”

  Abby took her bag to the back of the room where she disappeared behind a curtain. They were silent. She looked between the two impatiently. “Well?”

  “Oh, Abbot called once you were in the air, Dutch,” Arch explained. “We’re done.”

  Bob wore a menacing frown that somehow appeared almost a smile. “He’s been doing business with a lot of people, running up debts he can’t cash. Someone in Dubai.”

  Elizabeth observed them both, but no additional information was forthcoming. “Not Senator Barker?”

  Bob lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe. Wasn’t looking for that. I can check into it.”

  Elizabeth nodded. Bob didn’t talk much, but he loved a challenge as much as the rest of them. “Who in Dubai?” The city was an international crossroads with riches beyond imagining. Wickham could have been working with anyone.

  “Does it matter?” Bob asked with a shrug. “He hasn’t been able to deliver for them, and now they know where he is.”

  “Oh,” said Elizabeth, her mind racing. She didn’t think Will would want Wickham dead, but she wasn’t about to say anything to Bob. The man operated on his own system of justice. He’d had a job, he’d done the job. Anything she said to him about it now would be summarily dismissed, and it was Wickham’s fault if he’d cheated the wrong people. A man who relied on charm, trickery, and very little else should have known not to stretch his abilities too far. There wasn’t much she could do now. He might not be dead at all, she placated herself. Close the door.

  “What’ve we got to eat?” she asked plaintively. “I can’t work on an empty stomach.”

  Even Bob smirked at that, and Arch ushered her into the kitchen as the smaller man gave way. “There’s that hollow leg,” the larger man chortled. “Don’t worry. We’re ready for you.”

  Tavi Gevinson, Susan Gregg Koger, Em-Jay—move over! The Star-Ledger has found the newest teen star on the fashion scene, none other than Montclair’s own Katherine Bennet, founder and CEO of the K. Gardiner fashion line. At seventeen, Bennet joins a growing list of teenage entrepreneurs who are finding creative ways to laun
ch their companies before they even graduate high school.

  One of her creations was photographed recently at a Seeds for Peace fundraiser attended by New York City’s elite. The dress was modeled by Bennet’s sister Elizabeth Bennet, best known for her heroic actions earlier this year during a terrorist incident in a Brussels restaurant. Elizabeth Bennet attended the fundraiser with Will Darcy, CEO of FORGE and co-owner of Darcy Acquisitions.

  “Lizzy loved it,” Bennet said with a wide smile. “She said I’ll have to expand the business so I can make all of her dresses.”

  “She deserves the best,” Lydia Bennet, K. Gardiner manager and social

  media strategist, chimed in. “So it’ll have to be K. Gardiner.”

  These girls have their pitch down to a fine art. Given the number of inquiries being handled by other members of the family during this interview, they will have more on their minds this year than prom.

  Will marked another X on his desk calendar with a red marker. He touched the sixteenth mark, tracing it idly, noting that some of the still wet ink had transferred to the pad of his finger. His father had always had a calendar, and he kept ordering them because he liked the look of it. He’d not really used them before. Now it had become a tracking system for how long Elizabeth had been away. No calls, no texts, no emails, not even a letter sent by snail mail or a cryptic message via telegraph. No carrier pigeons or voices through the television.