Free No One Left to Tell by Jordan Dane Page B

younger, he'd hated the fact that she guarded her secrets. Now he understood her intentions, and loved her all the more for it.
    Absentmindedly, he wandered through the darkened house toward her master suite upstairs. He flipped the light switch. Treading by her elaborately carved four-poster bed into the vast dressing area encircled by mirrors, he noticed her luggage gone. His heart sank.
    She'd taken all of it. Fiona planned to be gone a long time.
    "Damn it, Fie!" he cursed under his breath.
    His voice sounded foreign even to his own ear. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his cell phone and pressed the direct dial he knew well. Maybe if he told her what he'd found out, she'd come home to help him make sense of it. But as Fiona's phone rang, a faint noise echoed in the master bedroom. His shoulder slumped. The sound came from atop her dresser.
    Fiona had left her cell phone, severing another link between them. Set near the phone, another note had been placed on her bureau, meant for his eyes alone.
    My Darling —
    It pains me to leave you this way. I trust you completely, but the police are another matter. My phone would be a beacon for them to locate me. I hope you understand.
    Be assured, this is not permanent. I need time to clear my head and figure out what to do. Un til then, I have key Dunhill personnel assigned to take care of my business affairs, legitimate and otherwise.
    I will find you when it is safe. Know that I love you with all my heart, but my freedom and my life are at stake. My greatest wish is to see you happily married with children. I will not let my past sins tear apart my hopes for you, dearest.
    All my love—
F
    "What are you hiding?" he whispered.
    She was protecting him from her own past. His heart wouldn't allow him to believe anything else. She probably didn't know the police were directing their investigation his way. For now, he'd keep that tidbit from her. She had enough on her mind if she was desperate enough to flee the country without him. Christian ripped the note in half, slipping it into his pocket to be burned downstairs. Fiona's note wouldn't become evidence against her.
    Hitting another speed dial, he rang the hangar for the Dunhill jet. On the third ring, a man answered. "Dunhill hangar. Cooper here," the voice burdened with the boredom of night shift.
    "Hey Coop. This is Christian. Just checking to see if Fiona got off okay."
    "Yeah, before my shift." The man's voice was touched with concern. "Anything wrong?"
    "No, everything's okay. Just checking on her flight plan." His effort at nonchalance made the call sound strained.
    "Let me get it for you. Hold on a sec." The silence dragged on, an eternity. If he knew where she was, he might be able to—
    "Well, this is strange." Papers rustled in the background. Christian resisted the urge to ask what the man meant by strange. He already knew.
    Cooper finally spoke. "The only flight plan is to Lanchester, a small private airstrip outside London. Looks like they touched down to refuel, then took off again, about an hour ago. No plan listed after that. Do you want me to make contact with the jet?"
    "No. I'm sure everything is fine. Thanks for your help."
    Christian switched off the phone before the man replied. If Fiona had gone to so much trouble to disappear, he'd honor her wishes. But he ached with the emptiness of her departure. She was his anchor, his only semblance of family.
    Christian looked up. His eyes fixed upon the mirror. A stranger stared back. He'd grown used to the stark look of grief. Robbed of his innocence all those years ago, he'd never shaken the sense of loss. The tragedy cleaved to him like a malignancy, never letting him forget.
    Yet the greatest cruelty was the things he'd never remember. He still kept his old baseball glove, but came up empty when he tried to recall his father giving it to him. An old photograph of a birthday party felt like the remembrance of a stranger. Joy lay buried in his brain, a