Or . . . don’t.
I see Beau in hospital. I see her circling her stomach in her sleep. I see all the things Dexter really shouldn’t want me to see.
The red mist can’t be held back.
I lose my head and fly across the room, charging at him, swiping him clean out of the hands of Ringo and smashing him into the wall. I’m all out of control. This won’t be quick and clean. “You killed my unborn child, you lanky, cocksucking fucker.”
God help him.
No. The devil can have him instead.
He dribbles and moans as I drop my hold and back away, reaching for my ankle and pulling out a switchblade. “Listen to me,” he pants, eyes darting around the room.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I can tell you who The Bear is.”
That just enrages me more, and I lunge forward, plunging my knife into his eye socket. He drops, the squeals of pain blood-curdling, the shrieks mixed with pleas irritating as fuck. I get up behind him, take a hold of his head, and tilt it back. I wrestle his tongue out of his mouth and slice the fucker off, then take the blade and sink it into his ear.
Instant silence.
Blood everywhere.
I step back, shaking. I’ve never seen red so vividly. Never shook so much when I’ve ended someone. I cast my eyes across the blood-soaked carpet. “Beau doesn’t hear of this,” I say clearly.
“Received loud and clear,” Black replies quietly, as I turn to face him. He takes in my blood-stained form while casually sipping his Scotch. “He said he knew who The Bear is.”
“He was lying. No one knows who he is.”
“He’ll be coming for me, assuming he really does know I’m alive.”
Exactly. And Danny Black isn’t the kind of man to wait around to be killed. And thanks to Dexter, The Bear knows who I am too. “He knows you’re alive,” I assure him. “You have Spittle to thank for that. So, are you ready to be my bait?” I ask, and he regards me for a while, as I stand before him, dripping in blood. Yes, I’m sick. But so is he.
His smile now, dark and moody, proves it.
He raises his tumbler. “To my resurrection.” He takes a long slurp and slams his glass down. “You’ll hold my fucking hand when I break the news to my wife.”
Epilogue
St. Lucia – a week later
BEAU
The wheels hit the runway, and I jolt in my seat, feeling James’s keen eyes on me. I try my hardest not to flinch, but the pain, albeit milder now, still gets me. I press my lips together and close my eyes, mentally calculating the last time I had any pain meds. I must be due some more soon.
I hear James’s cell come to life, pinging and singing the arrival of texts and missed calls. I open my eyes. “Lawrence?” I ask, circling my stomach with my palm, sounding hopeful.
James shakes his head, and I try so hard to keep my disappointment from my face, closing my eyes again. He’s not left his room since James took us to Black’s mansion. Not spoken. Hardly eaten. Esther, Danny Black’s mother, a lovely, gentle lady, has promised to send me daily updates while we’re away. But I need to hear from him. I need to know he’s okay. Or that he’ll be okay eventually.
The brakes kick in, and I’m pulled back in the plush seat, breathing through the discomfort. I can feel James watching me. Has been the entire flight. Assessing me. “I’m fine,” I say for the thousandth time, and I so desperately want to be fine, but no matter how many times I try and convince myself of that, I return to the same circle of worry. This here, where we’ve just landed, is a temporary respite. A vacation from our real life, where James is a cold-blooded killer, and I am a broken ex-cop. We’ll need to return to Miami. James will need to kill. I will need closure.
Closure.
It seems like a pathetic word to use in such a life-or-death situation. Which brings me to something else. Something I’ve been afraid to ask. “Did you find a key?”
He unclips his belt, despite the jet still cruising down the runway at some speed, and pulls one of his bags onto his lap. “No.”
I eye him with suspicion. “You’re lying.”
“Okay.” He looks up and smiles. It’s sarcastic. “I’m lying.”
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, unclipping my belt and slowly standing, trying to get some life back into my limbs.
“The less you know the better. Sit down.”
The brakes kick in harder, and I’m knocked back into my seat. “Fuck,” I hiss, my face screwing up.
“God help me, Beau,” James seethes, leaving his seat to re-fasten my belt. “Stay.”
“The less I know the better?” Does he seriously think that’ll wash?
“I don’t want you involved,” he mutters, returning to his own seat.
“You mean with your new gangster friends?” I turn away, looking out of the window. It’s so bright, I have to squint. Sunshine. “You don’t get to pull the protection card now,” I say as the jet comes to a standstill. “I’ve told you, don’t treat me like I’m glass.”
“The protection card has been in play since we met, Beau,” he replies, standing and taking my hand. I look up at him. “And you are glass. Always will be to me.” His eyes drop to my stomach. To my wound. To my womb. Fragile. And, of course, I can’t argue with him.
I let him unclip my seatbelt and carefully pull me to my feet. “I’ll walk,” I say before he has a chance to scoop me up. “My muscles are dead.” I start a very slow wander toward the flight attendant up front, who is freshly painted to see us off Danny Black’s private jet. I smile my thanks as I pass her and break out into the sunshine.
“Sunshine on your face,” James whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I inhale the salty sea air and let it stream out slowly. “What are we going to do with all our time now you have no one in the vicinity to kill?”
“Have a holiday.”
“A vacation.”
“Yes, that.” He ushers me down the steps, and a driver meets us. He nods and passes us, collecting our bags. “Dinner,” James says. “Relaxing, reading, recharging.” He opens the car door and looks back. Danny Black emerges from the plane, looking cool and casual in a cream linen suit.
“Strategizing,” I add, my face straight when James turns tired eyes onto me. “Am I wrong?”
“You’re talking too much about the wrong things.”
“I want to know every move you make,” I inform him. “Before you make it.” A wave of something washes over his features, and I tilt me head in question. “Have you got something to tell me?”
“Not a thing.” He gently pushes me into the seat as Black approaches, slipping on his shades.
“The driver will take you to the beach hut,” Danny says, nodding to the guy who’s loading the trunk with our cases. “When you’re settled in, we’ll have dinner. The four of us.”
“Us three and who?” I ask, curious. Don’t tell me the Angel-faced Assassin has a girlfriend. I pause for thought, looking at James. The Enigma. How the fuck did I go from being a cop to a gangster’s moll?