52
JAMES
“I lost her,” Otto pants down the line. “I’m getting too old to play chase.”
“Fuck!” I swing around and smash my fist into the brick wall, splitting my knuckles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Watch Butler.” I shake my hand off and cut the call, pulling up my tracking app. She’s turned off her phone. The rage. Oh, the fucking rage. It puts all other previous fury to shame. I stuff my phone in my back pocket and go to the boot of my car as I yank my gloves on and pull my balaclava over my head, before swiping up the rifle. I load it as I pace through the derelict factory, my jaw going into spasm, my pores sweating . . . fear. It’s fear.
I lost her. Otto fucking lost her. Impossible. Laughable. But I’m not laughing. I’m in no mood for the intended, stealth approach. These men will die. Now. No mercy. I kick the iron door open, aim and fire, putting a bullet clean between the eyes of my first target. It’s not the slow, painful death I had planned. But it’ll have to do. I have more important matters to deal with. I move my aim, passing the down-and-out who’s in the corner, his arms in the air, one of my Marlboros hanging off his bottom lip. Three more goons scramble for cover, their amateur shooting skills having them blasting bullets randomly.
Fucking Russian dickheads.
I pick each of them off one by one without moving a foot.
And I am done.
I turn and walk away, pulling my balaclava off to get some air. I need air. I need to breathe.
But that won’t happen until Beau is back with me.
53
BEAU
By the time the cab has battled its way through midday traffic, an hour has passed and I’m late. I see Nath sitting outside, focused on his phone. I pay the driver and hurry to him. “Hey,” I puff, still short of breath after dodging Otto. I take a seat and Nath exhales heavily.
“I was worried.” He flashes his cell. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I’m a half hour late,” I point out, raising an eyebrow as I collect the water he’s ordered me, absolutely parched. I swig and gasp. “You went radio silent for hours.”
“What’s going on?” He looks across the table at me in alarm as I guzzle the rest of the water down ravenously. “Did you run here?”
I shake my head, still drinking, unable to get enough.
“And are your clothes wet?” His eyes drop down my shirt. “Your buttons are undone.”
I place the bottle on the table and start fastening the buttons I missed in my haste, awkwardly trying to sort myself out with one hand. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
Doubtful eyes fall to the sling holding up my newly broken wrist.
“Don’t even think what I think you’re thinking,” I warn.
“What am I thinking?” he fires, settling back in his chair.
“Tell me what you found out about Mom.”
“Nothing.”
I recoil. “Then why the hell am I here?” I look past Nath when someone approaches behind him, and my heart starts to beat double time. “What’s Ollie doing here, Nath?” I ask, my hackles rising, every hair standing on end. I don’t like the look on either of their faces.
“Did he do that to you, Beau?” Nath asks, and it all becomes clear. Is that what his call was all about? He left me thinking, hoping, praying he’d found out something about Mom’s car being at the dealership, and the whole fucking time he was planning an intervention? All I need is for Dad, Lawrence, and Dexter to show up, and we’ll have a full house.
“Are you for real?” I ask, standing abruptly, sending the metal chair flying back. “You’ve dragged me here to ask if my boyfriend broke my fucking arm? Is that what you think I’ve become? That weak? That desperate?”
“I looked into him, Beau.” Ollie stops at the edge of the table, looking down at me. My heart goes from double time to triple time. “James Kelly didn’t exist until five years ago.”
I stare at my ex, flummoxed. “You had no right to do that.” I’m not shocked by his declaration. I’m simply pissed off that they’ve taken it upon themselves to pry. Deep down, I had a feeling their search would either turn up nothing or turn up a record longer than my broken fucking arm.
“You were born in England.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been in the States?”
“Five years.”
Five years. And his company has probably only been in existence that long too.
“He’s not who he says he is,” Nath continues. “He’s deceiving you, Beau. Lying to you. Why would he do that?”
“Then who is he?” I spit, furious, my mouth firing words before my brain can engage. “If he’s not who he says he is, who the fuck is he?” I need to shut the hell up.
“Probably a guy who got sent down for domestic abuse and legally changed his name when he got out.”
I drop my head back, looking at the sky, gathering patience. How many times have I got to tell them? “James did not break my arm.” I breathe in deeply, all out of patience, and calmly push my chair in. Nath won’t find anything on my mom. I know that now. And Ollie? He’s just pushed me too far. “I don’t want to see you again.” I look at Ollie. “Either of you.”
“Beau, come on,” Ollie pleads, reaching for me. “We’re just looking out for you. You’re vulnerable.”
“No!” I yell, shrugging him off and storming away. “Just leave me alone.” I’m dizzy with rage, confusion, my head about to detonate.
When I round the corner, I come to a stop, resting against the wall, trying to get my labored breathing under control. I turn on my phone. Endless missed calls and a text from Dexter, asking where I am. I close my eyes. “I don’t know where I am,” I say to myself. “Or where the fuck I’m going.”
I exhale. It’s long and defeated, as my thumb works across the screen, telling him I’m okay. That I’m on my way. Then I turn it off again.
There are no records on James. He didn’t exist until five years ago.
Excessive security.
His other name.
The opera house.
In too deep.
Enigma.
54
JAMES
Goldie can’t find her. Otto can’t find her.
I can’t fucking find her.
Goldie is watching Beau’s uncle’s place. Nothing. I’ve wandered the supermarket for an hour. Nothing.
I pace my office, up and down, the screens drowning the space with a bright rainbow of lights. I haven’t even the will to amend the status of my latest hits.
“Fuck, Beau, where the fuck are you, baby?” I rake a hand through my hair as I slump into my chair and close my eyes, wracking my brain. I see her mother. The sheer determination on her face. Her voice down the line whenever we spoke. Her words, words of conviction.
I will find you. I will finish you.
I snap my eyes open quickly, and I’m out of my chair like a rocket, sprinting down to get my keys. I’m out the door fast and soon speeding toward the old church.