I settle, focused on the road. “What time did they leave?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I woke up and he was gone.”
I gulp and nod, hoping and praying my fears aren’t warranted. Hoping Rose has it all wrong. That Danny isn’t about to sacrifice James for himself. Or James for him.
“Beau,” Rose says quietly, turning in her seat and looking back at the road behind.
I peek up at the rearview mirror, seeing a car gaining on us. “Shit.” A Range Rover pulls up on the driver’s side, flanking us, and I look out to find Otto looking murderous behind the wheel.
“And here,” Rose says, almost sighing, staring out the passenger window where Ringo is on the other side in another Mercedes, looking equally as furious. Another glance at the rearview mirror shows Brad in yet another Mercedes, racing up behind us. And to complete the entourage, a Range Rover pulls into the lane in front of us. Goldie. They all begin to brake tactically, forcing me to slow down too. It’s a move we used so many times in the police force, and now it’s being used against me. I’m cornered.
I look across at Rose, feeling defeated and angry by my concern for her. I can’t smash my way out of this. I can’t risk injuring Rose. I’ve a lost a baby. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, least of all my friend.
I smack the steering wheel with the ball of my hand as we gradually come to a standstill in the middle of the road, my eyes closing, my head dropping back, defeated.
Otto swings the door open and pins me in place with his infuriated stare. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
“Danny and James are at the boatyard,” I say calmly. “Did you know that?”
His immediate wrinkled forehead tells me he didn’t.
“Know what?” Brad asks as he joins us, obviously catching the tail end.
Otto keeps his eyes on me. “Danny and James are at the boatyard,” he says. “Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“So he kept the drink flowing until the early hours,” Otto practically growls, “hardly touched a drop himself, because he needed us to oversleep, nursing hangovers, while he has a clear head to do . . . what, Brad? What the fuck is he up to?”
Brad looks like a deer caught in the headlights briefly, but that soon converts into anger. “I’ll kill him,” he seethes, punching the side of his car. “I’ll fucking kill him.” He marches to the back of his car and pops the trunk, appearing again armed with a machine gun. “What else have we got?” he asks, prompting everyone to start efficiently rummaging through the trunks of all vehicles.
“You,” Brad says, pointing an accusing finger at Rose, who’s silent beside me. “You . . . you . . . you . . .” He growls and gives his attention to everyone else, while Rose and I sit, mute, watching them assessing the weaponry situation. I don’t know if I should be relieved that Brad didn’t know. Could he be acting? I assess Goldie and Otto. They’re wondering the exact same thing, both of them quiet and wary as Brad curses and swears his ass off.
What the fucking hell is going on?
29
DANNY
* * *
My stomach turned as James disappeared through the door, throwing back a questioning look as he did. Fuck, if this doesn’t pan out, I’m dead. I flick my cigarette away and immediately light another, not allowing my eyes to leave the container, my ears listening carefully.
The sound of my mobile ringing makes me jump. “For fuck’s sake,” I mumble, looking down at the unknown number. I have a quick look around the boatyard, feeling eyes on me from any place they can hide. It was a given. I knew he wouldn’t expect me to keep my word. I hope seeing me actually riding solo will make this run smoothly so I can get back to the house, pick up my wife, kid, and mother, and get the fuck out of this city.
I take the call, answering with silence. A few crackles down the line, the sound of an engine in the background. “Black,” someone says, and my spine straightens, wary. This isn’t a voice I want to hear right now.
“Higham,” I say quietly, aware of listening ears, wherever they are. And for that reason, I force myself to relax, working my way through my second smoke. “And what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Do you happen to be missing a jet ski?” he asks.
“No, why?” That machine will be in a million pieces at the bottom of the ocean, along with the body parts of the little fucker sent to rig it, if the sharks haven’t had him. If Higham’s calling me, it’s because some debris has been found. Undoubtedly unidentifiable.
“Some parts washed up on a private beach.”
“There are thousands of jet ski owners in this city. Why’d you assume it’s mine?”
“Might have something to do with the serial number registered in your wife’s name.”
Oh. Well, that’s a shitter. Of all the pieces that could have found their way onto a fucking beach? “Stolen,” I say, and he laughs.
“Black, I think you’re in the wrong business.”
I smile, but it falls when I feel something press into my temple, something cold and hard. I look out the corner of my eye, finding a meaty-looking fucker, arms braced, a face like a slapped arse. “I think you’re right,” I reply to Higham, prompting the fat fuck currently holding me at gunpoint to wedge the barrel in a little farther. I bite down on my teeth and close my eyes, digging deep for some restraint before I murder him slowly. This was expected. It doesn’t make me like it, but it was inevitable. “Anything else?” I ask Higham. “I’m kind of busy right now.”
“Yes, actually. The invite to your wedding next week.”
“What about it?”
“Well, it’s very nice of you and all that, but an FBI agent at the wedding of a known criminal wouldn’t look good, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand,” I say quickly, hanging up to deal with the small matter of a gun pressed into my temple. “I made a deal,” I say quietly, my body tingling with the need to lash out.
“I’ll ease off as soon as we have confirmation.”
No accent. Not Irish, not Russian, not Polish. So he’s just an ape who’s been handed some power? “I’m telling you now, ease off on the pressure and I might think twice about fucking bludgeoning you when you get word The Enigma is dead.”
Only because he knows who I am does he listen, and it’s a wise move. The pressure eases, and I breathe back the red mist threatening to fuck this all up. Rose. Think of Rose. Think of Daniel. Of my baby. Containing myself is paramount if I’m going to walk away.
I look out the corner of my eye again, turning my head a fraction to get him in my sight. “So what do they call you?” I ask, taking another drag of my cigarette. “The Whale? The Elephant?” I smirk, and it’s filthy. “Or haven’t you reached animal status yet?”
“Shut up,” he barks, making my smile widen.
“We’ll go with The Hippo.” I drop my eyes to his round gut bulging over his belted trousers. Fucking hell, I could put a bullet in him and it wouldn’t stand a chance of breaking through the blubber and reaching his internal organs.