I smile. It’s wicked. “How is she?” I ask.
“Calmer than your wife,” he retorts seriously, and Brad chuckles. I toss him a warning look that goes way over his head. He loves that my balls are in my wife’s handbag. “You heard that, huh?” I ask.
“The whole of Miami heard it. We might not need to put the word out of your return.”
“Speaking of which,” Brad interjects, getting up and going to the cabinet, collecting a fresh glass and a bottle of vodka. “How are we breaking that news?” He places the tumbler in front of James and pours.
He’s excited. I can see it in his eyes. “We should assume they already know.” I’m not delusional. If they’re as capable as we’ve concluded, they’ll definitely already know. Time will tell on that matter. I flick my eyes to James, smiling darkly. “But they won’t know about my new recruit.”
“I’m no recruit,” James retorts, deadpan. “I don’t work for you, Black. I work for no one. I work with you.”
I can feel Brad’s cautious stare on me, wondering what I might say to that. It’s an historical shift in the Black legacy. “There’s a reason why I allowed you to walk into my office unannounced.” I motion to the chair he’s comfortable in. “Sit in that chair.” My eyes land on the glass in his hand. “Drink my vodka.”
James takes a long sip, watching me over the rim. “Then we’re clear.”
“Crystal,” I agree, as Goldie, Otto, and Ringo all pile in. “Now, for the benefit of everyone here, let’s have a recap of what we know.”
James nods, wetting his mouth with more alcohol and motioning to Otto, who drops to a chair. Let’s start unpicking this fucking mystery. And kill it.
“From the beginning?” Otto asks, looking overwhelmed by the prospect.
“Yes, from the beginning.” I know a lot; James and I talked over many drinks in St. Lucia. And I mean, a lot. I felt like my brain short-circuited every time, the amount of information mind-bending. It’s time to relay everything we know to Brad and Ringo, as well as refreshing me.
“We know he ordered the death of James and his family ten years ago,” Otto says, sending wary eyes to his boss. James maintains his steely stare on my desk.
“Why?” Brad asks.
“James’s father, Spencer James, fronted the biggest cocaine syndicate in the UK.” Otto shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “His last deal was part of his exit plan. The Bear wanted England.”
“And he got it,” I muse, keeping a wary eye on James.
“He had The Snake fill Spencer’s place over there,” Otto goes on. “James got rid of The Snake in Miami over two years ago, the night FBI Agent Jaz Hayley, Beau’s mother, was murdered. He found the order to kill her in a message on The Snake’s mobile. It was sent to another burner. The receiving phone was switched off so we couldn’t locate it.”
“I tried to intercept the hit,” James says, as I slowly turn my eyes onto him. “I saved Beau. I couldn’t save her mother.”
I nod, although he’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. He’s simply building the big, bloody picture again. The mess of his back invades my thoughts. Beau’s arm. “The only reason The Bear would want Jaz Hayley dead,” I say, “would be because—”
“She figured out who he was,” Otto finishes.
“And you,” I point out, nodding at James. “She’d figured out who you were too.”
“Who I am,” James retorts.
“Sorry, yes.” He’s still a murdering bastard. “Except now you’re not a paradox.”
“Beau’s mother held a safety deposit box under an alias,” James says, rootling through his pocket and pulling out a key. He has our attention, and he knows it. There’s only one reason an FBI agent would hold a safety deposit box under a fake name. “It was empty.”
“And what did you think was in there?” Brad asks, as James places the key on the desk. All of our stares root on it. So small. But so significant.
“My real name. Who I am. Who my father was. And the identity of The Bear.”
Brad and Ringo swing shocked looks his way. “Could it have been emptied before we got to it?” Ringo asks what we’re all wondering.
“Find out who heads up that bank,” I say to Brad, who’s eyeing the bottle of Scotch. This is not the time to find comfort in a bottle. We need clear heads because the web is only getting bigger.
“Beau knew something wasn’t adding up when the police closed the inquiry into her mother’s death,” James goes on. “She started digging. I knew she was in danger.”
“So you lured her to your den and fucked her seven ways to Sunday,” Brad says, so casual. Stupid man.
“Do you want to die?” James asks, turning his deadly glare Brad’s way, prompting him to hold up his hands in surrender.
“Beau’s friend and Jaz’s colleague, FBI Agent Nathan Butler,” Otto continues, shaking his head at Brad, “started digging around when he found out Beau was seeing James.”
“He obviously didn’t like me,” James mutters, deadpan.
“No idea why.” Brad laughs. “I mean, you’re one of the friendliest blokes I’ve ever met.”
He definitely wants to die.
James’s jaw starts to twitch, but he holds on to his temper, continuing. “Nathan Butler found CCTV footage from the night of Jaz’s death. I was in the footage. He put two and two together and came up with ten. Assumed it was me who killed Jaz Hayley.”
“Where is he?” Ringo asks.
“Dead. It wasn’t me who killed him.”
“The Bear?”
“Yes. Two officers pulled him over. He had Beau in the car. She got away. They shot him. He died later in hospital. I expect there’s more to it.”
“Like?”
“Like something similar to the Russian nurse I shot in Beau’s room when she was in a coma.”
“I assume she wasn’t actually a nurse,” Brad says, starting to look overwhelmed by the onslaught of facts.
“You assume right.”
“And Beau was in hospital because her uncle’s husband shot her?” he asks.
“Correct,” Otto confirms. “Dexter Haynes. MPD. He carried out the hit on Beau’s mother under instruction from The Bear and got rid of all the evidence, including the CCTV footage from that night showing James trying to save Jaz. Obviously, he recognized James from the footage when he met him with Beau.”
“And in other news, Spittle told The Bear”—I wave a hand dismissively when James glances at me—“whether intentionally or not, that I’m alive. He then realized his fuck-up, panicked, and decided to take Brad out to try and avoid me finding out about his fuck-up.”
“My brain hurts,” Ringo mutters, dropping to the couch, rubbing at his head. “My fucking brain hurts so bad.”
“You mean you have one?” Goldie says, shaking her head in a snarky way only a woman can achieve.
“And now you’re in love with FBI Agent Jaz Hayley’s daughter,” I add, and James’s unimpressed eyes turn onto me. “Women,” I mutter. “My dad would kill me if he wasn’t dead. So who is The Bear?”