“You’re running out of lives, Kel,” Otto retorts quietly, his mood dark. “Let’s just get the fucking job done.”
I head toward Brad’s club, calling Goldie. “I’ve not taken my eyes off her,” she says in answer. “Not for a second.”
I wouldn’t expect anything less. “Where are you?”
“A small beach in a cove not far from the boatyard Black wants. It’s nice, actually. Peaceful. Sun shining, water still.”
“You sound close to joining the girls,” I say, feeling Otto’s dark mood lift. I turn a look onto him, finding him highly amused.
“Got a bikini?” he asks.
“Fuck off,” Goldie spits. “I’m still not talking to you.”
“What’s Beau doing?” I move the conversation along before these two start squabbling like kids again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was some warped attraction between them, because they bicker like an old married couple.
“Standing on the shore.”
“Face turned up to the sun,” I add, seeing her in my mind’s eye doing that in St. Lucia every day. Fighting to stay in the light. My heart twists and turns in my chest, praying that one day she won’t need to fight. “Has she got sunscreen on?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Complete block on her arm?” Because she forgets. All the fucking time, she forgets to protect her delicate skin. I know it’s only because she’s absorbed by the sunshine, and it’s never truly been a problem because I’ve always been with her to rub it on when she forgets. I’m not in the sunshine now. Not in the light. Not unless you count the fireball that was my apartment billowing in the distance behind us.
“Her sleeves are down,” Goldie says, and it’s quiet, as if she knows what that means. She does. We went forward so many steps, even amid our crusade for justice. Now? Now I fear she’s getting too close to the point of no return. I feel Otto’s sympathetic expression aimed my way. “What’s the deal?” Goldie asks.
I clear my throat. “My apartment is currently blazing.”
“What?”
“A bomb. He triggered it, thinking I was in there.” I take a left toward Miami Beach, hearing Otto muttering his curses.
“Fuck,” is all Goldie manages. “He thinks you’re dead?”
“Not for long.” I can never return to being an enigma. Not now I’ve put us in the heart of the Miami underworld with the resurrected boss of that heart. “We’re heading to the club. I want you to bring the girls there.” I need Beau close right now. “Use the back entrance. I’ll let Nolan know.”
“Got it. See you there.”
I hang up and breathe out as a screeching fire engine speeds toward us.
We’re both silent as it passes, and I look up to the sun, willing it to keep shining for Beau.
8
BEAU
* * *
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Rose says from the seat beside me in the back of the Mercedes.
I wish I could believe her. But I’ve gotten to know Goldie’s facial expressions pretty well, and her face when she told us we were leaving the beach now was grave. I muster the energy to smile, albeit weakly, and accept Rose’s hand when she lays it between us. She’s gone out of her way to help me today. Moved mountains, literally, considering who our men are, so we could simply leave the elaborate Miami complex that’s my temporary home. She’s brought me to the light and let me soak it up quietly without a word. I’m becoming quite attached to her. Not dependent, like I feel I am with James, but attached. “I’m sure,” I murmur, looking at my cell in my lap when it rings. “Oh God.”
“What? Who is it?” Rose sounds worried, so I’m quick to ease her. I pick it up and show her the screen. “Oh,” she breathes, lips pursing. She knows all about my dad. In fact, Rose knows just about everything there is to know about me now. No one will ever fill the void that losing my mom formed. The open, nonjudgmental friendship. Honesty. But despite the amount of time I’ve spent with Rose, I think her guileless acceptance may come close. A friend who knows all and loves me anyway. Just like a mother would. “Checking in?” she asks.
I laugh. “My dad doesn’t check in. He calls when he wants something.” But I just don’t have the energy to hate him anymore. It’s a weird feeling. So odd. But other forces are monopolizing my anger these days, and they are forces far greater than my egomaniac father. I brace myself and take the call, cringing my ass off. I haven’t even told him I’m back in the country. “Dad.”
“Darling,” he says, and I roll my eyes. I feel a little bit guilty for my reaction. Perhaps seeing me half dead in a hospital pulled his head out of his ass. It’s ironic, really. I’ve been half dead since Mom died. And now he cares? I remind myself of the supposed genuine dinner invitation from him weeks ago. The one that would involve his friend, Frazer Cartwright, who just so happens to be a journalist writing up a piece on the success of Tom Hayley, master businessman. I would have been there as a prop. Nothing more. And I know for a fact I was only invited because he’d deemed me more stable in recent times. I laugh on the inside. I’ve never felt more unstable. Add in the fact that James is now in my life, avoiding my dad feels more compulsory than ever. He’ll want to know every tiny thing there is to know about James. His roots. His job. His ambitions. What the fucking hell do I tell him?
“How are you?” I ask. Small talk. Always is, always will be.
“Busy. How are you?”
I recoil in my seat, truly surprised. He never asks. “Good,” I answer.
“About that dinner.”
I look at Rose, my face twisted. “Dinner,” I mimic. “Dinner with you, or dinner with you and a journalist who’s going to write a glowing article on how successful and humble you are? And what a fantastic relationship you have with your daughter.”
“Now, Beau,” he sighs.
I back down, but only because I’m too exhausted to be locking horns with him. And I’m still sidetracked by the fact that we’re on our way to Brad Black’s club and I don’t know why. “Sure,” I say over a sigh.
“Tomorrow?”
I only just stop myself from blurting a straight, God, no. I’m too beat to argue with him, but I’m also too beat to endure dinner with my father. “Maybe next week?” I need time to build some energy for this.
“Next week? Are you busy?”
No, never busy. He knows that. “I’m just . . . I have a few things to deal with.” This is horrific. Plain horrific.
“Then I’ll pop by Lawrence’s place to visit with you.”
My head drops back, my eyes closing, and I feel Rose rest a hand on my arm. Why has it only just occurred to me that I have no idea how much my father knows? I need to speak to James. “I’m not staying with Lawrence.” In fact, the house is sitting empty, Dexter’s missing, and my uncle, my dad’s wayward, shameful brother, hasn’t left his room at Danny Black’s mansion yet. He won’t talk. Wouldn’t even look at me when I checked on him earlier. “I’m not there, Dad.”