“Where is she?”
“Zooming toward you, I expect.” The second Mum’s finished speaking, I hear the undeniable angry screeching of tires skidding down the track.
“She’s here. Thanks, Mum.” I hang up and look across to Rose, who is in the middle of saying her goodbyes to Daniel. She clicks off the call. “You’re in big trouble,” I say on a shake of my head.
“Save me,” she sings, throwing the back of her hand to her forehead like some twisted damsel in distress. I grin. But I’ll make damn sure it’s gone when I face Goldie, who I can hear marching up behind me. I turn.
And nearly have my eye poked out by her pointing finger. “Do not ever ask me to watch them again,” she seethes, nostrils flaring.
I close my eyes and gather some patience. I know how fucking cunning my wife is. Goldie’s mood is simply a reminder of the shit I have to deal with as a consequence. Looking over my shoulder, I find the object of my deepest affection and my deepest fucking frustrations, nibbling at her lip nervously. “See what you’ve done?”
“It was my fault,” Beau calls, hurrying over and joining Rose on the rock, putting an arm around her friend protectively. Partners in crime, these two. Thick as thieves. I’m only marginally grateful in this moment, when I’ve got what I’m sure is a premenstrual black widow hissing at me.
James joins me. He looks about as happy as Goldie. “Never again,” he practically growls at Beau. “Clear?”
Are they holding back laughter? God help them.
“A word,” James says, tearing his warning eyes from Beau and walking away. I give Rose a look that suggests if she moves, I’ll set Goldie on her. Then I follow James, giving Goldie a sorry look as I pass. She isn’t happy. I can’t blame her.
“It was bad enough when there was only one of them,” she growls, going back to her car. Why am I not surprised that Beau gave her trouble as well? I’d say sorry, but Goldie would possibly shoot me for that too.
“What’s up?” I ask, falling into stride next to James as he walks toward the shore.
He rakes a hand through his hair, showing a certain level of stress. I’ve not known James long, but in that time, I’ve figured out a few things beyond doubt. For starters, I like him. It’s a rarity. He loves fiercely like me. His woman’s peace is his end game. He hunts his prey and rips them limb from limb, literally. But I’ve also learned he doesn’t show stress. He walked away from his obliterated apartment unfazed, so whatever’s on his mind is heavy. “Beau’s not letting it go.” He turns toward me, flicking his eyes to the girls, who are still perched on the rock, looking too beautiful amid the construction site and graveyard.
“Dexter,” I say, showing my understanding. “What do you need me to do?”
“Give me his body.”
I throw a stunned look his way. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. Maybe I thought he’d ask me to talk to Rose. Ask her to talk to Beau. I don’t know, but having his decomposing remains dug up? “You serious?”
“She needs closure. For that, I need his body.”
“Fuck me,” I breathe, joining him with a rake of my hand through my hair. What a gift. “I’ll see what I can do. How’s her uncle?” The guy has practically barricaded himself in his room since he arrived at the mansion. The doctor’s come and gone. The meds have rolled.
“Not good. I’m not his biggest fan, but he means a lot to Beau, so if I can fix that shit I will.”
I blow out my cheeks, reaching for another cigarette. “I need a drink.” I offer one to James on the off chance he might accept this time; he looks like he needs one, but he shakes his head and I get to pulling one out with my lips. “The men probably do too after your little rendition of Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” I nod to the body. “The fucking Dodo,” I mutter, walking away as I light up. I’ve only been back in Miami a few weeks, and hell knows I could do with a break from it already.
James motions to the bunker. “Ready to give me a tour?”
I smile, leading the way to what was a massive hole in the ground. “Waterproof, fireproof, and bomb proof,” I say proudly, taking the steps down, James following. Once we’re in the expansive room, where the walls are lined with a racking system to hold the arsenal that’s on its way from Chaka, I point to the top of the stairs. “There will be a hatch there. The green container will sit over this. Will look like any other container in the yard.”
He nods slowly, taking in the space. “Looks good.”
It does. “You coming to Hiatus? I want you to meet someone.” I take the stairs and the men lower the container over the bunker with the crane.
“Who?”
I turn, walking backward, lifting my shades, smiling ruefully. “I’ve got a private audience with the mayor of Miami.” I can’t fucking wait to see Perry Adams’s face. Can. Not. Wait. I imagine it to be somewhere between haunted and petrified.
The new boatyard is nearly done. The guns will be here imminently.
It’s time to get Miami talking rather than whispering.
* * *
The club is quiet, which is the only reason Rose is here. I even let her sit at the bar and have a glass of wine. Surrounded by men, of course, but still. It’s relatively normal. The bartender, a unique human with every inch of his revealed skin tattooed, including his face, sets a bottle of white on ice in front of her before passing Brad a fresh bottle of Black Label. “On the tab,” Brad says, waving for Nolan to come over.
He leaves the crowd of suited heavies and approaches. “Yes, boss,” he says, as keen as ever.
“These men”—he indicates each one forming a semi-circle around Rose at the bar—“don’t move. The doors covered?”
“Covered.”
“The office covered?”
“Covered.”
“Good man.” Brad slaps Nolan’s shoulder and points the bottle across the club. “We’ll be in the office. Bring our guest when he arrives.” Brad leaves, and I look up at the guy before me who’s blocking my way to Rose. He’s a giant, at least a foot taller than I am and ten times wider, bearded, and probably bulletproof too. He wouldn’t look out of place on the set of The Vikings. I tilt my head expectantly. He doesn’t move.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Tank.”
I laugh lightly. Makes sense. “The woman behind you, that’s my wife. Do not let anyone near her.”
“She’ll be safe, Mr. Black.” He takes one side of his jacket and eases it back, revealing a Glock.
I smile. “Good man.” I pull out a wedge of notes and slip them into his pocket. “It’s a well-paid position. Great bonuses. Perks if you do a good job.”
“What are the perks?” he asks, a subtle glint in his eye.
“You don’t die.”
He pales, just a little. “Understood.”
“Good.” He remains unmoving, like a dam that’ll never break. “When I say don’t let anyone near her, I’m an exception,” I say, and he nods, moving one step to the side to let me pass. Once his big body is out of the way, I find Rose on a stool, a glass of wine in her hand, one leg crossed over the other, her expression knowing.