“Did you mention me?”
And as if my phone has heard me, it rings, and we both turn cautious eyes onto my hand where it’s held. “I’m going to assume that’s a yes,” I say, making Danny’s nostril flare. So he knows I’m alive now?
I answer my mobile, my jaw rolling.
Silence.
I look at Danny, seeing the monster drop into his eyes.
Silence.
I hit the loudspeaker icon.
Silence.
I will not be the first to break it.
“How’s Beau?” he asks, and then he hangs up.
“Fuck,” Danny yells, throwing his glass across the office.
I’m gone like a bullet, tearing through the mansion at breakneck speed. “Everyone,” I roar, crashing through the doors and leaping down the steps. I fall into the nearest car and feel around at the ignition. “Keys!” I get out, moving to the next car in the long line of Mercs, flinging the doors open one by one. “Get me some fucking keys!”
“Here,” Danny yells, racing to the Merc at the front. “I’m driving.”
I don’t argue, sprinting to the passenger side and falling in. I go straight to my phone to dial Fury, seeing a text message from him. Ten minutes ago.
The restaurant is below ground. Reception spotty. I won’t move far from Beau.
“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the dash, dialing Fury anyway.
“What is it?”
“Bad reception.” It goes straight to voicemail, and I curse my head off some more as Danny skids out of the gates onto the main road. The sound of a phone ringing fills the car, and I glance down at my screen. It’s not mine.
“Tank,” Danny says, taking the call through Bluetooth. “Now’s not a great time.”
“We just dropped the kid home. Rose and your mother are insisting on stopping off somewhere.”
He stares ahead, his hands flexing around the wheel, his already terrible mood getting some stress added to the mix. “Where?”
“Some workshop near the airport.”
“Workshop?”
“I think it’s supposed to be a surprise, so I’m feeling a bit backed into a corner here, boss.”
“Text Len and tell him where you are so he can join you.” He hangs up and scrubs a hand down his face.
“Put your fucking foot down, Danny,” I order, dialing Fury again.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
No answer.
I reach forward and pull open the glovebox, dragging out the Glock I find and checking the magazine. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I say to the gun, my veins burning, my trigger finger twitching.
“Yeah,” Danny whispers. “It means we’re both back from the dead.” He turns cold blue eyes my way. “I will fight you to the death for this kill.”
“Then I’d better find him first,” I murmur, my eyes constantly passing between the clock, the speedometer, and my phone.
12
BEAU
* * *
An hour. For one whole long hour I’ve sat here listening to my father talk non-stop about himself. His investments, his unbearable girlfriend, and the development of new apartments he’s building on the marina near South Beach. Maybe he’s nervous. Or perhaps he is simply that egocentric. The only thing pleasurable about dinner with him so far is the food. And the surroundings are quite lovely too. The Mexican downtown is traditional and quaint. The food is delicious. For that alone, I’m glad I didn’t turn away at the door when I realized Dad had failed to take into consideration my issue with busy spaces. Although, really, it wasn’t all that busy in the main restaurant. I’ve faced worse in recent times, but James isn’t with me tonight.
My father seemed oblivious to my building stress as we stood on the sidewalk outside, his eyes fixed on my exposed scar. I think I saw regret in his eyes. Regret and pain.
“I can’t eat here, Dad,” I’d said quietly. It was in that moment he clicked. He apologized profusely, held me by the tops of my arms, and begged me to let him fix it. He didn’t let me down. We’ve been seated downstairs, away from the main restaurant upstairs. It’s quiet down here. Just us. No journalists, no girlfriend, and no anxiety on my part. But the presence of Fury hasn’t gone unnoticed, my dad recoiling when he caught sight of the mountain shadowing me as I got out of the car.
“He’s a friend of James’s,” I’d explained simply. And he hadn’t pressed. I expect he wasn’t prepared to face the consequences. Smart man. And so, yes, it’s been okay. I can cope with it. My father, on the other hand, blows my mind at every turn. I don’t even know what he’s rambling on about now, his lips moving, his arms swinging around animatedly between forkfuls of his pasta.
“What do you think?” he asks, taking a mouthful of his wine, waiting for me to answer.
“Great,” I murmur, lost, my compassionate side unwilling to let me rain on his proud parade by telling him I’ve not been listening. Just nod. Smile. Agree every now and then, and this will all be over very soon.
“Excellent.” He smiles, holding up his glass for the waiter to fill. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
I nod, clueless, and glance at my phone. Still no service. I look to Fury. He shakes his head. I’m getting progressively more restless, my thoughts increasingly difficult to keep in check. There’s been no mention of James from my father, the man he thinks abuses me. He’s not asked after Lawrence. Not that I can share much, of course. And the need to bring up my mother is becoming overwhelming. Here’s my father, laughing, jolly, boasting about his high-flying life, and where is the woman he abandoned? The woman who was by his side when he was nothing. The woman he discarded when he became something.
Dead. Murdered.
He’s so fucking blissfully unaware, it’s crushing. But it’s not his fault. I have to keep telling myself that, or I’ll melt with a rage that’s being channeled on the wrong person.
“I’m just going to use the restroom,” I say, getting up, prompting my father to rise too. “Excuse me.” I dab my lips with my napkin and walk away from the table, Fury on my heels. My eyes are on my screen, searching for just one bar that’ll give me some coverage so I can check in on Lawrence and also call James, because I know he’ll be fretting. Nothing. “Damn it,” I breathe, pushing my way into the restrooms. I wander around the small space, arm in the air, willing my cell to pick up a connection. Nothing. I pull the door open. “I need to go upstairs for a second,” I say to Fury, skirting past his enormous body. I won’t settle until I speak to Lawrence and James.
I reach the stairs, take the handle, but my foot stops just shy of the first step when I see someone coming down them. My heart begins to beat double time, my head quickly swimming, as I back up into Fury’s chest. “What the hell?” I whisper, quickly and instinctively moving behind the nearest thing that’ll hide me. Fury. He looks over his shoulder to me, his big, bearded face frowning.
“Who’s that?” he asks, hand on his hip.
I look past him, just as Ollie reaches the bottom of the staircase, his expression alarmed by the beast before him. “My ex-fiancé,” I breathe.