James, however, maintains his deadly glare on me. I break the connection and go to my cell when it rings. I take Rose’s call, if only to escape the silent wrath of James. “I’m alive,” I say, looking back when I hear another car skid into the street. “The cavalry has arrived.”
“Jesus, Beau.”
“Does the name Spittle mean anything to you?” I ask.
“Spittle? Yes. He’s the one who let on that Danny isn’t dead. Ex FBI,” she says, and I nod to myself. I knew the name was familiar. MPD. FBI. It’s my old life. “I saw them dragging Spittle into the house,” Rose goes on.
And I bet he didn’t leave. At least, he didn’t leave breathing. “The guy we were following is his son.”
“Shit. I seriously wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
I laugh a little. “I’ll see you back at the house.” I look across to James, who’s now manhandling the man over to Otto’s car. “If I’m not dead.” I disconnect and wait for the men to finish their business, using the quiet time to cool my temper. James was prepared to let one of his wanted slip away because of his misplaced worry for my well-being. It’s probably childish, but that pisses me off. Frank Spittle’s son is an obstacle in our way. I had a chance to remove the obstacle, and I took it.
I pull my belt on as James and Danny stomp back to the car, swing the doors open, fall in, and slam them. I’m sure a thorough telling off is coming from both sides. So who’s going to be first?
Danny swings around in his seat and pins me in place with livid, icy eyes. But he says nothing, probably out of respect for James. And yet I bet he has plenty to say, none of it pleasant. I make sure I hold his stare. I’m not breaking. He eventually growls and returns to the wheel, starting the car, but before he can pull away, James fills the space Danny just freed. He doesn’t look at me as his hands start patting at my body forcefully. I know what he’s looking for, so I let him go ahead and find them. He pulls a gun from between my thighs, then leans forward more to reach behind my back, roughly yanking the other free. And I remain still and accepting. I’m not, though. Choose your battles. His mood now won’t allow him to see reason, so I’ll sit on my grievance until he’s calmed the hell down. The buildings around us are virtually shaking with the tremors of his rage.
When he’s found what he’s looking for, he returns forward. Except he’s missed one. So I reach into my purse and pull out the gun that I took from Ollie’s partner, letting it hang from my finger as I hold it between the two front seats.
He looks at it out the corner of his eye, snarls, grabs it, and then Danny roars off, taking his anger out on the Mercedes rather than me. James doesn’t have that outlet. Which means I’m in massive trouble when we get back to the house.
17
DANNY
* * *
I’ve seen silent rage on James. I’ve seen his eyes glaze, his body shake, his jaw twitch. But all of those times pale in comparison to now. I know how I feel, which is fucking incensed, and she’s not even my woman. She’s playing fucking kamikaze.
When we pull through the gates of the house, I cast a wary look across to James. The car feels set to explode with the weight of his anger, and Beau’s out before I come to a complete stop. She slams the door and paces to the house, ignoring more animosity from Fury as she passes him on the steps. James remains in the seat next to me, his breathing audible. I let down my window when Otto approaches. He eyes James. Looks at me. “Take him into the office,” I say, scanning the front of the house. “Daniel’s here, so go around the side.”
“Got it.”
I look at James. “Do you need a minute?” If I take him in that office where Kenny Spittle is within reach, he’ll be dead before I can even think of the questions we need to ask.
“For what?” James gets out, and I sigh, following him.
“To calm down.”
“I’m calm.”
I laugh under my breath, having to hold back from punching him in the face to snap him out of his bad mood. “Take a minute,” I order, leaving no room for an argument. “Or have a drink. I’ll meet you in the office.” I follow my feet through the main house, meeting Tank in the foyer. “Where is she?”
“She went straight to your room,” he answers, gesturing up the stairs. “The kid’s in the kitchen with your mom.”
“Is she okay?” My instinct takes me to the stairs, not waiting for Tank’s reply. I could understand a retreat to our room if she’d pulled a stunt like Beau. But she didn’t.
“Quiet,” he says, making my pace increase.
“Has she been down since the kid arrived?”
“No.”
Why didn’t she go straight to Daniel? “Tell the men I’ll be there in a minute.”
I reach the top and find Beau’s aunt gently knocking on the door to James’s and Beau’s room. “Beau, darling, want to talk about it?” Zinnea hears me and gives me a worried shrug. “What happened?”
“Don’t ask,” I reply, passing her, but I come to a slow stop when something comes to me. I turn to face her. “How was your shopping trip?”
She recoils, surprised. “Well, eventful.”
“Before the eventful part.”
Her head tilts. “Is there something specific you would like to ask?”
I smile. “Am I that transparent?”
“Forgive me, but in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve learned you’re a straight shooter. No dancing around the point. Am I right?”
“You’re right?”
“So ask me.”
“Beau called me from the store.”
“That would be when we lost Rose.”
“What?”
“Only for a few minutes. She forgot something and neglected to mention she was going back.”
Only for a few minutes? A few minutes is all it takes. Rose knows that. “What did she forget?”
“Shaving cream.”
I can’t hide my recoil. My wife hasn’t shaved in three years. It’s waxing or nothing. “Right,” I say quietly, backing up, just as Beau swings the door open, her eyes batting back and forth between us. I know immediately she’s heard our conversation. She’s heard her aunt share something that shouldn’t have been shared. What the fuck is going on and, more to the point, why the fuck don’t I know about it? I tilt my head. “If Rose doesn’t talk, I’m coming to you,” I warn, knowing she knows whatever there is to know. Her lips straighten, and she inhales, but she nods, accepting, and that just puts me even more on edge. Because Beau obviously thinks I should know. What the fuck has happened? We’ve not argued, so why is my wife avoiding me? Plus, Daniel is in the kitchen with Mum. Why didn’t she rush straight there to see him? To show him all the soccer kit she just bought?
I turn away and walk with conviction, my stomach doing cartwheels. I don’t do nervous. Never have. Trust my fucking wife to fix that. I push my way into our room and scan the space. No wife. The bathroom door is closed. I approach it, listening. Nothing. Abandoning my need to shoulder barge my way in and demand answers, I force my instinct into a calmer approach. What the hell did Doc miss? What’s wrong with her? Is it treatable? Will she be okay? “Fucking hell,” I breathe, everything—my head, my stomach, my heart—is in chaos. I tap the door lightly. “Rose, baby?” I call through the wood. “You in there?” What the fuck am I doing? This isn’t me. I drop my forehead to the door. “Can I come in?”