“Yes. Washed up on the beach.”
I cut the call, my mind a mess. “You knew,” I whisper. They both knew. That’s why Danny shut up in his office. That’s why James took my cell to the kitchen with him while I was sleeping. He was worried Ollie would call me. Tell me. “Why would you keep this from me?”
Danny swallows and steps back, giving the stage to James. He looks so lost. It’s a massive insult. “I can’t lose you, Beau,” he says simply, like that fear in him makes everything he does, all the secrets he keeps, acceptable. I immediately shy away from my conscience that’s reminding me I’m no angel when it comes to secrets. What I’m doing now. That I haven’t told him something so important. But I can’t.
I step back, seeing James’s body getting taller, his muscles engaging, ready to seize me before I run. I reach into my purse and pull out my gun.
“Fuck’s sake, Beau,” Danny yells, making James lift his hand to quieten him, like he’s got this. Like he’s a pro at how to handle me. How to deal with me. That alone infuriates me. I know what’s about to happen. I’ll be disarmed before I can blink and be taken back to the mansion, maybe even locked in our room to ensure I can’t escape. One of them I could handle. Two? And not just any two, but The Brit and The Enigma.
I have one chance.
I turn the gun onto James and pull the trigger, then aim it at Danny. His face is a picture as James flies back and hits the wall. “Beau—”
Bang!
Danny joins James against the wall with a thud, and both men look utterly disorientated as they feel down their jackets. I turn and leave before James has a chance to collect himself, draw his gun, and immobilize me, because I know in this moment, he absolutely would.
25
DANNY
The door to Foster’s office swings open, the drip of an attorney taking in the sight of two mean-looking motherfuckers on their arses propped up against the wall. “Go back to work,” I gasp, and the door is quickly shut. “I can’t believe she just did that,” I wheeze, thoroughly winded, my chest feeling like it’s been hit with a hammer by the Incredible fucking Hulk.
“I can.” James inhales, struggling to his feet, wobbling, practically crawling up the wall. He takes a moment, head back, his face pained. Not only because his chest probably hurts like a bitch too. She shot us. It doesn’t matter that she knew we were vested up. It doesn’t matter that she knew we’d be on our feet again in a few seconds. She fucking shot us.
I try to get up too, hissing and spitting my way to my feet, the healing wounds on my chest stinging like a bitch. “Your woman wins today, mate.” I say, wanting to laugh but knowing I’ll be putting my life on the line if I do. “She’s fucking crazy.”
“I shouldn’t have kept it from her.” James takes a few steps and stops, breathing in deeply, blinking slowly. Then his eyes clear and a rage like no other consumes them. “Fuck!”
“Do you think Amber killed Tom Hayley?” I ask.
“No, I think emotions are getting the better of Beau and she’s telling herself fantastical stories to make her father the hero she always wanted him to be.”
I blink a few times, taken aback, “Ever thought of being a therapist?”
“Fuck off, Danny.” James strides out into the sunshine and scans the carpark. Beau’s long gone, and when he puts his mobile to his ear and then curses, I know she’s also turned off her phone. Jesus, I don’t envy him. What the fuck is she playing at?
Otto pulls up with Fury, then Ringo and Goldie swing into a parking space, all of them getting out. “Where’s Beau?” Fury asks, his bearded face screwed up in worry.
“You didn’t see her?” James says, scanning the carpark again.
“See her when?”
“Just now.” He motions to the door we’ve just fallen out of. “She left.”
Goldie looks at Ringo and Fury, all of them looking as concerned as I’m feeling. She’s emotional. Irrational. Un-fucking-safe out there. “We were across the road,” Goldie says, her voice unusually quiet. “Haven’t taken our eyes off the door. She didn’t leave.”
“Oh fuck.” Fury rubs at his forehead, and I exhale fast and swing around as James flies back into the building like a charging rhino. She didn’t leave. The little fucker. I run on behind, hearing the others coming too, and follow James into the women’s restroom. He proceeds to push every door of every stall open, and each one slams against the wall behind on a deafening bang that’s accompanied by a thunderous curse when he finds each one empty. “Beau!” he roars, kicking the last one open with brute force.
Because he knows she’s not in there.
But there’s a window.
And it’s open.
“Fuck!” His bellow ricochets of the tile, echoing loudly, the sound going on and on.
I look at Ringo, Otto, and Goldie behind me, their faces all grave as James proceeds to punch the wall over and over. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“James.” He can’t hear me. “For fuck’s sake,” I hiss, grabbing his shoulder and hauling him back before he punches his way out. “Calm the fuck down.” I don’t see it coming. His fist. He swings around, crazed, and lands me a corker on my cheekbone, sending me flying into the sink unit behind me. My head connects with the mirror, shattering the fucker, my brain feeling like it’s exploded. “What the fuck?” I breathe, dizzy, double vision getting me. “Are you fucking serious?” I go at him haphazardly, charging and hoping I connect, tackling him at the waist. We both crash into the wall on grunts and hit the deck.
“Cut it out!” Goldie yells, bravely putting her body between our sprawled-out forms.
“You’re a fucking cunt,” I seethe, dragging myself up, everything fucking hurting. “Don’t ever ask for my—”
“I’m sorry,” James mutters, sucking air through his teeth as he stands, his palm on his chest. Winded. Both of us. Twice in as many fucking minutes. “I’m sorry,” he says more quietly, defeated, turning into the wall and resting his forehead there.
Fucking hell. “We’ll find her.”
He lets out a sardonic, exhausted burst of laughter, just as the sound of an engine drifts in from the open window. James freezes, as do I, listening, then we both face Ringo and Otto, who we find are patting down their pockets. Both pull out their keys and hold them up, but I don’t feel any relief. I move my stare onto James as he inhales sharply and goes to his pocket, feeling around. “No,” he whispers, his eyes darting to the window, the sound of a car pulling away at some speed filling our ears. A car that sounded scarily similar to James’s Range Rover.
“She’s not seriously dipped your fucking pockets?” I ask. “When the fuck did she do that?” I would never say that I have ever underestimated Beau Hayley. Until now.
James is gone again, darting out of the door, everyone following, but we all slow to a stop when he breaks out into the carpark and his run turns into a sprint. I have no fucking clue where he’s got the fuel from. My face contorts in pain, my head pounding, and the vest that’s done a fine fucking job of keeping me alive today, from my wife’s fucking best friend, suddenly feels tighter. I shrug my coat off and remove it from my body, opening my shirt and wincing at the tidy bullet hole-shaped bruise nestled amid the healing slashes. “Motherfucker,” I breathe, looking up to James’s body getting smaller and smaller. Adrenaline. He’s like the fucking Terminator.