“I know,” I mutter, thinking talk of school would do the trick, distract him, excite him, but no. I’m not tempting fate. If the principal of this school finds out who we are, Daniel won’t be going anywhere near his school. Also, Danny could change his mind. Anything could happen. He might not be satisfied with the security. It might be too far away. Too . . . anything.
I take a chili from a pizza and pop it in my mouth, noticing Tank’s on his cell. He’s silent. And his face pales. Oh God. I chew and swallow as he hangs up and looks down at the table blankly. What the hell? I wave for a waitress to box up the rest of our pizza to take home and wait for Tank to declare our immediate departure. But the waitress comes, she goes, returns again with the boxed pizza, and he still hasn’t spoken. The rest of us all look at each other in question, and then Daniel puts a hand on Tank’s big arm and wins his attention.
“Are you all right, Tank?” he asks.
“That was the nurse.” Tank winces, reaching for his head and rubbing a hand across the back. “It’s my mom.”
“What about your mom?”
“They said it won’t be long.” He gets up, sits down, gets back up again, clearly in a muddle.
Oh no. “You must go.” I stand too, collecting my bag and the pizza boxes, putting some cash on the table.
“I can’t,” he says, motioning to Daniel, then me.
“That’s why we’re going with you.” I make it clear it isn’t up for discussion, looking to Esther and Lawrence to get moving. I don’t know what Danny will say. I don’t actually care. He won’t hold it against Tank, I’ll make sure of it. “You should call Fury too.” I take Daniel’s arm and lead him out of the restaurant. “Perhaps someone else should drive.” Tank looks shaken up, completely lost.
Daniel looks up at me as we walk down the sidewalk to the car, Tank close behind. “I feel bad for him, Mom.”
“Me too, darling.”
“He and Fury really love their mom.”
I nod, keeping myself together, trying not to think about all the lost years we’ve had. “Do you hate me?” I blurt out of nowhere, my fears spilling out of my mouth.
“Why would I hate you? You’re my mom.”
I exhale, exasperated with myself, and stop us just before the car. Lawrence and Esther are catching up, and Tank gets straight behind the wheel. “I wish I could give you more.” Good grief, I don’t even have to look down at him anymore.
He doesn’t say anything, his poor thirteen-year-old brain probably doesn’t know what to say. But he does hug me. And it’s the best thing he could do.
I so need it.
27
JAMES
It was fifty-fifty. Part of me hoped it would be Volodya sitting here so I wouldn’t currently be aching with the effort it’s taking me to remain in my chair, but the practical side of me knew Sandy was our best option.
So it’s a good thing I drew the shortest straw.
“John Theodore Little,” Sandy says, looking between Danny and me. “That’s the name of the man who bought Winstable?”
“That’s what I said,” Danny replies quietly, as I watch the men standing behind Sandy, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch in the office at Hiatus, much to my displeasure. “You told us you had information.”
Sandy nods slowly. Dragging it out. Milking this situation for everything it’s worth. The Brit and The Enigma wanting something from him. Or, more significantly, needing it. “Let me ask you this,” Sandy says, his accent not as thick as Volodya’s, as he crosses one leg over the other, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “You English, what is the name Theodore . . . how do you say it? Reduced to?”
“Shortened?” Danny tilts his head.
“Yes, shortened. Theodore shortened.”
Danny and I toss frowns at each other, and Brad sighs from his chair. “Ted—” He pauses, darting wide eyes Danny’s way as ice glides through my veins. “Jesus.”
“Teddy,” Danny whispers, looking shook.
“And Little John,” Sandy goes on as it all falls into painful place in my mind.
“Was a bear,” Brad says, hitting his desk with a balled fist.
I exhale on a disbelieving, unamused burst of laughter. I don’t believe this. How the fuck did we need this Russian prick to help us figure that out?
Sandy nods, and Danny starts pacing the office, the stress and anger radiating from him on a whole new level. “Fuck!” he roars, punching a filing cabinet.
“It’s a penname,” Sandy goes on, unperturbed by The Brit’s temper.
“An alias,” I correct him quietly.
“Potatoes, tomato.”
Danny stares at Sandy like he’s a fire-breathing dragon, and Otto goes straight to his laptop, tapping away frantically.
“He had men on the inside,” Sandy continues.
Had. “He doesn’t anymore?” Danny asks, his chest rising and falling slowly, a result of him trying so fucking hard to contain his rage.
“I say no.” Sandy’s rugged face takes on an edge of disgust. “I was being watched by entry police.”
“Immigration.”
“That stopped as soon as I accepted The Bear’s offer to join him. Just yesterday, my bank accounts were frozen. I expect they’ll catch up with me again soon. These are legitimate accounts for a legitimate business. That speaks to me that he has lost whoever he had on the inside. I also had a call from a Detective Collins. She said if I give her details on some things, she will ensure my accounts were thawed.”
“Unfrozen.”
“My English—”
“Will do.” I look at Danny, shaking my head. Details on us. Collins wants details on us. Higham told us this. But is he covering his arse? In too deep? Naturally, we don’t mention Higham.
“I’m not interested in being a mouse.” Sandy gives each of us a moment of his eyes. “I want to remain here and run my business. I want Volodya gone.”
I laugh under my breath. That’ll please Danny. “What’s the deal with you two?” I ask, helping myself to another vodka. Just one more before I go out there and search the streets. Again. Up and down, up and down, hoping, calling her repeatedly.
“He cannot be trusted.”
Danny laughs loudly and holds his glass out for me to refill. I’m barely done and he’s necking it. He won’t be getting another. We’ve got a long afternoon ahead. The last thing we both need is to be stopped for riding jet skis under the influence while smuggling in our guns. Fucking hell, now more than ever I wish the delivery wasn’t today.
“He’s ex KGB,” Sandy continues.
I finally feel like we’re getting somewhere, and it’s bittersweet with Beau missing. I need to get to the bottom of this today so I can call her and get her back. Problem is, even if we get answers, I can’t fucking get hold of her to share. And this man in front of me, who could potentially end this for us, still tried to kill Beau. A flashback of her lifeless body on the bed after Dexter shot her invades every corner of my mind. The bullet wound on her tummy.