“Don’t do it,” Ringo warns, as Goldie’s body visibly straightens on the couch. “Please, Danny, I beg you, do not do it.”
Danny turns his eyes onto Goldie, while Beau fights her smirk. “If you smile, I will kill you,” Danny hisses, making Beau get her lips quickly in check. But not mine. Or Brad’s and Ringo’s and Otto’s and Goldie’s. We’re all fighting smiles. Except Danny. He takes a patience-gathering breath. “I’m letting this slide for now.”
I look at Beau, whose face tells a different story.
“I’ve had a call from The Shark,” Danny goes on.
All amusement leaves us.
“The fuck?” Brad blurts. “Do people google ‘The Brit’ now and find your height, wealth, and fucking cell phone number?”
“Interesting after The Ox showed up at the club last night,” I muse. What the fuck’s going on?
Danny looks at me, his face as thoughtful as I guess mine is.
“Wait, The Ox was at the club?” Goldie asks, throwing a frown around the office. “When?”
“When Ringo took you for dinner,” Danny mutters, eyes never leaving mine.
“He didn’t take me for fucking dinner. He took me for food. So The Ox showed up and—”
“I killed him,” Danny says, blasé, still looking thoughtful. “After he politely requested we stopped supplying the Mexicans.”
“And what did The Shark want?” I ask.
“Guns,” Danny says quietly, his fingers forming a steeple, resting against his top lip, thoughtful.
“Are you really considering arming our enemies?” Brad asks, looking as concerned as everyone else in the room.
“Yes,” I answer for Danny. “Sounds like the Polish and the Russians are no longer working in harmony,” I muse, perching on the edge of Danny’s desk. “Looks like word is getting round that The Brit is offering a cracking discount on weaponry.”
“And what about The Bear?” Brad asks. “I don’t want it to be taken as gospel, but I’m pretty fucking sure he wouldn’t want his minions doing business with The Brit and The Enigma, since both want his identity so they can fucking kill him.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know,” Goldie pipes up, getting a grunt of agreement from Ringo.
I nod, looking across to Beau, who’s being surprisingly quiet. What’s she making of all this? I tilt my head, and she shrugs, nonchalant. Who the fuck is she trying to kid? “Talk,” I order, making everyone in the room look my way.
She scowls at me. But she talks. “It’s falling apart,” she says, all eyes turning onto her. “He thought he had you both at the boatyard the night Perry Adams died. You proved him wrong. Made him look like a dick, even if you looked like dicks yourselves for killing the wrong man.”
I hear Danny cough under his breath, probably in disbelief. She’s fucking pushing it. “You killed him, Beau,” I remind her.
“My point is—”
“She has a point?” Danny asks. “Oh good. I thought she was just here to piss me off.”
Beau smiles, and Danny mutters something about preferring her as his wife’s friend.
“I can see me being here is a problem for you macho men.” Beau stands. “So I’ll take my conclusions elsewhere.” She takes three steps, and Danny swoops in, lifting her from her feet gently and taking her back to the couch. I smile. He knows she’s got skills. He’s objecting simply because it’s Beau. My girl. His wife’s best friend. His friend, too. And…a woman. He needs to get over that.
“Sit,” he orders, frowning, glancing at me. I raise my brows and he shakes his head. “Please,” he exhales.
Lowering, Beau breathes in. “The Bear didn’t expect Perry Adams to die that night,” she says. “So despite all of you feeling cheated by finding out Adams isn’t in fact The Bear, he’ll be feeling even more cheated. More than half his army has been taken out, he’s being forced to rebuild, but he can’t do that quicker than you can kill. So . . .” She shrugs. “I’m thinking many are deciding that it’s safer to go it alone because remaining under The Bear’s control is likely to get them killed by any one of you fine gentlemen.” She looks at Goldie and smiles. “Or gentlewoman. But the real question is, what was keeping them under The Bear’s control all this time that they’re prepared to walk away from now?”
We all look at each other. “Secrets,” I answer. “He was blackmailing Derek Green. Spittle.”
“You think he’s blackmailing all these criminals?” Brad blurts. “What the fuck do they care if anyone finds out if they perhaps like to jerk off over pictures of cats, or like inserting interesting objects up their asses?” We all look at him. “What?” He laughs. “These people are animal obsessed. Makes sense they’d want to fuck them.” He shudders. “Don’t ever give me a nickname, and definitely don’t make it an animal.”
“Your mind though, Brad,” Beau breathes. “He’s always had someone on the inside. Dexter”—she turns a look onto me—“before my boyfriend murdered him.”
“Fiancé,” I correct her, earning semi-shocked but more interesting expressions from our audience. But no one says a word. I like to think it’s because everyone knew it was a given.
Beau’s face remains eternally blank. “Then there’s Spittle and the two guys who stopped me and Nath. My guess is, The Bear has no one else on the inside, so he can no longer fulfil his word of immunity or protect all the criminals under him from prosecution should they find themselves in cuffs.”
Danny pouts, thoughtful. “He has no one on the inside.”
“He could be resourcing, but you can’t just advertise for a bent cop. It’s just a thought,” Beau says, shrugging, nonchalant, but she knows her thoughts are valid. “Worth considering.”
“I’m considering,” Danny murmurs, pacing. “Why hasn’t he been in touch since Tuesday? He had our dead parents dug up and then . . . nothing. He can’t have been abandoned by everyone, unless he got a shovel and dug them up himself.”
“A lot can happen in a few days,” I say, hearing grunts of agreement. “And all the signs point to his animals going freelance. The Ox wanted you to back off, The Shark wants guns.”
“Speaking of guns,” Danny says, taking his chair and motioning me into the other. “The delivery.”
The fucking delivery. “I’ve been distracted.”
He laughs, looking across to Beau. Then he scowls at her. “You know, if you really wanted to help, you could stop distracting your fiancé.”
Brad shakes his head, looking at Danny like he’s crazy. Brave. Stupid.
“Enough,” I say lowly, making Danny sneer at me across the desk.
“So how do you propose we get our guns across the bay to the yard while dodging the Coast Guard out on their training day?” Danny asks.
My eyes burn into his, angry, frustrated. Truth is, I don’t fucking know. I would have devoted a lot more time to figuring that shit out if every minute of the past two days hadn’t been a never-ending ball-ache. “I’m working on it.”