“What?” James barks, sounding angry? “What the fucking hell are you talking about?” He grabs me and spins me around to face him, getting up in my face, furious. “If you’d have met him for dinner, you could be dead too, Beau.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean Tom Hayley, my father, was running for mayor, and his daughter is me.” I jab a finger into my chest. “And I am with you.”
James flinches and backs up. “You think he was the target?” he asks.
“It makes sense.”
“Wait, Beau.” His palm rest on his forehead, his eyes closing. “Why would anyone want your father dead?”
“Because his daughter is me,” I yell, guilt overwhelming me. “Miami can’t have a mayor with a daughter who’s involved with the biggest crime family this side of the Atlantic.” Then something else occurs to me. “Or maybe his competitor had him murdered,” I say, pacing to the window and back again, thinking.
“Monroe Metcalfe?” James laughs over his name. “Beau, Monroe Metcalfe has a résumé that glows brighter than the sun at the height of summer.”
He shouldn’t sound so disbelieving. Look at Perry Adams. He had everyone fooled. I laugh to myself, facing James. “I—” His hand lands over my mouth, silencing me, and he holds it there, his spare on my nape.
“Shhhh,” he whispers quietly. “Calm the fuck down.”
“I’m calm,” I mumble into his hand, reaching up and carefully pulling it away.
“Damn you for being a cop.” He sighs and lets his mouth drop onto my forehead. “I will find Cartwright,” he says. “I promise. I’ve already got Otto on it.”
“Why?”
“He seems to know a lot about a lot and we want to know how.” He leans back and gets me in his sights. The hard-faced, impassive killer is gone, and my soft, expressive fiancé is back, and right now he’s looking at me like he might love me more than life itself. Soothed. Calmed. “I’ve neglected you,” he whispers, scanning my face, dragging his thumb across my lip. “I’m taking you out for dinner tonight.”
“You are?”
“I am.” He turns me by my shoulders and sends me on my way with a smack to my ass. He’s trying to introduce some normal. It’s gallant, if wasted. We’re not in St. Lucia now, and no number of romantic dinners will make me feel normal. “And, Beau?”
I look back.
“You should call Lawrence,” he says gently, and I nod.
I didn’t call Lawrence. I did everything, except call Lawrence. How do I even begin to explain what’s happened? Mom? Dad? I’ll call him tomorrow. I did call Ollie though. Repeatedly. He didn’t answer. It feels like Nath all over again. I’m worried for Ollie, but more worried for myself, because returning to those places I went to after losing Mom feels scarily close.
I take the steps down to the foyer to find James after he left me in the bedroom an hour ago to make a few calls. He spent the rest of the day at the boatyard with Otto, Goldie, and Ringo. Probably to tell them he’s bowed and agreed to me helping. I bet he’s also taken the opportunity to fill them in on Detective Collins’s call to me. Wrong place, wrong time. I’m not being crazy. This all just feels . . . off. And while I can’t claim to be consistently settled, this persistent edgy feeling, like I’m constantly on the verge of a panic attack, is how I existed before James.
Consistently settled. There are times. They’re always brief but blissful. The times when James takes me away. He’s mastered the art of calming me. Problem is, he can’t devote every minute of the day to doing that. Not here in Miami, at least. He makes a damn good try in St. Lucia, though.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and smell him before I see him, the creamy, manly scent with an edge of spice. Heaven. Then I see him, and I feel my heart race and settle at the same time. Gray trousers, open-collared blue shirt that makes his eyes shine, a light tan belt to match his shoes. Stubble. Sleeves rolled up. He’s smart casual. So damn handsome. Looking at him now, even when his face is unreadable, it’s hard to imagine him as The Enigma.
“Special occasion?” I ask, making his lip quirk.
“I don’t know, is it?” He comes to me, motioning down my black tiered dress that I borrowed from Rose’s closet, of course. I know she won’t mind. I really should go shopping.
James seizes me, takes in my loose, wild blonde hair, smiles, and then kisses me deeply, leaning into me, forcing me to lean back.
“Must be,” I counter, pecking at his lips. “To take a night off from work.”
His nose wrinkles, he rubs it with mine, and then takes my hand, ignoring my quip. “You look out of this world,” he says, leading me out to a Mercedes. “We’ll have to take Danny’s car.” He opens the passenger door. “I was blocking him in earlier when he went out with Rose, so he took mine.”
I slip into the seat and pull my seatbelt on, watching James round the front, admiring him. Dinner. A normal, regular dinner, like a normal regular couple. He opens the door, but he doesn’t make it into the car. The gates up ahead open and James’s Range Rover appears. “Oh, they’re home,” I say, releasing myself from the car to say hello to Rose before we leave. I step out and watch Danny drive toward us, and the second he stops, he’s out, looking pretty fucking murderous. Oh shit. What’s happened now? Naturally, I look at Rose. She looks apprehensive.
I tilt my head. She shakes hers.
“The fuck?” Danny yells, marching toward James. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Now I know this isn’t about me taking the delivery because Danny told me he thought my idea was a good idea. So, again, what the hell has happened now? I look between the men, worried they might get up in each other’s faces again, take out their frustrations on each other. “What’s going on?” I ask Rose, joining her.
“Oh, you’ll see,” she says, opening the back door and dragging out piles of bags. “We had a lovely shopping trip, just me and my husband.” She smiles. It’s fake.
“Why are you lying?”
“I’m not. It was wonderful. Then we were driving home and—”
“You’re fucking insane,” Danny shouts, wrestling his way out of his jacket and slamming it on the ground. Then he obviously remembers he needs something in the pocket and snatches it back up, rummaging through.
“What the hell are you banging on about?” James mutters, obviously tired of watching Danny tearing away at his jacket because he claims it and goes straight to the pocket, pulling out his Marlboros and passing them over with his zippo.
Danny lights one, inhales deeply, then puffs out the smoke, pointing at the Range Rover with his cigarette. “Join me.” He smiles, the kind of smile none of us want to see, and paces to the back of James car, releasing the trunk with the key fob. James follows, and, of course, Rose and I too. The trunk lifts slowly, taking forever, as we all stand and wait for whatever is going to be revealed, and when it is, James is the first to speak.
“Ah, fuck,” he grunts, as I stare at a motionless body that’s bound and gagged.