“I assume you declined.”
“Not exactly.”
“Don’t piss me off, Danny,” I warn, shifting in my chair. “He had a—”
He holds up a hand. “I know. But let us not forget, Volodya shot me of his own accord. Sandy was ordered by a higher power to kill Beau because she was uncomfortably close to exposing him, like her mother was.”
I settle in my chair, but I’m far from comfortable with where this is heading. “He still acted, whether ordered or not. Rose doesn’t have a target on her head. Beau has been a target since she started digging around into her mother’s death.”
“We’re past that,” Danny says, appearing as frustrated as me. “The FBI and MPD buried that case for a reason, and since you were implicated in the evidence that was destroyed by Dexter and it wasn’t only The Bear’s name in that safety deposit box, we should be grateful. This is personal now, James. Beau doesn’t want justice like she used to want justice. She wants justice like you want justice. With death. Blood.”
“Pretty fucking impossible when the man we want dead has disappeared off the face of the fucking earth.” The Bear vanishing pains me more than him terrorizing us. “He called us in St. Lucia. Took the greatest of pleasure in informing us he’s still alive, that we got the wrong man. We come back to Miami to deal with it. He calls us the day we arrive to tell us he dug up your pops and Beau’s mother, and over a week down the line, nothing. Not a fucking peep.”
“I think Beau’s right. He’s lost their confidence.”
Whoever he is. Who the fuck is he? Facing the idea that we may never know is torture. There was a time when no one knew who he was. Now, apparently, every fucker does if the amount of offers of a name is a measure.
“About tomorrow,” Danny goes on, swiftly changing the subject. “The funeral.” He eyes me curiously.
“What about it?”
“I’ll ask you again. Did you kill Beau’s father?”
“I’ve told you repeatedly, no, I didn’t fucking kill her father.” Wanted to. God, did I want to.
“Then what the fuck were you doing at the hotel?”
I breathe out, defeated. It’s time to share since Beau will find out later anyway. I pull out my phone, find the details, and slide it across the desk. “I wasn’t at the same hotel as Tom Hayley.”
Danny frowns as he picks it up and starts scrolling through the images. “What’s this?” he asks, splitting his attention between my uncomfortable form and my phone.
“I’ve bought us a place,” I tell him, a bit unsure, because, honestly, I’m still feeling it, and I can’t put my finger on exactly why. Would Beau like it? Hate it? “I was meeting the realtor at the lobby bar to finalize some paperwork.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d tell Rose and Rose would tell Beau.” This needs a gentle approach too. “I need her in the best frame of mind. Stable. Positive.”
“Is it an apartment, or is it a glass box?” Danny looks up at me. “It’s very . . . exposed.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I’m just saying, it’s very . . . glassy.”
“Very observant.”
“So why haven’t you told Beau?”
I reclaim my phone. “I’m trying to minimize stress. She’s got a lot on her mind at the moment.”
“You’re worried she’ll say no to moving in together.”
“We live here together.”
“Minimize stress,” Danny muses, his forehead creasing, his brows heavy. What’s taking so much of his brain space at the moment? “It’s her father’s funeral tomorrow.”
“Again, very observant. Brad’s rubbing off on you.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, and I recoil, surprised.
“The funeral?” I say. “It’s kind of necessary. They happen when people die.”
He looks at me tiredly. “No, not the fucking funeral. The apartment, and I’m not speaking completely selfishly. Beau needs Rose as much as Rose needs her. Plus, you’d have to move Fury in there. Is there even enough room for him because it looks kinda small?”
“I hope we get to a point when I don’t need Fury stuck to Beau constantly. We need our own space.”
Danny gets up, appearing agitated, pacing. “Not if you’re fucking dead,” he says gravely, stopping with his circling of the room.
I’m recoiling again. “She needs some normal.”
“This is about as normal as our life gets, mate. Cleaning cash, gunrunning, and fighting off the daredevils who try to move in.”
“I know that.”
“Then why?”
My teeth grit. “I have to give her hope that we can be . . .” I pause, thinking, trying in vain not to get worked up. “I don’t fucking know. Something other than dark. Some normality. Or something close.”
“For you or her?” he fires back.
“Her,” I murmur unconvincingly, shrinking into my chair. “Everything is for her.” I’m not lying. “She wants a baby. She’s said she’ll marry me. Why wouldn’t she want our own place?”
“Are you prepared to give her a baby?”
I scowl. “Anything.”
“You’ve changed your tune,” he muses, looking at me like he knows. He just . . . knows. “She’s with you, James. She accepted when she held Burrows at gunpoint and shot Perry Adams that normal would not feature in her life anymore. She chose you.”
“What if she’s regretting it?”
“That’s bollocks.” He dismisses me easily. “You’ve got to stop thinking you can bring her to heel.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
He smiles, and it’s fond. “I know when to let Rose have her way. As you pointed out, I wasn’t comfortable having those two girls in my house, but Rose needed that. I’m not all too fond of the fact that she cracks me one on the nose every now and then, but she needs that too. Your Beau is like a champion racehorse being forced not to run. It doesn’t work. They’ll always end up bucking. Do you actually want a baby, or do you just want a reason to keep her close?”
“The fuck?” I blurt.
“It’s a serious question.”
“It’s a stupid fucking question.” I push back in my chair, standing abruptly, my fists clenching, and Danny takes a wary step back. I manage amid my instant anger to ask myself why his question has triggered me. It’s easy. Because he’s bang on the money. Our baby was a healing balm on both of our wounds. All of them. And we have a lot of fucking wounds. Mental, emotional, and physical. Why wouldn’t Beau want that again? And me. Not just for all of that, but because she would have no choice but to tame the Lara in her. I’m such a dick. An apartment won’t solve my problems. Marriage might not either. But a little piece of her and a little piece of me in one little person to call ours?
“Calm down,” Danny murmurs, and, weirdly, I do, taking a few deep breaths and lowering back to my chair. But then something else comes to me.