She looks up at me, and I fucking hate the sadness I see. Not anger. Not need. It’s pure, heavy sadness. “Will it ever be done?” she asks. “Do you know who The Bear is? Where Dexter is? You could spend years chasing your tail.”
“You don’t want this to end?”
“Yes. End it now. Let’s just go. Me and you and . . .” Her words fade off and her hand lands on her stomach. And our baby.
Fuck.
“Do you want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders? Worrying about me. People know who I am, Beau. They know James Kelly is The Enigma. I have to end this.”
She swallows, her eyes dropping. She knows. And she has to accept. “Is that why I’m here? Protection while you go on a mercy mission? What if you don’t come back?” she asks, looking up at me. More sadness. “Then what happens to me?”
“He’ll come back,” a voice from behind me says, and every muscle I possess firms up as I look at Beau. She’s frowning through her tears, her neck craning to see past me. I don’t need to look. His British accent tells me everything I need to know. Not to mention the thick, deadly air that’s arrived.
Beau’s jaw drops, her eyes expanding. She knows who she’s looking at. I squeeze her hand, take a breath, and rise to my feet, slowly turning to face him.
The Brit.
His impassive expression doesn’t crack, the scar on his face silver, his skin tan, his eyes sharp. He turns his suited form slowly and leans on the railings, looking out over his gardens. “I think we need to have a little chat,” he says quietly, slipping a cigarette between his lips and lighting it.
I knew. I slowly put the puzzle together with the scrap pieces unwittingly thrown my way, and yet still, seeing him in the flesh, I’m surprised.
Surprised he’s here. Surprised he’s revealed himself to me.
I turn to Beau, who literally looks like she’s seen a ghost, and lean down to help her up. She comes with ease, and I’m grateful, despite knowing her compliance is fueled solely by shock and not willingness. “Here, hold this,” I say, picking up the metal stand and placing it in her hand. She grips it, eyes still on Danny Black behind me, and I scoop her up and carry her back into the bedroom, laying her on the bed. She looks at me in question. “I’ve got this,” I say again, pushing my lips to hers.
I make sure her arm has stopped bleeding before I text Otto to get Doc up here. Then I leave her, heading back out onto the terrace, pulling the door closed behind me. “How is she?” he asks, exhaling a plume of smoke.
“Difficult.”
His scar dents slightly, the sign of a small smile. “I get it. Smoke?”
“I’m trying to quit.”
He pushes from the balustrade and flicks his cigarette butt away. “Me too,” he mutters, his hand coming out, extending toward me. “Danny Black.”
Like he needed to introduce himself. “James Kelly.”
His smile breaks. “I prefer The Enigma.”
“He’ll soon be dead.”
He laughs under his breath. “Take it from me, not even death gets you away from this world.” He motions to a chair and takes one himself on the other terrace. “Talk to me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I want to know who you are, where you came from, and how you know The Bear knows I’m alive. Because I’ve no interest in being resurrected unless I have to be.” The side of his finger brushes across his Cupid’s bow, his eyes watchful. “I have a wife. My chances of survival are zero if I have to go home to St. Lucia and tell her we’re coming back to Miami.”
I’m amused, but I don’t smile. The Angel-faced Assassin is wary of a woman. I can relate. “Spittle was taking backhanders from someone connected to The Bear,” I tell him. “I killed the connection, had Spittle looked up, and gave him a courtesy call. He took an instant dislike to me. I think he has a thing against British.”
Black smiles, amused.
“Spittle knows he’s fucked up,” I continue. “He’s said things he shouldn’t have said to people he shouldn’t have said them to.”
“Like?”
“Like hints that The Brit isn’t dead. And when he realized he’d let on you’re alive, he tried to kill Brad to cover his arse and came to me when he failed. So I asked myself, why wouldn’t he just wait for The Bear to kill Brad?”
“Because The Bear won’t kill Brad.” Black shakes his head, his lip close to curling. “Because he wants Brad to lead him to me.”
“And then you’d find out Spittle’s blown your cover and kill him.”
“So he didn’t expose me intentionally.”
“No,” I say, forcing my body into relaxing. “Does that mean you’re not going to kill him?”