“To make a deal with a dead man,” I murmur, rolling my shoulders, every inch of my back tingling.
The door to his office is open when I get there, and Danny Black is sitting at the helm.
Behind his desk.
In the chair Brad wouldn’t take.
Because it was still his boss’s seat.
He motions to the chair opposite, and I take it while he pours two Scotches. “How is she?”
“Still difficult.” I accept the glass he hands me and hit the side of his.
“Cheers,” he replies, smiling around the rim. “You should take her away,” he suggests, waving a hand indifferently. “Give her some attention.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I have a place, just say the word. Look at it as a welcome gift.”
“A welcome to what?”
“My home,” he says, although I expect there’s more to it than that. “And speaking of gifts . . .” He nods at the door, and I turn, just as it opens.
I slowly lower the glass to the table, the heat rising from my toes to my head.
Dexter falls into the room.
“Where did you find him?” I ask, unbending my body from the chair, taking in the pathetic, disheveled piece of shit.
“One of my men got lucky,” Black says, simple as that. There was no luck. I imagine there was blackmail, threats, but no luck.
He’s crying, snot everywhere, his complexion gray, blood staining his thigh. Fuck, hold me back.
Or . . . don’t.
I see Beau in hospital. I see her circling her stomach in her sleep. I see all the things Dexter really shouldn’t want me to see.
The red mist can’t be held back.
I lose my head and fly across the room, charging at him, swiping him clean out of the hands of Ringo and smashing him into the wall. I’m all out of control. This won’t be quick and clean. “You killed my unborn child, you lanky, cocksucking fucker.”
God help him.
No. The devil can have him instead.
He dribbles and moans as I drop my hold and back away, reaching for my ankle and pulling out a switchblade. “Listen to me,” he pants, eyes darting around the room.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I can tell you who The Bear is.”
That just enrages me more, and I lunge forward, plunging my knife into his eye socket. He drops, the squeals of pain blood-curdling, the shrieks mixed with pleas irritating as fuck. I get up behind him, take a hold of his head, and tilt it back. I wrestle his tongue out of his mouth and slice the fucker off, then take the blade and sink it into his ear.
Instant silence.
Blood everywhere.
I step back, shaking. I’ve never seen red so vividly. Never shook so much when I’ve ended someone. I cast my eyes across the blood-soaked carpet. “Beau doesn’t hear of this,” I say clearly.
“Received loud and clear,” Black replies quietly, as I turn to face him. He takes in my blood-stained form while casually sipping his Scotch. “He said he knew who The Bear is.”
“He was lying. No one knows who he is.”
“He’ll be coming for me, assuming he really does know I’m alive.”
Exactly. And Danny Black isn’t the kind of man to wait around to be killed. And thanks to Dexter, The Bear knows who I am too. “He knows you’re alive,” I assure him. “You have Spittle to thank for that. So, are you ready to be my bait?” I ask, and he regards me for a while, as I stand before him, dripping in blood. Yes, I’m sick. But so is he.
His smile now, dark and moody, proves it.
He raises his tumbler. “To my resurrection.” He takes a long slurp and slams his glass down. “You’ll hold my fucking hand when I break the news to my wife.”
Epilogue
St. Lucia – a week later
BEAU
The wheels hit the runway, and I jolt in my seat, feeling James’s keen eyes on me. I try my hardest not to flinch, but the pain, albeit milder now, still gets me. I press my lips together and close my eyes, mentally calculating the last time I had any pain meds. I must be due some more soon.
I hear James’s cell come to life, pinging and singing the arrival of texts and missed calls. I open my eyes. “Lawrence?” I ask, circling my stomach with my palm, sounding hopeful.
James shakes his head, and I try so hard to keep my disappointment from my face, closing my eyes again. He’s not left his room since James took us to Black’s mansion. Not spoken. Hardly eaten. Esther, Danny Black’s mother, a lovely, gentle lady, has promised to send me daily updates while we’re away. But I need to hear from him. I need to know he’s okay. Or that he’ll be okay eventually.
The brakes kick in, and I’m pulled back in the plush seat, breathing through the discomfort. I can feel James watching me. Has been the entire flight. Assessing me. “I’m fine,” I say for the thousandth time, and I so desperately want to be fine, but no matter how many times I try and convince myself of that, I return to the same circle of worry. This here, where we’ve just landed, is a temporary respite. A vacation from our real life, where James is a cold-blooded killer, and I am a broken ex-cop. We’ll need to return to Miami. James will need to kill. I will need closure.