Because... Rose.
And how the fuck does Chaka, my arms supplier who’s based in a small settlement in the middle of nowhere in Africa, know my wife is pregnant?
I go to the couch in my office but think better of it. So I consider the chair behind my desk and grimace at the low level of the seat. Finally, I resolve myself to standing, resting my arse on the edge of the cabinet. I scan the various bottles of Scotch. I could do with a drink.For fuck’s sake.
When I hear the voices of the men, I remove my palm from my chest and try to lengthen my torso. “Motherfucker,” I breathe, folding again. I’ve proper done myself over this time. “Sit down,” I say as they all file in, each and every one of them giving me a suspicious or concerned look as they do. I know James won’t have murmured a word about the state of my chest and how it came to be mutilated, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that he needs to tell them. They saw Rose. They saw me.
I wait for everyone to get comfortable, noticing for the first time this evening, now the cloud of fury and remorse has thinned, that Goldie is wearing a suit. I frown at her, but she looks straight through me, her eyes telling me to get to business.
“Not joining us?” Brad asks, motioning to the empty chair behind my desk.
I ignore him and push myself off the wood, starting to wander the room as a collection of eyes follow me, waiting for where we might start. Truth be told, I haven’t got a fucking clue, and James must sense that because he clears his throat, redirecting all attention to him. “First things first,” he says. “Tom Hayley is running for mayor of Miami.”
I balk, as does everyone else in the room. “You’re kidding, right?” I splutter.
“Nope.”
“Fucking hell, I think I preferred Adams.” Tom Hayley? Jesus, the man is an egomaniac. And, worse, he hates James and me, so I can only see this going one way. A headache. And we can’t kill the fucker because...well, he’s Beau’s father. “Anything else that’ll excite me?” I ask.
I can tell by James’s face another bombshell is coming. “We need to change the delivery date of the next shipment to the Mexicans.”
“Why?” Brad asks, rather than informing James that it isn’t an option. Because James wouldn’t elect to change anything if it wasn’t necessary. You do not alter the terms of a giant arms delivery the day after half the payment is in your possession. It’s not good form, and it also provokes mistrust. The last thing we need is the Mexicans on our backs.
“The Coast Guard has an annual training day on the day Chaka was due to deliver. We need to push to the Monday.”
“Shit,” I breathe. “That’s the day the Mexicans want their haul.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ringo mutters.
“Great,” Otto sighs. “So... who’s talking to the Mexicans?” he asks, pointing to the straws on the drinks cabinet.
“I amnotdrawing straws.” Brad laughs. “I’m about as good at drawing straws as Danny is at poker.” He gets up and pours two Scotches, bringing one to me. I accept, if only to avoid inciting worry, but I won’t be drinking it.
“I’ll talk to Luis,” I say, looking down at the tumbler in my grasp. “We’ll compensate him.”
“How?”
“A discount.”
“Even more?” Brad looks at my untouched drink, undoubtedly wondering why it remains untouched when I’m clearly in need of it.
“Any other suggestions?”
“So when’s the next lot of cash arriving at Hiatus to be cleaned?” he asks, giving me my answer. There is no other way. We need to sweeten the deal, even fucking more than it’s already been sweetened. “I need to tell Nolan.”
“I’ll talk to Luis. We’ll rearrange the exchange and I’ll let you know.” I set the glass down, glad to be rid of the weight. “Now—”
“I have more,” James says, pulling my attention his way. What the fuck else could have happened in the last twenty-four hours that I’ve missed? “An article was released online this morning.” He goes to his phone. “By Natalia Potter.”
“A journalist, I presume,” Ringo grunts as he holds his hand out, taking James’s phone. His lip curls more with each word he reads. “The fuck?” His wide eyes find James.
“Yes, the fuck,” James says quietly, making everyone in the room go to Ringo and huddle around, trying to find out what’s got his shocked attention. I don’t join them. One, because I can’t bend, and two, because I have a feeling I know what it’s about. “She details the story of two men.” James looks at me.
“Something tells me they’re not law-abiding citizens,” I muse, eyeing the Scotch. I know I can drink a good few glasses and not be affected. For fuck’s sake, I’ve been drinking the stuff since I was twelve. But for Rose? Self-control. “What does it say?”
“Exactly?” Ringo asks, and I narrow my eyes. “Okay, and I quote,” he goes on, returning his attention to his phone. “‘Notorious criminal Danny Black, widely known as The Brit, and the man dubbed The Enigma, who is rumored to have murdered Detective Jaz Hayley, are causing chaos in Miami, and it would appear the police and FBI are powerless to stop them.’” Ringo shifts uncomfortably. “End quote.”
“What about me?” Brad grunts, looking as indignant as fuck. “I don’t get a mention?”