Exasperated, which is a cheek, James stands, exhaling loudly. “Otto got into Beth’s phone records. She’s in contact with Burrows.”
My mouth falls open, even though I suspected.
James laughs with zero humor. “Looks like he will do anything to turn her against me.”
“I thought he’d given up.”
“I’d hoped,” he says. “Because I seriously don’t want to kill him.”
Oh Jesus, what a mess. “You’re not telling Beau?”
“Don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not talking to me right now, Rose,” he says, swilling his mug under the faucet and resting it on the side.
I narrow my eyes on him as he faces me. “Have you told Danny?” I ask.
“Yes, because he’s talking to me.”
“Don’t try me, James. One murdering asshole is enough for any woman to deal with.”
He comes to me and dips, kissing my cheek. “Thank you for getting Beau out yesterday.”
“For what it was worth.”
“Make friends with him.”
“Or else?”
“Don’t try me,” he grunts, walking away. “One disobedient female is enough for any man to deal with.”
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Notto the gym.”
“Thank God,” I murmur, lowering back to the stool. And for another hour, I sit, mentally planning the conversation I need to have with Danny and how to approach it. I still haven’t figured that out by seven o’clock when he walks into the kitchen, his hair wet, his tall, hard body wrapped up in a gray suit. My heart sinks.
Business.
Didn’t he deal with enough business last night?
He passes me, silent, and slips a cup under the spout of the coffee machine, keeping his back to me while it pours—or drips—his hands braced on the edge of the countertop, his fingers drumming. Then, when it eventually finishes dispensing his coffee, he takes the small handle on the cup and turns, resting his ass against the marble and looking down into his drink while he sips, as slowly as the damn thing dripped out of the machine.
I’m too tired for this childish game of who will break first. Good for him, he’s got a good night’s sleep and is ready to go great guns. I am not. “I’m going back to St. Lucia,” I say, my voice strong.
He stops with his annoying sipping, holding the cup at his lips, seemingly thinking for a few moments, before he leisurely places it down and heads for one of the French doors, pulling out his cigarettes as he goes.
And he just leaves? “I said I’m going back to St. Lucia!” I yell to his back.
He stops on the threshold of the patio, lighting his cigarette and exhaling calmly. Then he looks back at me, and I see it in his blue eyes. The monster that lingers beneath the surface. The devil that’s waiting, ready to show himself. “You’re not going back to St. Lucia, baby,” he says calmly, his face deadpan, his voice even. Then he leaves, and I drop my gaze to the counter, uncertainty plaguing me. Unpredictable Danny. Volatile Danny. The man who appears calm on the outside, unless you know the signs. I know the signs. His scar was glowing.
“I’m going,” I say to myself, glancing at the door, twiddling my fingers, feeling...lonely. Lonely and unsure. Everyone is so distant, and my pining for Daniel multiplies in this moment. It’s not as if I was with him constantly when we were in the same country, but the mother within me feels like I need to be near someone who really does need me, even if his social life is more important than his mom right now.
I pick up my cell and dial him, and my heart sinks further when he doesn’t answer, although my reasonable side reminds me it’s not long past seven and no thirteen-year-old is up at this time if they don’t need to be. I sigh and start to tap out a message to Esther, but Danny appears at the door.
And he looks furious. Obviously, he’s run dry of the energy required to contain his temper. “Why the fuck is Beau’s car wedged in a bush around the side of the house?”
Oh.
Shit, shit, shit.“How would I know?”