There’s nothing better to build some resilience like needing to be vulnerable but not being able to be. By being forced into being strong. I forgave Esther for abandoning me. It brought me some peace. Beau thinks she’ll find peace if she does this. Never. There’s always something to fuck that up for us. She let her defenses down when she met James. She became vulnerable, and so did he. Not dissimilar to Rose and me, really, but still so very different. Now? Now the world that brought them together, the darkness that they shared is pushing them apart. Because if Beau picks up her badge, she’s no longer a part of this family.

  I have no fucking clue what to say. “What are you going to do?” I ask, feeling as stumped as James. Fuck Tom Hayley for fucking dying.

  His smile is inappropriate. He’s amused by his thoughts. “She’s going nowhere near Oliver Burrows or a badge.”

  I blow out my cheeks. “And the darkness?”

  “I’ll fight to keep her in the light.” He throws his drink back and slides the glass into the middle of the table, an instruction for me to fill again. “Kill whoever I need to kill. I’ll do whatever it takes, Danny.”

  “Yeah, do, but promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Do not go back there yourself.” What a fucking mess. As if there’s not enough shit to deal with. But no. It keeps coming and coming and coming. “We need to talk to Higham,” I say, keeping James flush in vodka. “Maybe while he’s helping us out finding the fucker who dug up our dead parents he can find the fucker who popped off Tom Hayley.” I feel at my creased forehead. “Something tells me it could be one of many people.” Because I’m sure as shit, along with me and James, there are plenty of other criminals, businessmen and politicians in Miami who thought Tom Hayley was a prick. But enough to kill him? I laugh to myself. He would only need to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, because, let’s face it, he said plenty of wrong things to us, and if he wasn’t Beau’s father, I would have ended the fucker. I know James feels the same.

  “Can I get you two anything?”

  I glance up and find Nolan at the table looking smart in a three-piece. “Put your dick in any one of the girls again, I’ll have Cindy or Barbie bite it off,” I say, as James slowly rotates his glass on the table and Nolan places a palm over his groin.

  “Roger that.” He looks over his shoulder, prompting me to crane my head past his body to look. I see one of the girls looking this way. Or Nolan’s way.

  “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  “Not at all.” Nolan pulls his jacket in. “Where’s—”

  “Daddy’s upstairs,” I say, making James smile a fraction and Nolan roll his eyes as he leaves us.

  A long silence falls, both of us out of words, just sitting here, mulling things over, drinking. I’m about to stand and declare my intention to take my willful wife home when there’s a distinct change in the atmosphere. I frown and turn toward the door, seeing the units Brad has guarding the door, Drake and Des, two black men built like rhinos, scanning the club. I slide out of the booth, showing them where I am, tilting my head in question. One approaches, the other remains by the door. Securing it? Who the fuck is out there?

  “What is it?” I ask, my eyes unmoving from the door.

  “Someone wants to see you.”

  “Who?”

  “Some Russian dude.”

  I step back and James, obviously overhearing, is next to me in a heartbeat. “Outside?”

  “Says to tell you he comes in peace.”

  I laugh out loud, and it is so fucking psychotic. Peace? What the fuck is peace? “How many?”

  “Four. All unarmed.”

  “Is that what they told you?”

  “I patted them.”

  I raise my eyebrows, impressed. “Did you ask them if they want sugar in their tea?”

  Looking unsure, he flicks his eyes between us. “He’s fucking with you,” James says, sighing.

  “I’m fucking with you,” I confirm, making his big shoulders drop. And trying to buy myself some fucking time. I look at James. “Am I walking out there and shooting the cheeky fuckers?” I ask, as he stares at the door, lost in thought. It makes me pause for thought, and I hate my thoughts. Oh fucking hell. “You’re curious, aren’t you?”

  “We’re never gonna find him if we kill everyone linked to him before we interrogate them.”

  “Fuck . . . me,” I grouse, passing Drake and heading for the office. “Anyone would think you like torturing people. Weren’t you ever taught that curiosity killed the—”

  “Crime lord?”

  “Fuck you,” I snap, pushing my way into the office and going to the bookcase, just as Brad comes out with Nolan.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Russians outside. Apparently want to talk.” I jog up the stairs and head for the locked cabinet in the corner.

  “What’s going on?” Otto asks from the couch, his laptop on his lap, his phone at his ear.

  I grab a machine gun and a belt of bullets, attaching it as I head back out, Otto now on my tail. “I’ve got to go, Boo. Call you later.”

  Boo? I swing around, now armed, and Otto backs up, hands up, his phone held high.

  Facing me.

  My mother’s name on the screen.

  “Be cool, Danny,” he says.

  “Be cool, Danny,” Brad parrots, their pleas having the opposite effect, my blood beginning to boil. A difficult, callous wife, cheeky fucking Russians, missing dead parents, and now this fucker is trying to get my mother into bed? I step forward. “Stay the fuck away from my mum.”

  He has the nerve to look pissed off.

  “And how the fuck did you hit your head?”

  Otto frowns and reaches for his baseball cap. “How—”

  “Forget it, I don’t give a shit.” I point my machine gun at him. “Stay away from her.” I leave him with that warning and throw Brad a shotgun before hurrying back downstairs. “And get more guns,” I yell back, entering the club again, seeing James still with Drake.

  I pass the girls at the bar. “Danny, what’s going on?” Rose calls. “Danny!”

  “You move from that stool, Rose, I swear to God . . .” I stop and show her my incensed eyes, and she wilts, knowing now is not one of the times she should push me. Thank God. I toss the belt over my shoulder and load, ignorant to the attention of those who have noticed The Brit striding through the club armed with a fully automatic AR15.

  I make it onto the street where Des is alone, guarding the entrance, a Heckler outnumbering the unarmed Russians.

  None of which I recognize.

  Not Volodya. Not Sandy. So . . .

  “The Ox,” I say, taking in the guy up front in a badly fitted gray suit.

  “The Brit,” he purrs, smiling. “Is this how you greet all your guests?”

  “Ones I want to kill, yes.” I smile and hold up the gun, dipping into my pocket and pulling out my Marlboros. I grip one with my teeth, slide it out, and light it, never taking my eyes off him. “You deal in guns, and yet you turn up here unarmed,” I say.

  “I told your Black friend here, I come in peace.”

  “There is no peace in my world, never will be, so what the fuck do you want from me, except certain death?”

  “I am a fair man, Black. I want to do business and exist in peace here in your fine country. You returning to Miami has upset my balance.”

  “Perhaps some yoga will fix that.” I pout, exhaling smoke, hearing the other men join me, all now armed.

  “You’re supplying the Mexicans,” he says.

  “Correct. Are we done?”

  “You’re undercutting me. Practically giving away the guns for free. Go back to wherever you were.”

  “Well, you see, Mr. Ox, I would love to, but some fucker dug up my pops from his resting place. You know anything about that?” I lift the gun a fraction more.

  Hands up in surrender, he takes a step back. “I think I can help you there.”

  “You have information on my father?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod, lowering my gun, pulling on my cigarette and inhaling the nicotine deeply. “Why don’t you step into my office?” I ask, gesturing with the gun and moving aside, smiling my welcome.

  Looking wary, as he absolutely should, he casts his eyes over me, James, and Otto, then indicates for his men to follow. I look across to the girls as I wander through, seeing both looking uncomfortably . . . comfortable. Like this is normal. Everyday life.

  As I pass the DJ stand, I look up at the DJ, nodding my approval to the current track. Adamski Killer. “Can I get you a drink?” I ask. “Vodka? That’s what you Russians like, isn’t it? Or is that the Polish?” I look back at James, and he shakes his head in dismay, exasperated, but if I don’t adopt this style, I’m likely to make a mess of Hiatus.

  “I prefer rum,” he grunts, as I let him in the office. All three of his men pass, all silent, not one having murmured a word yet. They can’t speak English.

  Then my men follow, giving me questioning eyes as they step inside and I turn, closing the door. Just before the wood meets the frame, I see the DJ, his hand poised on the volume dial. I shut the door and face the room. “I’m assuming whoever dug up my father wouldn’t want to drag a dead body far,” I muse, almost thoughtful, holding up my cigarette and looking at the stick as it hisses, burning, glowing. “So I’m guessing we should be looking in the eastern area, because that’s where the cathedral is and that is where he’s buried.” I look up at The Ox. “Or was buried.”

  “Correct.”

  I nod, inhale, breathing out deeply. I see James, Otto, Brad, and Nolan in the edge of my vision move aside and hear the music in the club crank up. I slip my cigarette back between my lips. I’m done with his bullshit, outraged that he thought he could turn up here unannounced and tell me what I can and cannot do, where I can and cannot be and, worse, tempt me with knowledge of my father’s whereabouts.

  I give no warning, no hint through my expression.

  I turn and open fire, spreading the bullets between all four of the fuckers. Their arms lift and shake, like they’re fucking breakdancing, and I don’t stop until my belt is empty and my gun is clicking. I pull on my cigarette and breathe out, long and happily. I needed that. One less spider in the web. Or fucking animal in the god damn zoo. Whatever. But fuck . . . “What a fucking mess.”

  “And still,” James says, looking across the carnage. “Nowhere near as messy as when Nolan lived in here.”

  I look at him, bemused. “Seriously?”

  “Mate, there was shit growing on shit.”

  “True story,” Brad sighs, slapping the man himself on the shoulder.

  Nolan shows the ceiling his palms. “Should I get this cleared up?”

  “You should,” I grumble, dropping the gun. “And now I’m taking my wife home.” I open the door. “Don’t ask me if I’m going to fuck her or kill her, because I haven’t made my mind up.”

  “Jesus,” I hear Brad breathe. “I guess I’m going too, in case he opts for option two.” He faces Nolan, pointing at him. “Be-fucking-have.”

  I stop outside the office and have another drag, finding Rose at the bar, still facing this way, waiting. I point my cigarette to the door, and she gets up quickly, kissing Beau’s cheek and heading out of the club. Brad passes me to accompany her, and I make my way over to Beau. “The way I see it,” I say, prompting her to look up at me. “You’ve got two choices.”

  “And what are they, Danny?”

  “Live or die,” I answer, raising my brows. “I know which one I want you to take.”

  “Are you saying you’ll kill me if I don’t stand down?”

  “No, Beau, I’m saying you will kill you if you don’t stand down. And you’ll kill James too, because he and I share the same ethos when it comes to living.” Her head tilts in question. “We can’t do it without our hearts, as black and damaged and fucked up as they fucking are.” She knows I’m not talking about our internal organs. “Get some sleep,” I order. “You look like fucking shit.” Exhausted. Drained. Angry.

  “Thanks,” she mutters as I walk away.

  “That’s what friends are for,” I call back. “And for the record, I’m sorry about your father.”

  I find Rose by the doors, and she launches the moment she has me within reach. “What happened?” she asks, scanning me up and down, looking for signs of damage.

  “So now you’re talking to me?” I take her elbow and lead her to the car, putting her in the back as Brad slips into the front, aware of Tank’s absence.

  “I’m not talking to you. I just want to know what happened.”

  “What happened?” What happened today is I learned never to think that things can’t get any worse or more personal. What a fucking day.

  16

  ROSE

  He went straight to his office when we arrived home. Alone. An hour later, he came to our room, undressed in silence, and showered alone, and he didn’t give me the opportunity to reject him in bed, turning over and going to sleep in minutes, obviously exhausted. Me? I laid awake in an unbearable state of insomnia, staring at the bandages covering Danny’s chest, begging my mind to shut down and rest. It was having none of it. Neither was the baby, who seemed hell-bent on making me feel her presence, either with heartburn or nausea. In a sense, it was reassuring, but with the relief came worry and guilt. Is my restlessness affecting her? My recklessness?

  As soon as dawn breaks, I leave Danny in bed, slip on a robe, and go down to the kitchen, and the moment I enter, it feels so empty. No Esther puttering around, baking, cooking, making tea.

  Tea. I need a cup of English tea.

  I make myself one and take a seat on a stool at the island, taking my first sip. My nose wrinkles. It’s drinkable, but certainly not in Esther’s league. I miss her. Not just her tea, but her ability to reason with me. With everyone. What would she tell me right now? Other than threaten to slap my face, she would remind me of who I’m married to and why I am married to him. It’s so easy to forget, to lose sight of forever and happiness, when I am immersed in the violence and trials that being with The Brit brings.

  For over an hour, I tussle and argue with myself, often looking down at my tummy, coming back to the same conclusion.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  I serve no purpose but to rile him daily. I am incapable of handling my emotions, even more so now, but more than anything, I should go for all our safeties. Danny can focus, I can be with Daniel, and the baby and I will be out of harm’s way. Or, more like out of Danny’s way. Neither of us can do right for doing wrong, so it’s for the best.

  I nod to myself and turn on my stool when I hear dainty footsteps coming down the marble steps. With Esther still in St. Lucia, it can be only one person.

  I get up and go to the door, seeing Beau nearing the bottom, her slight, toned body adorned in gym clothes, her hands in her hair tying it. She looks like she got about as much sleep as I did, dark circles around her eyes. I don’t need to ask how she and James are. The fact she’s up at six o’clock heading for the gym tells me. This tragedy definitely hasn’t brought them together, and after listening to Beau last night and watching her monitor her cell like a hawk, waiting for a call from her ex-fiancé—God help us—I know it’s not likely to either. She wants to get out there and get all the details. She wants to find out what happened, the circumstances, the perpetrator. She wants to be the cop she once was, and that’s going to go down as well as a missile hitting the mansion.

  I see a raging fire. Heat. Damage.

  I flinch, shaking those thoughts away. Or I try to.

  Beau hits the bottom of the stairs and looks up, finding me by the kitchen. “Okay?” I ask, a stupid question I know, but what else can I say? In the space of a day, her murdered mother’s remains have been stolen and her father shot dead.

  “Have you spoken to Lawrence yet?”

  “No, I’m building myself up to that.”

  “Did you hear from Ollie?”

  She reaches behind her and pulls her cell from the back of her gym pants, looking at the screen. I’m taking that as a no. “I’m going for a workout.”

  “Do you want a tea?”

  She shakes her head, swallowing, so obviously holding back her emotions. “My period came.”

  Oh God. “Beau—”

  Her hand comes up. “Please, Rose, do not give me sympathy.”

  “I’m your friend. What do you expect me to do?”

  “I don’t expect anything, but I hope you’ll hear me when I say I can’t. I just . . . can’t.” She backs away from me, sadness a veil all over her, and there are endless reasons for it.

  Oh, Lord, have mercy on this woman and give her a fucking break.

  “Beau,” I blurt, sounding urgent, stopping her halfway to turning. “I’m going back to St. Lucia.” This makes her blink in surprise. “I think it’s for the best.” My hand falls to my stomach, and so do her eyes. It’s not the first time my heart breaks for her, and it won’t be the last. “Danny and I are at each other’s throats constantly, the pressure to be fine is just way too much, and in my condition—” I wince at my own stupid words. “I mean—”

  “I understand.” She comes to me and hugs me, and still, even with her heartfelt embrace, I’m injured. I hoped she’d beg me not to go, because I’m certain I would if she declared she was leaving. I couldn’t be without her. I deflate in her arms, my eyes stinging. She’s too focused on her loss. Or her newfound mission. Jesus, trying to find her mother’s killer nearly broke her. If she does this, she might not come out the other side. And starting her period will only make her more determined to distract herself. “Come with me,” I blurt, feeling panic setting in. I push out of her hold and take the tops of her arms, and she looks at me with a heavy forehead.