Lowering, Beau breathes in. “The Bear didn’t expect Perry Adams to die that night,” she says. “So despite all of you feeling cheated by finding out Adams isn’t in fact The Bear, he’ll be feeling even more cheated. More than half his army has been taken out, he’s being forced to rebuild, but he can’t do that quicker than you can kill. So . . .” She shrugs. “I’m thinking many are deciding that it’s safer to go it alone because remaining under The Bear’s control is likely to get them killed by any one of you fine gentlemen.” She looks at Goldie and smiles. “Or gentlewoman. But the real question is, what was keeping them under The Bear’s control all this time that they’re prepared to walk away from now?”

  We all look at each other. “Secrets,” I answer. “He was blackmailing Derek Green. Spittle.”

  “You think he’s blackmailing all these criminals?” Brad blurts. “What the fuck do they care if anyone finds out if they perhaps like to jerk off over pictures of cats, or like inserting interesting objects up their asses?” We all look at him. “What?” He laughs. “These people are animal obsessed. Makes sense they’d want to fuck them.” He shudders. “Don’t ever give me a nickname, and definitely don’t make it an animal.”

  “Your mind though, Brad,” Beau breathes. “He’s always had someone on the inside. Dexter”—she turns a look onto me—“before my boyfriend murdered him.”

  “Fiancé,” I correct her, earning semi-shocked but more interesting expressions from our audience. But no one says a word. I like to think it’s because everyone knew it was a given.

  Beau’s face remains eternally blank. “Then there’s Spittle and the two guys who stopped me and Nath. My guess is, The Bear has no one else on the inside, so he can no longer fulfil his word of immunity or protect all the criminals under him from prosecution should they find themselves in cuffs.”

  Danny pouts, thoughtful. “He has no one on the inside.”

  “He could be resourcing, but you can’t just advertise for a bent cop. It’s just a thought,” Beau says, shrugging, nonchalant, but she knows her thoughts are valid. “Worth considering.”

  “I’m considering,” Danny murmurs, pacing. “Why hasn’t he been in touch since Tuesday? He had our dead parents dug up and then . . . nothing. He can’t have been abandoned by everyone, unless he got a shovel and dug them up himself.”

  “A lot can happen in a few days,” I say, hearing grunts of agreement. “And all the signs point to his animals going freelance. The Ox wanted you to back off, The Shark wants guns.”

  “Speaking of guns,” Danny says, taking his chair and motioning me into the other. “The delivery.”

  The fucking delivery. “I’ve been distracted.”

  He laughs, looking across to Beau. Then he scowls at her. “You know, if you really wanted to help, you could stop distracting your fiancé.”

  Brad shakes his head, looking at Danny like he’s crazy. Brave. Stupid.

  “Enough,” I say lowly, making Danny sneer at me across the desk.

  “So how do you propose we get our guns across the bay to the yard while dodging the Coast Guard out on their training day?” Danny asks.

  My eyes burn into his, angry, frustrated. Truth is, I don’t fucking know. I would have devoted a lot more time to figuring that shit out if every minute of the past two days hadn’t been a never-ending ball-ache. “I’m working on it.”

  “Well work fucking faster. Chaka’s turning up a week this Friday with our guns.”

  “Do you want to change your tone?”

  “No.”

  I stand, wedging my fists into the desk, leaning in. “I highly recommend you do.”

  “Oh fuck,” Otto moans from the couch as Danny mirrors my pose on the other side of the desk.

  “Or else?”

  I move fast, grabbing his jacket and fisting the material, pulling him closer, and he does the same, pulling me in so we’re snarling in each other’s faces. I do not need his ego or his frustration aimed this way. “I said I would deal with it.”

  “Then fucking deal with it.”

  “I’ll do it,” Beau says quietly from beyond.

  I frown. Danny frowns. We both look out the corner of our eyes toward the couch. Beau is now standing, and everyone’s eyes are on her. “Do what?” Danny asks.

  “Take the delivery.” She looks at me, appearing confident, but I can see her nerves. She thinks I’ll refuse to even entertain listening to whatever nonsense she’s thinking. She’s right.

  I shove Danny away. “Time for you to go,” I say, claiming Beau by the elbow and walking her to the door.

  “What? No, James, I—”

  “It was good while it lasted,” Danny calls, forcing me to turn a dark look back at him. Why does he have to goad her? He yanks his suit jacket into place, his eyes narrowed, the scar that decorates his face deep and bright. Then, quite suddenly, Danny’s blue eyes widen and a collection of inhales sound.

  And something connects with my ankles, taking my legs from under me. I land on my back with a lung-draining thwack. “Fuck,” I cough, looking up at the ceiling.

  Then, sniggers. They all clearly want to die.

  Enraged, I lift my head and find Beau in the chair I was sitting in not a moment ago.

  “Well, that told you,” Danny muses, hands braced on the top of his desk, stretching to look at me on the floor. “Need a hand?”

  Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.

  I slowly get to my feet and visibly draw some long deep breaths, wanting Beau to know it’s taking everything in me not to fly off the handle. “Talk,” I order, willing to listen, if only to appease her in this moment. Whatever she has to say, whatever bright idea she’s got, it’s a no.

  “I’ll meet Chaka and accept the delivery,” she says, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  God love her. “That simple?”

  “Nothing about being with you is simple, James,” she says, taking the atmosphere in the room one step closer to thick. Multiple sets of eyes swing back and forth between us.

  “So what do you propose?” I ask. Let’s hear it. Because, actually, I’m really fucking curious.

  Beau pulls her hair over one shoulder and combs through with her fingers. She looks so feminine doing that. So . . . lovely. “We tow empty jet skis across the bay, fill them with guns, and tow them back.”

  I blink, withdrawing, and feel all eyes land on me, like, what do you think of that, James? “What?” is all that comes, and the peanut gallery all turn their attention back to Beau.

  “There’s nothing odd about moving jet skis from storage.”

  And back to me. “Absolutely not.”

  Back to Beau. “Why?”

  Heads swing, facing me again. “Because I said so.” The end. “Now it’s time to go.” I take one step and stop when Danny clears his throat. Oh no. Don’t do it, Danny. I glare at him, for what it’s worth.

  “It’s not a bad shout,” he says quietly.

  Is he hell-bent on getting his nose broken today? “Come again?”

  “A couple of young surfer sorts on the ocean pulling a load of skis behind them? Nothing unusual about that,” Brad adds. I turn my deadly glare slowly onto him.

  “And who do you propose those surfer sorts are?” I ask like a prick. Every fucker in here knows the answer to that.

  “Leon and—”

  “Me,” Beau pipes in.

  “No.” I laugh. Brad’s suggestion to have Beau working at Hiatus suddenly seems very fucking appealing.

  Beau regards me, almost disappointed. “Jame—”

  The door swings open and Rose appears, and the moment she finds Beau at the desk, her mouth falls open. “What are you doing in here?” she asks, indignant.

  “Oh fuck,” Danny breathes.

  “Busted.” Brad laughs. “I’m out of here. Let me know if we’re doing business with the The Shark and his Polish army anytime soon.”

  Not likely. The Polish traffic women, but they aren’t my priority right now. So her period starts and all of a sudden she’s spouting off crazy ideas that either have her running around Miami chasing killers or gunrunning. What kind of fucked-up crazy am I in?

  A mobile starts ringing, and everyone looks at each other as Beau stands. She glances down at the screen and does a fine fucking job of being cool. “Excuse me,” she says, avoiding my eyes as she leaves.

  All attention is on me when the door closes. I can’t stand it. Fuck! “I’ll be in the gym,” I say, leaving pronto, my focus forward, ignoring my mind’s demands to find her, take her phone, and tie her up. I make it to the gym and kneel on a mat, taking some stretched, deep breaths, before laying my forearms down, engaging my stomach muscles, and pulling my body up. The rush of blood to my head is welcome, and I close my eyes and focus.

  I focus so fucking hard.

  Focus on fighting the urge to find Oliver Burrows and kill him. I already owe him for arresting me and texting Beau a photo of Beth groping me. Now Tom Hayley is dead? That fucker just got a pardon from Beau for trying to interfere in our relationship again, because she knows her ex is the path to answers. Burrows will be harnessing that to his advantage, enticing Beau in, manipulating his position, and using her loss and need to his advantage.

  And here I am restraining that instinct in her. Holding her back.

  Denying her.

  Fuck.

  18

  BEAU

  I felt his eyes like daggers in my back as I left Danny’s office. I also felt my guilt as strongly. Despite knowing it would be frowned upon, he took me into Danny’s office. And despite The Brit’s immediate aversion, he kept me in there because he knows I have value beyond freedom and love for James. I may have appeared hard-faced and steadfast in my determination, but remaining in that office had nothing to do with my grit and everything to do with the men’s acquiescence. Until I spoke my thoughts and, absurdly apparently, suggested a solution to their problem. James’s dismissal was an insult.

  And now Ollie has called, and because I wasted time removing myself from James’s space, I missed him. And now he’s not picking up.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, pacing around in circles on the terrace. “Answer.”

  “Maybe he’s busy gathering more shit to throw at James.”

  I look up and see Danny on his terrace, his shoulder leaning against the door. He takes a drag of his cigarette and wanders across to the railings that separate this terrace from theirs, his stride casual. It’s the kind of walk he walks when he’s calm but raging. “Maybe,” he muses, “Burrows hopes the shit will stick this time.”

  My shoulders drop. “Whatever you want to say, just say it, Danny. I’m busy.”

  “Busy trying to get in touch with your ex?” He raises his eyebrows as he stops in front of me, only the metal separating us. He reaches across and brushes gently across my cheek. “You have a hair across your eye.”

  “Thanks.” I brush at it too, even though he’s already removed it.

  “Can you see better now?” he asks, making me exhale tiredly. “He’s your ex, Beau.” He slides his palm onto my nape and holds me by my neck, as if he’s worried I’ll pull away. “Try and see this from James’s perspective. He’s your ex, and he just sent you pictures of another woman all over James, to which, I don’t mind reminding you”—he squeezes a little, dipping to ensure he has my eyes—“you didn’t take too kindly to.”

  “We’ve talked about it,” I grate. “And we’re fine.”

  “Come on, Beau. Your snake of an ex is going to make the most of this situation. He had James arrested. Be wise with your trust.”

  “I need to know what happened.” God damn me, I can feel my lip wobbling, and Danny moves in and hugs me over the divider between the terraces. The mild smell of nicotine fills my nose. “How’s your chest?” I ask, mindful that I’m pressed against it.

  “It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

  “Sure.”

  “Ollie isn’t the only way, Beau.”

  Maybe not, but he’s the easiest way, and God save my soul, I know he will share a lot more about Dad’s death than anyone else. He’s not the only one who can manipulate. But is it worth the friction between James and me? “Would you ever try to change Rose?” I ask, feeling Danny still, as if breathing is suddenly an effort and he needs to concentrate.

  “I feel like this is a loaded question.”

  I exhale into his chest. He knows where I’m going—I don’t need to say it. My suggestion for their delivery problem is the perfect solution. Everyone knows it. But because I am who I am and belong to who I belong to, everyone keeps forgetting the not-so-small detail that I used to be a cop. And while I was making myself pretty for James last night, my father was dying. I snivel and break away, wiping at my face. “I should have met him at the hotel,” I say quietly. God damn me, why didn’t I meet him?

  “What?”

  I look up and find Danny frowning. “Dad called me last night. He was at a hotel Downtown. Business. He wanted me to meet him there and have dinner. I made my excuses.”

  He looks past me as he pulls on his cigarette, the air around him a light smog. “Don’t blame yourself.”

  I shake my head, sighing. “Where’s he gone?”

  “Gym.”

  To stand on his head. My guilt becomes unbearable seeing James in my mind’s eye vertical, his eyes closed, his body solid and straight. Trying to find his calm.

  My cell rings, and I inhale as I drop my eyes to the screen. I shouldn’t take it. Danny’s right, Ollie isn’t the only way. But the pull, the promise of distraction, the long-lost instinct being tempted out of hiding? I need to resist it. I look up at Danny, finding him observing me closely. I reject the call, looking past him when Rose appears.

  “You look better,” I say, assessing my friend more closely.

  “You don’t,” she counters, wandering over. Danny tucks her into his side the moment she’s close enough. “Have you spoken to him?”

  “No.”

  “So is anyone going to tell me why you were in on a meeting?” She looks up at Danny with narrowed eyes, while he rolls his.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I turn my cell in my hand. “It was apparently a waste of everyone’s time and won’t be happening again.”

  “We’re going out,” Danny says to Rose, taking one last puff of his smoke and dropping it into an ashtray.

  “We are? Where?” she asks, as he drops a kiss on her forehead and wanders back into their room.

  “To visit Pops,” he calls back. “Or the empty fucking hole where he once was. Oh, and Beau?” He comes back to the door. “For the record, I think your way is the only way if we’re going to meet the Mexican’s deadline.”

  He leaves and Rose faces me. “What is he talking about?”

  I bring my hands to my face and press into my eye sockets, so fucking tired. “I offered to help with the gun delivery.”

  “Help how?”

  “Tow a line of loaded jet skis through Coast Guard infested waters.”

  She laughs and then stops abruptly. “Your ring,” she blurts, seizing my hand and staring down at it.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  “I—” I don’t know how to answer that. Maybe to appease James. Show him I do love him. It can stay there until you see the light. Maybe because it’s simply the right thing to do—be his constant light. Except . . . I’m not. “How are you feeling?” I ask instead, stumped. “You’ll be lucky if Danny doesn’t glue you to a bed made of cotton wool.”

  “I’m fine. Are you going to talk to Ollie?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you know you shouldn’t, but you won’t be able to help yourself.” Leaning over, she kisses my cheek. “Just try to see things from James’s perspective. I’ll see you later.” That’s exactly what Danny said. They’re either in sync or it’s the universe telling me I need to consider their words. Taking my hand, she squeezes and backs away, letting our joined hands stretch out between us until she’s too far away and I lose my grip.

  I go back to my room, slipping out of my gym wear and putting on some denim shorts and a shirt before I track down James. Reassure him. Tell him I’m sorry. For making him doubt my love, for stupidly doubting his. For holding it against him for needing to keep me safe. Try to see things from James's perspective. Danny and Rose are right. I can’t do this to him, not even for my father. James has been a rock, determined to drag me from the darkness. Dad seemed determined to send me further into it.

  I tie my hair up, grab my cell, go to the door, and freeze when it rings in my hand, my eyes on the wood before me, not wanting to look down. Fucking hell. I pull open the door, finding Fury on the other side. He looks down at my ringing cell.

  “Are you gonna take that?” he asks.

  I don’t answer, my face screwing up, and I reverse my steps, shutting the door on Fury, the temptation too much. “Ollie,” I answer, clipped and short, starting to walk circles around our room.

  “Beau. How are you?”

  “My dad’s dead. My mom’s remains have been taken.” Civilities out of the way. He’s lucky I’m not ripping into him about setting Beth on James. “What happened?”

  “We should meet.”

  I stop still, staring at my bare feet on the plush carpet. “Meet?” I parrot like a fool.

  “I can’t talk over the phone.”

  I frown, taking the few steps needed to get me to the bed and dropping to my ass on the edge. “What’s going on, Ollie?”

  “Meet me, Beau.”

  My imagination has gone into overdrive, my cop senses buzzing. But I don’t press more. I know how this works. “Fine, okay, I’ll meet you.” I have not one fucking clue how I’m going to manage that when James practically has me tracked twenty-four/seven. “When?”

  “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, you’re going to get a call from a Detective Collins.”

  “A detective? I thought you took the case?”

  Silence.

  “Ollie?” The line goes dead. “Shit,” I yell, slamming my cell down on the mattress. As if I needed luring anymore. My guilt multiplies, and it’s fast superseding my misery. I haven’t even found the man responsible for my mother’s death. I am still without peace there, and now I’m dealing with the death of another parent, again, by all accounts, under suspicious circumstances. What the hell was Dad doing at that hotel? Who was he meeting?