“Special occasion?” I ask, making his lip quirk.

  “I don’t know, is it?” He comes to me, motioning down my black tiered dress that I borrowed from Rose’s closet, of course. I know she won’t mind. I really should go shopping.

  James seizes me, takes in my loose, wild blonde hair, smiles, and then kisses me deeply, leaning into me, forcing me to lean back.

  “Must be,” I counter, pecking at his lips. “To take a night off from work.”

  His nose wrinkles, he rubs it with mine, and then takes my hand, ignoring my quip. “You look out of this world,” he says, leading me out to a Mercedes. “We’ll have to take Danny’s car.” He opens the passenger door. “I was blocking him in earlier when he went out with Rose, so he took mine.”

  I slip into the seat and pull my seatbelt on, watching James round the front, admiring him. Dinner. A normal, regular dinner, like a normal regular couple. He opens the door, but he doesn’t make it into the car. The gates up ahead open and James’s Range Rover appears. “Oh, they’re home,” I say, releasing myself from the car to say hello to Rose before we leave. I step out and watch Danny drive toward us, and the second he stops, he’s out, looking pretty fucking murderous. Oh shit. What’s happened now? Naturally, I look at Rose. She looks apprehensive.

  I tilt my head. She shakes hers.

  “The fuck?” Danny yells, marching toward James. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  Now I know this isn’t about me taking the delivery because Danny told me he thought my idea was a good idea. So, again, what the hell has happened now? I look between the men, worried they might get up in each other’s faces again, take out their frustrations on each other. “What’s going on?” I ask Rose, joining her.

  “Oh, you’ll see,” she says, opening the back door and dragging out piles of bags. “We had a lovely shopping trip, just me and my husband.” She smiles. It’s fake.

  “Why are you lying?”

  “I’m not. It was wonderful. Then we were driving home and—”

  “You’re fucking insane,” Danny shouts, wrestling his way out of his jacket and slamming it on the ground. Then he obviously remembers he needs something in the pocket and snatches it back up, rummaging through.

  “What the hell are you banging on about?” James mutters, obviously tired of watching Danny tearing away at his jacket because he claims it and goes straight to the pocket, pulling out his Marlboros and passing them over with his zippo.

  Danny lights one, inhales deeply, then puffs out the smoke, pointing at the Range Rover with his cigarette. “Join me.” He smiles, the kind of smile none of us want to see, and paces to the back of James car, releasing the trunk with the key fob. James follows, and, of course, Rose and I too. The trunk lifts slowly, taking forever, as we all stand and wait for whatever is going to be revealed, and when it is, James is the first to speak.

  “Ah, fuck,” he grunts, as I stare at a motionless body that’s bound and gagged.

  “Ah, fuck?” Danny says, laughing. “That’s what you’ve got to say? Ah, fuck? Who the fuck is it and how long has he been in your car? Because it fucking stinks.”

  I step forward and sniff, as does Rose, and immediately slam a palm over my mouth. “Ewww.” Stale urine. “You are not taking me for dinner in that,” I blurt.

  “Oh, you’re going for dinner?” Rose sings, facing me, her shopping bag whirling with her.

  “We were,” I say, as James steps forward and prods the body. “Now I have a feeling we’ll be getting rid of a body.”

  “He’s still alive,” James says. “He’s only been in here since last night.”

  “I know he’s still a-fucking-live,” Danny yells, pulling on his cigarette urgently, like it’s the only thing keeping him on the ground. “Because he yelped when I threw my wife’s shopping in the trunk.”

  “Threw?” Rose says, outraged. “There’s a Jo Malone Candle in there, Black.” She starts rummaging through the dozens of bags, looking for her candle.

  “I know.” Danny laughs. “It hit him on the head.”

  I look between Danny and Rose, then to James, absolutely . . . amused. I’m amused. And unable to push it back, it pours out of me, forcing me to drop my purse and use my hands to hold on to James. I catch Rose’s eye as she looks up from her bags, abandoning her check of the candle, and she falls apart too, obviously realizing how crazy this is.

  And the men?

  They smoke, and they watch, letting us hang on to them while we get it out of our systems. I think I’ve gone mad. Definitely, actually.

  “So,” James says when I’ve straightened and composed myself, although I can still hear Rose’s random chuckles, the aftermath of her laughing fit dragging out longer than mine. “Are we going for dinner or not?” he asks.

  “Yes, dinner,” I reply, sniffling and wiping my nose. Lord knows, I need some wine, and while this is all so inappropriate, it is respite from dealing with . . . everything. “What about him?” I ask, pointing to the trunk.

  Danny pushes the button on the underside to close it and flicks his cigarette butt away. “He can wait.” He scowls, looking at James. “Wait, who is it?”

  “The Leprechaun.”

  “Irish by any chance?” I ask, dipping and collecting my purse, prompting another chuckle from Rose, but this time through her nose, making the most unattractive sound.

  Her laughter stops abruptly, and she slaps her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, I just snorted.” She looks absolutely horrified, looking at me with wide eyes, and I’m off again, laughing like a hyena, my makeup ruined by tears.

  James moves in and holds me up. “He was at the Pink Flamingo last night,” he says to Danny.

  “That’s great, I’m happy for you, but in future, would you mind letting me know if you do a lucky dip on a bar and score?”

  “I was a little distracted,” James retorts, looking out the corner of his eye at me, prompting everyone else to too. My face straightens. Kill the mood, why don’t you?

  “I drove home like Miss Daisy,” Danny grumbles. “Saw a thousand cop cars and sweated a million oh shits.”

  “He really did,” Rose pipes up, walking toward the house.

  “Where are you going?” Danny calls after her, making her lift the bags in her hands as if to show him, like he could have missed half the mall she’s carrying.

  “I’m taking these to our room.”

  “Watch the candle,” he yells, lighting another cigarette. “You two don’t mind if we join you?”

  I smile, not minding at all. We’ll get our alone time when we’re home. It’s nice for us all to be together again, and all talking. “I don’t mind.”

  “Good. There’s a lovely little Italian place I know.”

  “Oh, where we’ll have murder for our main course?” I head for the car and slip into the back, but before I can pull the door closed, Danny’s there, leaning in.

  “You two talk too much.”

  “Stressful day?” I ask, nodding to the cigarette between his lips.

  “A few unexpected surprises, yes.” He looks over the car. To James? And then I remember in the gym earlier. You never mentioned that bit.

  Said with such emphasis on that.

  What were they talking about?

  “So you’re joining the ranks, eh?” Danny says, blowing smoke in my face, forcing me to waft it away.

  “You need to quit.”

  He laughs hysterically. “Beau, sweeth—” He thinks for a second. “Beau, if I don’t smoke, I’ll kill.”

  “Maybe you need to learn to control your impulses,” I retort casually, brushing the creases out of my dress as Danny bares his teeth. I roll my eyes. “You don’t scare me, Black.” I reach for the door and pull it shut, nearly taking his nose off as Rose slips in beside me, dumping her cell and purse on the seat between us as she buckles up.

  “Ready,” she breathes, joining our hands and resting them on the leather. Her phone dings, and I instinctively look down.

  “Esther’s coming to Miami?” I ask, seeing a short preview of her message. “You’re not going back to St. Lucia now?”

  Rose looks at me, putting her finger to her lips for me to hush.

  Oh God.

  I lean in closer. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  She peeks out the corner of her eye at me, that look saying it all. “I can’t go to Daniel without Danny, so Daniel must come to me. As my husband keeps pointing out when I’m feeling misplaced, I am a mother. That’s my job,” she whispers. “A hard job to do when one kid is in another country and the other’s not even born yet.”

  “He’s going to go mad.”

  “I’ll give him one last opportunity to stop being a stubborn dick. If not, I’ll take the matter into my own hands. He’ll get over it. We all know Otto is part of the reason Esther’s not here, and I’m not in St. Lucia with my son because—”

  “You were worried about Danny.”

  “True. But worrying is stressful, and as everyone keeps saying, I need to chill the fuck out. Besides, I thought I’d be gone a few days. Not weeks. And now Danny’s got a bee in his bonnet about Barney’s dad and that is why he won’t let me go back to St. Lucia without him.”

  “I’ll look forward to the fireworks.” There’s no way Danny’s agreeing to Daniel coming here or Rose going there. The doors open and the men slide in, and, of course, we both shut up, prompting both of them to turn around in their seats and eye us.

  I remain mute.

  As does Rose.

  I just want to enjoy a nice dinner in relative calm.

  19

  DANNY

  A week of silence. Oddly, silence in Miami makes me feel more uneasy than constantly dodging bombs and bullets. I watch the water rippling around my bare feet, feel the sun on my bare chest. It feels good after being wrapped up for so long, the Dermabond dissolved, the cuts red but no longer raw. I listen to the roars of engines on the ocean. Smell the salt. The sand.

  My wife.

  “I’m giving you one last opportunity to be reasonable and get them on a plane to Miami.”

  Or else?

  My shades slide down the bridge of my nose, sweat assisting, so I push them back, facing Rose. She’s always a pleasing sight, but today especially so, with her ever increasingly curvy body adorned in a gold bikini, her boobs bulging against the material, her hair bundled up high.

  I feel myself twitching against my wetsuit as I reach for her and pull her close, pushing a wave behind her ear as I kiss the corner of her mouth. “You’ve caught the sun,” I whisper, pulling back and slipping a finger past the taut material of her bikini top and easing it down a fraction, revealing a tan line just north of her nipple.

  She peeks down too, but not for as long as me. “Don’t change the subject.” She pushes my hand away and slips her fingers into my hair, holding my dark waves in her clenched fists threateningly. “Are you really that passionate about keeping Otto away from your mom?”

  For fuck’s sake. She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s mentally considering the fact that I’m also keeping her away from that Benson bloke. “This has nothing to do with Otto and everything to do with Daniel’s stability and education.”

  “Stability? He’s there, and I’m here. And he can have a private tutor in Miami. Are we going back to St. Lucia?”

  Won’t she stop? I groan and swoop in for another kiss. And get blocked with a dick-slicing glare. I roll my eyes—though Rose can’t appreciate my silent mocking with my shades hiding it.

  She reaches for my glasses and lifts them, revealing my eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

  “I didn’t,” I say, stealing a kiss before she can shove me away. Her rejection is probably a good thing. My tight wetsuit might become tighter. I’m not arguing with her. We’ve done enough of that recently. So . . . “You’re staying here, and Daniel is staying there.” I’ll tell her instead. Another stolen kiss as I pass her, heading for the cabin. She’s soon chasing my heels, protesting. “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “I know,” I say over my shoulder, not denying it.

  “What?”

  I stop, exhale loudly, and face her frown. “If you think for a moment I’m letting you go back to St. Lucia without me—”

  “In case I’m swept off my feet by a single, handsome banker?”

  I seize her face, squeezing her cheeks until she has duck lips. Why must she rile me? “There will be no sweeping, there’ll only be mopping.” Blood. “Remember that if you’re ever tempted to be swept.” I slam my lips on hers, kissing away her scowl. “Are we clear?”

  “Fuck off.”

  Smiling darkly, I watch her wrench herself away, but my amusement loses its darkness and gains some true light when my focus lands on her arse as she stomps away, the two curvy peaks jiggling beautifully, her bikini bottoms cutting high across each one. I groan on an exhale and push my shades up into my hair, fixated as I blindly pick up my cigarettes off a nearby wall and light one, never taking my eyes off my wife.

  She stomps up the steps to the cabin as James exits with Brad, and they both part to let her through, following her path with raised, knowing brows. She tosses both arms in the air, and the wind carries her muttered insult to my ears. She hates me. I’m an arsehole. “Same story, different day,” I say to myself as the boys look my way. They’re both freshly showered after a few hours out on the water with me. I’ve been distracted by the ocean and a willful wife during the time it’s taken them to change. I make my way to them and up the steps, puffing my way through my cigarette.

  “All right?” Brad asks as I pass through the middle of them and take a right into the café.

  “Brilliant,” I mutter, grabbing a water from the fridge and holding it up for the young girl who’s serving to see, prompting her to run it through the system and add it to my tab. “Where are the others?”

  “Out on the balcony,” James says, taking a beer instead of a water. I look at it in his hand as he screws the cap off. He’s drinking more lately, a result, no doubt, of stressing over where Beau is every second of every day or, more to the point, who she’s with. That woman would give Houdini a run for his money. “I just checked in with Leon on the delivery for Friday.”

  “Where’s Beau?” I ask, prompting James to point his bottle to the decking and me to look through the open concertina doors and past the dozens of occupied tables. I spy her at the very end of the wharf, reclined in a chair, her feet kicked up onto the railing, her face pointed upward. Toward the sun. “Still nothing from Burrows?” I ask, chugging down some water.

  A veil of menace drops at the mention of the arsehole. “Not that she’s said.”

  “She’s here,” Brad says, passing us and heading outside. “And we all know she wouldn’t be if she’d heard from Burrows.” He’s right. She’d be off playing detective, and that would be the perfect opportunity for Burrows to try and worm his way back into her affections. So where the fuck is he?

  James and I follow Brad out into the sunshine. “Rose hasn’t mentioned anything?” James asks.

  “All Rose has done this past week is be difficult.” I look at him. “In what fucking world do we depend on the girls for enlightenment?”

  “This fucking world,” he mutters. “I’ve got Otto keeping tabs on Beau’s phone.”

  I laugh. “Does she know?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you haven’t told her, but she knows.”

  “Of course she fucking knows.” He looks out toward Beau, and I follow his line of sight, seeing Rose tugging some denim shorts up her legs with heavy hands. She leaves them undone, and I smile. She can’t get the buttons fastened anymore. “Good girl,” James says as Rose picks up a bottle of sunblock and squirts some in her hands, rubbing it into Beau’s arm while she obviously slags me off. We make it to the other men and pull up chairs; as Otto taps away on his laptop, Ringo chomps his way through some chips, and Goldie sips tea, very ladylike as I draw on my Marlboro.

  “What?” she asks, the cup at her lips. “What are you looking at?”

  “You had a haircut?” I ask.

  Her spare hand goes straight to her hair and smooths it behind one ear, then the other. It’s shorter, probably as short as it could be without losing the convenience of being able to tie it back. “A trim,” she says on a scowl, hating me for noticing she’s done something so girlie like have a visit to a salon.

  “Looks nice,” I say honestly, feeling James watching me, probably waiting for me to crack a joke. I have no intention. I’m being genuine.

  “Thanks,” she grunts, taking some tea. “You could do with a cut yourself.”

  I feel at my hair. It’s been weeks, but my wife claims to love the longer look on me, and hair is something I can give her, so I’ll carry on poking up with the tickle on my nape. “Rose likes it like this,” I say, running a hand through it and knocking my shades off my head. James dips and picks them up.

  “You too,” Goldie says, nodding to James, who freezes in his half-bent position, looking at everyone as everyone looks at his longer-than-average hair.

  “Letting yourselves go,” Otto grunts, not looking up from his laptop but feeling at his neat, well-groomed beard. He’s lost the cap, the egg on his head having gone.

  “Did we meet for coffee and girlie chit-chat about hair and beauty, or did we meet for beers and a briefing on what the fuck is going on and where the fuck The Bear has disappeared to?” James asks. It’s been over a week since he called James and advised him that our parents had been dug up. Since then, we’ve had The Ox ask us to back off with our deal with the Mexicans, which he paid for dearly, and The Shark called soon after asking for guns.

  I smile and take another hit of nicotine before stubbing it out in the ashtray. “Over to Otto,” I say, blowing my smoke his way. His lip curls, but he doesn’t look at me.

  “The detective who got in touch with Beau over her father’s death . . .”