Where our baby was once growing.

  Was.

  The Russian nurse who tried to inject her. Kill her.

  I see red and am up in Sandy’s face before I can think better of it. “You tried to kill my girlfriend.”

  “You killed half my men, including my little brother,” he hisses back, not backing down.

  “Easy,” Danny says, pulling me away, giving me a look to suggest he’ll kill me himself if I fuck this up. “Easy,” he says again, patting my arm and guiding my tumbler to my mouth. Turning to Sandy, he holds out his hand, and when Sandy takes it, Danny shakes it like a gentleman rather than squeezes threateningly. It’s a strong message to Sandy.

  “What now?” he asks.

  “Now,” Danny says thoughtfully, “you tell me if you find out anything else, and I will return the favor.”

  “And business?”

  “We’ll talk about that once we’ve dealt with this little issue. In the meantime, I assure you, you have one less man vying for your blood.”

  Sandy looks at me, waiting. “I can see you will be harder to convince.”

  I stare.

  “Perhaps,” he goes on, not shying away from the threat in my eyes, “if I told you a close contact of mine reported a sighting of your automobile in a parking lot of a hotel downtown? Would that help?”

  “What?”

  “You’re here, so I am wondering what your automobile is doing there?”

  “What hotel?” I get up in his face again. “Tell me.”

  “The Hilton.”

  I can’t bring myself to thank the fucker. I fly out of the office, pulling up The Hilton hotel on Google Maps.

  * * *

  There’s no easy or cheap way to do this, and I haven’t got the time or patience to fuck about. “Just remember,” Otto says as we walk through the lobby. “A smile gets you everywhere in this world.”

  I flash the man on reception a peek of my gun, not a smile, and slide a bundle of notes across the counter. “Simeon,” I say, taking his name from his badge as I show him a picture of Beau on my screen. He quickly takes the cash and studies the photo.

  “May I?” he asks, taking my mobile when I nod. He rounds the desk and wanders over to the concierge, showing him my phone. He shakes his head.

  “The waitstaff?” I ask in vain, knowing I’m clutching at straws now, rather than drawing them. Either way, I’m about as lucky with straws as Danny is with poker. If Beau doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be found.

  “I will ask housekeeping too,” Simeon says, walking off. Naturally, we follow, and he looks back, uncertain.

  “You have my mobile,” I point out. “And probably one on you to call the police if you choose, which I wouldn’t recommend.”

  “Definitely wouldn’t recommend.” Otto’s bushy eyebrows rise as I motion for Simeon to continue, and he leads me into the bar, proceeding to show the staff my phone. All of them shake their heads. All of them eye me warily. None of them have seen my girl. “The rooms,” I say.

  “Sir, we have over one hundred rooms.”

  “And cameras,” Otto says, looking around, thoughtful as he spins the ring in his lip and casually pulls his jacket back as a subtle reminder. What the fuck happened to smiling? “Where’s the control room?”

  Poor Simeon. His forehead becoming shiny from his stressed sweat, he clicks his fingers and tells the staff member to take Otto to the control room. Then he produces a key card and invites me to accompany him to the elevators.

  “May I ask who she is to you?” Simeon asks, making small talk as we ride up to the top floor.

  “No.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I have entered every room in that fucking hotel and she wasn’t in one of them. Our search and endless invasions of people’s privacy has cost Simeon hundreds in complimentary drinks. For that alone, I hand him another wedge of cash and tell him to put my number in his phone. “Call me if you see her.” Simeon nods and gives me directions to the car park, where I find Otto looking over my Range Rover.

  “Engine’s cold,” he says, feeling at the bonnet. “And cameras show nothing in the hotel. This space here falls into a blind spot. She knew what she was doing.”

  “You can’t just park in any old hotel car park. You have to be a guest.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t plan on collecting your car.” Otto rounds my Range and gets up close and personal with the back window. “There’s a train station down the street. Goes straight into MIA.”

  My stomach turns. “She won’t get answers if she leaves Miami.” I try the handle on the passenger side for the sake of it. “Did you see her pull in?”

  “Yes, at eleven last night.”

  “But she didn’t go into the hotel?”

  Otto shakes his head and checks his watch, reminding me that we have somewhere we need to be. She won’t come back while I’m here. I know that.

  I nod and leave the car park, constantly looking back to my motor as Otto slips a tracking device under the wheel arch.

  Where are you, Beau?

  28

  BEAU

  I pull the hotel room door closed behind me and wander down the corridor to the elevators, feeling exhausted in every sense. I didn’t get any sleep, just lay there battling the anger, the frustration, the unknown.

  The grief.

  Losing my focus on Mom’s murder and redirecting it to Dad’s is playing havoc with my conscience. Mom didn’t deserve to die. Dad didn’t either. But Dad’s selfish choices mapped his path. Mom’s selflessness mapped hers.

  I step in the cart and move to the back when a few more guests join me, turning on my cell and wincing at the endless missed calls from everyone I know.

  And love.

  And who love me.

  The elevator dings, the doors open, and I walk to the reception desk armed with my key card, sliding it onto the counter. “Ah, Beau.” Quinton leans over the counter and takes my cheeks, air-kissing each one. “I’ll have the valet collect your vehicle from across the road.” His beautifully plucked and dyed eyebrows lift as he looks over his rimless glasses at me. “Care to enlighten me as to why you needed parking away from the premises?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not stolen, is it?”

  I laugh as he checks me out. “You think I’ve gone from cop to car thief?” God, it’s so much worse than that.

  “Well, it’s all very strange, and coming from me, a man of the world who works in a bustling hotel, strange requests are part of the job.” He staples a few sheets of paper together and folds them precisely. “How’s Zinnea? God, I miss working the circuit.”

  “She’s good,” I say, suffering another pang of guilt.

  “And Dexter?” he asks, curious. It was common knowledge Quinton always had a soft spot for Zinnea. “How is he?”

  Dead. I smile tightly. “He left.”

  “What?”

  My fiancé murdered him. “They split up.”

  “Oh. Oh, my. May I ask why?”

  Because he was a crooked cop. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”

  Quinton withdraws, removing his glasses and cleaning them, watching me too closely. Then he puts them back on and slips a card across to me. “I would love to see her. It’s been too long.” Another air kiss. “And there’s always a Cosmopolitan waiting for her.”

  I take the card and wave it, backing away. “Good to see you, Quinton. And thank you.”

  He waves off my gratitude. “The valet will bring your car round.”

  I make it outside onto the sidewalk and keep close to the wall, scrolling through my contacts, not for the first time. As if a new name might appear. An old colleague who would be willing to help. It makes me miss Nath, not because he was my sounding board, but because he made me feel close to Mom. I have no one to turn to. No one who can help me.

  “Beau?”

  I look to my left. Oh Jesus. “Dr. Fletcher.” My old therapist approaches, every limb she possesses as perfect as I remember, long and slender, smooth and soft. She smiles, it’s hesitant, and adjusts her purse on her shoulder. I find myself doing the same.

  “It’s good to see you.”

  Alive. That’s what she’s thinking. It’s good to see me alive. Have you ever thought about ending your life, Beau? I smile, and it’s unstoppable. Smiling suggests someone is amused. “Good to see you too.” I back away before I can get drawn into a conversation I don’t want to have. I went to therapy for one reason and one reason alone. Because it was a better option than a hospital, and that’s where I would have been sent by my father.

  “Beau?” she calls, stepping forward, her arm rising. “You stopped coming.” She’s wondering why, since I clearly wasn’t cured. I swallow and nod, and Dr. Fletcher smiles. “You look well, Beau. I hope this means you’ve finally found something to save you.”

  I stop in my retreat, her words hitting me like a sledgehammer. The truth is, I have way more demons now than I had when I was seeing Dr. Fletcher.

  Something to save me. Have I found it? Or have I found something that will ruin me forever? Not a something, but a someone.

  I turn and walk away, asking myself the question on repeat.

  29

  JAMES

  We stopped by Tom Hayley’s place on the way to the boatyard. Also Amber Kendrick’s. Both empty. Both cold. No signs of life. Danny’s right. Amber must know something. She’ll get what she wanted—Tom’s money—and now she’s skipped town?

  I pull up and see Danny with his wetsuit around his waist, his arms around Rose, hugging her. I give him a questioning look as I approach, and he gives me one to suggest he needs a moment, so I head inside and get into my wetsuit. A locker closes behind me, and I look back to see the kid in his gear. “Hey, kid,” I say, placing my phone on the bench and standing. He looks proper forlorn. “What’s up?”

  Daniel looks at me, his eyes falling to my shoulder where my scars creep onto my front. He’s seen it plenty. Never asked. I think that might change now. Something about the kid seems . . . different today. “How—”

  “I got caught up in an explosion,” I say. “Trying to save someone.”

  “Who?” His eyes widen and his mouth falls open, his hand reaching for his arm. He’s thinking about Beau’s scars. “Is she back?”

  I shake my head, unable to tell him she will be. All I can think about is the trainline near to where we found my car. She could be long gone already. Perhaps she’s done chasing the truth. Maybe she wants to escape.

  Escape me?

  “So are you going to tell me what’s up?” I ask, jerking my head for him to come. I slip my arm around his shoulder as we walk out of the changing rooms.

  “Tank and Fury’s mom died.”

  I look down at him. “When?”

  “We were out for pizza. Tank got a call and we had to go with him and Fury to the nursing home where their mom lives. She has dementia. Or . . . had. She died a minute before we arrived. Just a minute, and now I feel so bad because I hugged Mom by the car and she dropped the pizza box and it took two whole minutes to pick it up. That means they would have been at the nursing home one whole minute before she died. They would have been able to say goodbye.” He throws his arms up and lets them drops heavily. “So it’s all my fault.”

  “Ah, kid.” I pull him into my side. “You can’t blame yourself. There are a million things that happened today that steered the course of history, and you hugging your mum is only one of them. Is that why she’s upset?”

  “Yeah. Mister had us picked up so Tank and Fury could stay for a while. Grandma and Lawrence are in the café having tea.”

  “Bet it’s not as good as your grandma’s.”

  He chuckles and stops, forcing me to stop to. “Do you think we’ll ever go back to St. Lucia?”

  “Who knows, kid.”

  “Do you think I’ll ever be allowed to go to a regular school?”

  Fuck. “Maybe.”

  “Do you think I’ll be able to go to college?”

  That pizza’s gone to the kid’s head. “I’m not Mister, kid. Do you want to ask me a question I can answer?”

  He smiles sadly and walks off, kicking the floor as he goes, head down.

  “Hey, kid,” I call, and he looks back. “Ask me if you’re loved. If you have a family. A massive one, full of people who’ll do anything for you. A family you can go out on the water with and race.” While they take delivery of their guns.

  Daniel’s mouth lifts at the corner, and he nods as I join him, walking him back out. “You any closer to beating Mister yet?”

  “Today’s the day,” he assures me, racing off to help Leon get his jet ski on the water as Otto jogs over.

  “She turned her phone on briefly.”

  What? “And?”

  “And she was across the road from the hotel.”

  Again, what? “The car?”

  “Moved fifty yards and has been stationary since.”

  We both look up when the sound of tires crunching across gravel sounds and see my Range Rover pulling into the boatyard. My heart leaps. It fucking leaps. And then she gets out and it’s an effort to stand steady. Relief. It’s making me wobbly. Beau walks over, and the sight of her is like a salve to my cracked soul.

  “What the fuck?” Otto grumbles, going back to his phone, obviously to check the tracker.

  Beau holds up said tracker, clicks it on, and places it in Otto’s hand. His phone starts beeping immediately. “I’m here,” she says, looking at me, her dark, dark eyes a storybook of hopelessness.

  “Where have you been?” I ask.

  Her beautiful face is impassive. Emotionless. “I needed space.”

  She needed space? From me? It’s a kick in the fucking teeth when all I’ve ever tried to do is protect her from the world. Keep her in the light. I’ve been tortured all night because she needed space? My relief is short-lived. Hello, irritation. “You didn’t think to let me know you were okay? Alive?”

  “You didn’t think to tell me Cartwright had showed up dead?”

  So it’ll be like this? Tit for tat? “You fucking shot me.”

  “I was mad.”

  “So you shot me?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch. Otto slowly slinks away, leaving us to it. “You can’t go off around town on your own playing detective, Beau,” I yell.

  “Beau!” Daniel cries, coming at us, his face significantly happier than a few moments ago.

  “Not now, kid,” I warn, holding up a hand to stop him. She is hearing this. “I’ve told you that repeatedly,” I go on as Daniel joins Otto, moving cautiously away. “I need you to trust me. When the fuck are you going to lis—” I stop talking as Beau picks up her feet and walks past me, heading for the cabin as she shrugs off her trench coat. “Where the fuck are you going now?” My God, can’t she stay still for just a minute?

  “I didn’t come back to argue.” She doesn’t look back.

  “So I’ve just got accept that you’ll up and leave whenever the fuck you like?” Am I getting this right, because that seems really fucking unreasonable? “Beau!” I’m off across the stones on my bare feet after her, feeling the eyes of many following my fuming form. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” I stalk up the steps behind her. “I’ve been calling you repeatedly.” She disappears into the female changing rooms, and I’m right there with her. The three women in there, thankfully, are fully dressed, and all leave hastily, giving my looming frame a wide berth. Beau goes to her locker and pulls out her wetsuit. “I’ve been worried sick, Beau.” She strips down to her underwear, completely ignoring me, and my eyes fall to her arm. Where it all began. My own scars tingle in response. “Running around town looking for you.” Then she starts tying her hair in a high ponytail rather than covering herself, which I’d be really grateful for in this moment. I’ve missed her. Want to hug her, kiss her, spill my love all over her. But I’m mad at her too.

  I rip my eyes away from her incredible, beautiful, war-beaten body and find her face. She won’t look at me. Won’t face me. Is she even hearing me?

  She slams her locker door closed and sits on the bench, getting her feet into the suit, carrying on as if I’m not here. “Haven’t you got anything to say?” Standing, she pulls her suit up her body and slips one arm in, and then the other before reaching for the zip and dragging it up her back. She looks at me, and I wait, bracing myself, pensive.

  She inhales, like she’s ready to speak.

  But she doesn’t.

  She walks right on out, leaving me standing like a cunt in the middle of the women’s changing room, wondering what the fuck I need to do to penetrate her. Her walls are up, her defenses high. She won’t let me in.

  Ever again?

  I yell and punch the nearest locker, then stalk out, sweating frustration. We are not done. I don’t give a fuck where we are. Who’s here. What needs to be done. She does not get to come and fucking go as she pleases and expect me to hang around like a fucking puppy begging for any scraps of affection or sense she might throw my way. No.

  I yank the door open, charge out, and meet the full force of Danny’s body. He grunts, I grunt, both of us ricocheting off each other. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  “Intervention it is,” he says, putting up resistance, not letting me leave the changing room. “Now is not the time.”

  “Now’s the perfect time.” I strain against him, my shoulder pressing into him, each of us putting our full weight and more behind us. “Move, Danny.”

  “There’s a delivery to collect.”

  “And we’ll collect it.” Just as soon as I’ve dealt with my Houdini fiancée.

  Wait.

  I still.

  Think.

  Why’s Beau in a wetsuit? Where’s she going now? “Fuck.” The delivery. I relax, making Danny stagger forward. “She’s getting the delivery with Leon,” I murmur.