“I hope not, since I’m about to part with hundreds of thousands of my money for you.”

  “It’s mine.”

  “What?”

  “Your money. It’s mine. You left it to me three years ago when you drowned at sea. And the asking price is five million.”

  My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “What?”

  “Don’t worry. I think I can get her down to four.”

  “God, I fucking hate you.”

  “I’ll get over it. Have a lovely day, dear.” She hangs up, and I yell a few times, punching thin air before me.

  “Love,” someone says from behind me. I swing around. Higham. Is he for real? He’s going to come in here and brandish his fucking sarcasm? I look at the others, maybe searching for a sign that my thoughts are reasonable, because I seriously want to kill him.

  “Danny,” James says quietly. “Don’t do it.”

  I steam forward and take the prick off his feet, deciding today I get to do the torturing. He grunts when he lands, and I straddle him, sit up, and start launching my fists into his face one at a time, over and over.

  Bang, bang, bang, bang.

  “Danny, for fuck’s sake!”

  Bang, bang, bang, bang.

  Blood comes like rain hitting a lake and splashing up into my face, but still I don’t stop, the outlet exactly what I need.

  “Danny!”

  A pair of hands grab my shoulders and hauls me back, and I land on my arse a few feet away, my fists covered in blood, my face and suit splattered. Higham starts rolling around on the floor, his face a broken, bloodied mess, groaning. “Fucking hell, Black,” he chokes. “You fucking madman.”

  I snort, wiping my face with the sleeve of my jacket, and push myself to my feet, putting my boot in his stomach with force, making him cough. I drop to a knee, fist his jacket, and haul him up. “Why the fuck are you having coffee with Natalia Potter?”

  His face drops, and doesn’t that speak volumes?

  “Love his gentle approach,” James says, retreating, leaving me to my own devices. Good. Today I want to kill, and I don’t feel like doing it slowly. So much for my good mood.

  “Talk!”

  “I’m seeing her.” Higham strains the words, his face pained, and not because he’s in fucking agony.

  “What?”

  “I’m having a fucking affair, okay?” He pushes my hands away and sniffles, roughly wiping his bleeding nose with the back of his hand.

  “With the woman who wrote a report about me and James?”

  “Yes,” he yells, distressed. “Fucking hell, yes. I told her she was on dangerous ground. She wouldn’t fucking listen, would she? She’s young. Hungry.”

  I peek up at Otto. He said that. “So you didn’t feed her information on us?”

  “God no, I value my life.”

  “Then . . . who did?”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  “Oh, come on, Higham.”

  “I swear, she wouldn’t say.”

  “So, we need to have a little chat with your girlfriend?”

  His eyes widen, worried. I can’t figure out if he’s concerned for her or himself. “Danny, come on.”

  Yeah, maybe he’s sticking his dick in another woman, but how did they get to know each other in the first place? It’s all rather convenient if you ask me. I get my face up in his, fisting his jacket again. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Oh, how cozy is this?” a female voice asks. One I can’t claim to recognize.

  Higham’s bloodied face drops, and I hear a few quiet curses behind me. I look back, still with Higham in my grasp. Collins is standing in the club. Her smile salacious. “Oh, we finally get to chat,” I say, smiling. It’s as salacious as hers.

  She pouts, looking at Higham in my grasp. “Assaulting an FBI agent? I’ve only been here five seconds, and I already have a reason to arrest you.” She pulls out her cuffs and dangles them. Fuck me, I’ve met some cocky cops in my time, but this female is taking the fucking cake.

  “It’s fine, Collins,” Higham says. “This is FBI business, not MPD. I’m handling it.”

  “Your face suggests otherwise. Have you asked them about the explosion at Brad Black’s address?”

  “Gas leak,” I say flatly.

  “Yeah,” she purrs. “Do we believe them, Agent Higham?”

  Fuck, I want to punch her. This woman does not give two fucks about who she upsets on her path to success and recognition. She wanders over, and James steps into her path, looking down threatening. She’s not fazed, or if she is, she’s doing a really fucking good job of hiding it. “Oh.” She looks him up and down. “You must be the one they call The Enigma.”

  “You can call me James.”

  “How’s Beau?”

  Historically, such a simple question asked has ended in tears. So how’s he going to handle this? “Well, she’s not a cop anymore, so I think we can safely say she’s good.”

  Collins laughs. “Perhaps not so good when I arrest her for the murder of Marek Zielińska. I believe you all know him as The Shark.”

  My eyes shoot to James. Oh fuck.

  “Very interesting CCTV footage has come to light,” she goes on, wandering up and down, thoughtful, like Poirot used to do when he was detailing to an audience how he came to figure out who the murderer was. It’s fucking annoying. “Very interesting indeed.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” She stops pacing and rests all her weight on a hip. Cocky. “Then explain how I know you dumped the bodies in the incinerator bin. Explain how I know that you were hiding your girlfriend from The Shark with your body pressed to hers against the wall? Did it turn you on?” She grins. “Your girlfriend killing someone for you? Did your dick get hard?”

  Jesus. She needs to stop.

  James steps into Collins, breathing down on her. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Yes, that’s definitely a threat,” I say, getting up, leaving Higham to shuffle to his arse and prop himself up against a nearby booth.

  “Then I’ll take you both.” She produces another set of cuffs. “I’m doing well today, aren’t I?”

  “Blinding,” I retort, joining James. Intimidating much? She asked for it. “I present my wrists to her, as does James. “Which one of us are you taking first?” I ask.

  “I think I’ll call for backup. I sense a bit a friction, if you know what I mean.” She pulls out her mobile and steps back, taking her phone to her ear.

  “Where’s your partner?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “You sorts. You usually travel in pairs, don’t you?” I tilt my head in question and laugh. “Oh, I know. No one can work with you, can they? Because, like us, they end up just wanting to smash your fucking face in.” I look at Higham. “Am I right, or am I right?”

  He looks away.

  “I think you’re right,” James says, his eyes lasers on Collins.

  “I like my own company.” She goes back to her phone.

  “Or don’t like sharing the credit.”

  She shrugs. “I’m competitive.”

  “Be careful, Collins. That competitiveness might be the death of you.”

  She smirks. “Another threat?”

  “Yep,” James says.

  “You clearly like living on the edge. How’s your girlfriend. After she was shot?”

  Fuck.

  Another cop is about to be squashed, and it won’t be me firing the punches this time.

  “I heard she and Burrows have been getting friendly again.” Collins raises the phone to her ear, and I ask myself with true wonder if she realizes who she is poking? What he’s truly capable of? Or does she really think she’s above us because she’s holding a badge? This one isn’t fitting in our pockets, that’s for sure.

  “Incoming!”

  The guys at the bar all dive off their stools, and James rugby tackles me from the side, taking me off my feet. I look up, stunned, dazed, fucking confused. Fuck! Volodya and a gang of heavies are forming a line that spans half the space, and they are all armed with machine guns that start spraying the club.

  “Move,” James hisses, crawling combat style to a nearby booth and getting himself behind the wood, sitting up and pulling his gun.

  “That looks rather insufficient.” I join him, arming myself, and peek out, popping off one of the brutes. I have a quick scan. A very alive Collins has found her way to the end of the bar, her gun poised, ready to take a shot. It’s a crying fucking shame. Volodya could have done us a favor.

  “Danny!”

  I look toward the other end of the bar and see Mason. He holds up an AK47 and then slides it across the floor to me, followed in quick succession by another. I don’t know where the fuck they’ve come from, and in this moment, I don’t care. I toss one to James, load, and lean out, firing on the fuckers on a roar. I watch three drop and the others scatter like ants, and I retreat to reload, just as James takes my place and starts popping bullets.

  There’s a brief pause in noise, and I hear a door open. I look up and see Brad. His shoulder still strapped, his good hand holding a harpoon. A fucking harpoon. “Get back in there,” I warn.

  “Fuck off.” He fires, and I follow the arrow’s path until it ploughs straight through one of the Russian’s eye sockets, pinning him to the wall behind him. Jesus Christ. Brad retreats behind the door and James gets up on his knees, resting the tip of his gun on the top of the booth seating.

  “Where are the others?” I ask, joining him, scanning the place. Ten men walked in. There are only six lying on the club floor, and none of them are Volodya. “Pray do tell me they’ve not left, because I need that fucker dead now.”

  My phone dings in my hand, and a message from Otto appears. A link to a live stream. I click and see the club fill my screen. “They’re in the round booth nearest the door.”

  “Give me a cigarette,” James orders.

  Good idea. I fish them out of my pocket and light one for him, putting it between his lips before sorting myself out. I breath in the nicotine. Breathe it out. “Ready?”

  “Yep,” he exhales, moving out, creeping across the club, heading for the round booth by the door. I follow, my eyes split between the screen of my phone and where we’re heading. They’re reloading. James looks back at me and jerk his head, sending me to the other end. We crouch behind the booth. Then he holds up two fingers. Drops one. Then another.

  I nod, we stand, and point our guns over the top. “Hi.” I smile, my cigarette between my teeth, and we start raining bullets down on them, watching through the plumes of smoke before my eyes as their bodies jerk and jump and pieces of foam from the plush padded seats pop up into the air with beads of blood and chunks of flesh.

  I don’t ease off the trigger until it starts clicking, pulling on my cigarette and breathing out, relaxing. “I promised my wife today was just meetings.” I sneer, pulling my pistol and putting a bullet straight between Volodya’s open eyes. “That’s for making me break a promise to my wife.” I pop him again. “That’s for turning me over three years ago.” Bang! “And that’s for good fucking luck.”

  “I think he’s dead,” James says, setting his gun on the table of the booth, gazing around the club. “Everyone good?”

  Three heads pop up from behind the bar, followed by Mason.

  “Do you get asked for an AK with a dirty martini often?” I ask.

  He shrugs, assessing the state of his bar. All things considered, it isn’t too bad. “I might need a hand sorting this if you want us to open tonight.”

  I wander over to the bar and check the others, finding them all brushing glass shards gingerly from their clothes. Goldie has a few nicks on her face. I don’t address them. She won’t appreciate it.

  I walk to the end of the bar and find Collins still on her arse, still armed. I bet the fucking chamber is still full too. She didn’t want the Russians dead. “I’d say that was an unprovoked attack.”

  She gets to her feet, her eyes assessing the club, the bodies, the mess. “I’d say you’ve just given me”—she nods around the club, counting the bodies—“ten more reasons to arrest you.”

  “Really?” I ask tiredly. I should let James at her. But killing a cop is a whole different ballgame to killing ten Russians. We can lose the Russians and they won’t be missed. It’s trickier to lose a fucking cop. More of a headache. So, we need to think hard about how we handle this since, technically, we really have just given the cocky bitch ten reasons to arrest us. We’re in the state of Florida. If I’m going to die, I’d rather it not be by lethal injection.

  I look back at James as I take a final drag of my cigarette, asking him silently if he has any suggestions. His mild head shake tells me no. A few grand isn’t going to cut this. But a few million could. I drop my cigarette butt in a nearby empty glass and—

  Bang!

  I jump and swing around, just as Collins starts plummeting toward me. Confused as fuck, I hold out my arms, catching her. “What the fuck?” I ask, scanning the space behind her. I see Nolan at the door that leads to the offices, his gun still poised. “What the fucking hell?”

  He frowns. Lowers his gun. “Who is she?”

  I blink, recoil, and let Collins’s body drop to the floor. She lands on her back, eyes open, staring up. “She’s a dead cop,” I say, looking up at Brad, who’s just followed Nolan out.

  “A cop?” Nolan comes over, standing over Collins body. “I thought she was with them.” He looks up at me. “Fuck!”

  I lose my shit and swing at him, cracking him on a jaw and sending him sailing through the air. He lands on his back with a thud, and I march over to his startled, splayed form. “You,” I say, pointing a finger, “are a fucking liability.”

  “She’s a cop?”

  “Was, Nolan. She was a fucking cop, and now you have given me the biggest fucking headache!” He’s lucky I’m out of bullets or I’d shoot the fucker. Then I remember . . . I reach for his gun and snatch it, turning it on him.

  “Danny, I’m sorry!” His hands come up, his body curling into a protective ball. “I thought I was helping.”

  “Whoa,” Brad intercepts me, disarming me. “He fucked up.”

  “Yeah, he fucked up.” I look down at the dead cop in our club. Anger. “We’re fucked!”

  “Not necessarily.”

  I scowl in the direction of the voice and find the bloodied result of my handiwork before Volodya showed up. Higham struggles to his feet. “What are you saying?” I ask.

  “I’m saying you clearly don’t trust me. And I’m saying I can solve this.”

  “How?”

  “We get her across town. I’ll have someone call in a burglary. Make sure Collins’s radio answers the callout.”

  “And what do you want in return?” I ask. Never have I thought I’d get Higham onside. Then again, I don’t suppose I’ve left him much choice after the shootout at Winstable with the Poles.

  “You leave Natalia alone.”

  “Oh fuck,” I breathe. “You really are in love with her.”

  He looks away. “I’ll find out where she got the information from to print the article.”

  “You do that. And while you’re at it, you can get rid of the footage Collins was talking about that shows Beau shooting The Shark.”

  He nods. “I’m feeling a little worn out, Danny.”

  I laugh. “You cops all say that around this point in your careers.”

  “What, when they reach fifty-ish?”

  “No, Higham.” I drop my gun and leave. “When they meet me.”

  * * *

  Three o’clock comes and goes. Four o’clock. Five o-fucking-clock. “Where the fuck is she?” I yell, calling Bud on the gate once again.

  “Nothing,” he confirms.

  “Check the street. Any cars knocking around? Cops?” Anything that’s going to have her running?

  “Quiet.”

  “Fuck it!” I hang up and look at James. He shrugs. “Fat lot of fucking help you are.” I look at my watch. They’ll be coming back from the spa soon, and if Amber shows up late when the girls are here, there will be nothing I can do to save her. My phone rings, and I practically dive across my office to my desk. And curse some more when I see it’s Luis calling. And I remember . . .

  I glance at James. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? He knocks back a vodka, the earlier shootout having chased away his hangover. Funny how a minor dabble with death does that. “Cancel,” he says. He is thinking what I’m thinking. We haven’t got time for an exchange right now. The club’s a graveyard, currently being cleaned up, Amber’s nowhere to be seen, and we have a dead cop on our hands.

  I answer, not giving Luis a chance to ask. “I’m afraid we need to rearrange,” I say, working my way to the middle of the room and putting my phone on loudspeaker so everyone can hear just how pissed Luis will be.

  “No, Black, you obviously didn’t hear me before. I need the guns and I need them now.”

  “And you hear me now, Luis. I haven’t got time to deliver them. I’ll have your cash returned.” I cut the call and wait for the verdict.

  “Well, someone had to take Volodya’s place on our shit list,” Brad chirps.

  “Agree.” I laugh to myself. Where’s the fun in having no enemies at all? Now, where the fuck is Amber?

  34

  ROSE

  I peek over the top of my magazine to Beau. She looks as comfortable as I expected as she messes with her cell—not comfortable at all—her attention elsewhere. As it has been since we arrived. A distracted Beau makes me uneasy. I can only imagine how it makes James feel.

  Today is just meetings. That’s what Danny said. I don’t believe him, and now I’ve somehow gone from trying to keep Beau busy to buying a beauty spa. I’m rolling with the fates.

  If she pulls one of her disappearing stunts again, it could fuck everything up, Rose. We’re getting somewhere here.

  Getting somewhere. Does this mean this nightmare will soon be over? And . . . does Beau know?

  I slam the magazine shut with more force than I planned, silencing the room. Esther and Lawrence look back over their shoulders, their nails half painted, and Pearl and Anya lift their heads from the massage chairs. Beau, though? She doesn’t look up from her cell next to me where her toes are under a UV lamp. I wait for everyone to get back to whatever treatments they’re having and reach over, poking her. She looks up at me, vacant.