I nod, agreeing, starting the car and pulling out as Rose relaxes in her seat, taking her phone to her ear to call Danny and put him out of his misery. Her move spikes my own, and I do the same. Except I don’t get to dial James, something catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

  Blue lights.

  Then . . . a siren.

  I let my phone slip from my hand, and I breathe in, holding my breath until my lungs are screaming as Rose looks back out of the window. “Oh fuck, Beau,” she whispers, as flashback after flashback assaults me. Nath. The cops who pulled us over. The gunshots.

  My foot becomes heavy on the gas, our speed picking up. “Is your seatbelt on?” I ask.

  “Yes, it’s on.” Rose’s fingers claw into the seat as I swing a right. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t yell. Because she knows we have no choice in this moment. I look up at the rearview mirror and pull a sharp left. “Fuck,” Rose blurts, her palm slapping into the window.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, taking an immediate right, bringing her flying across toward me. “Hold the handle,” I order, pointing to the top of the door. “And try not to tense too much.”

  She laughs and takes the handle. “My God, what the fuck are we doing?”

  I look up and see the blue lights gaining, the cop car matching every turn. I screech around the next corner, back onto the main road, and put my foot down. The light up ahead changes to yellow. “Fuck!”

  “Oh, God, Beau,” Rose sings, both hands taking the handle, her face hiding in her arm.

  I check the traffic, seeing a truck approaching the crossroad, ready to sail through and take us out. I need to beat it. If I don’t, we’re done. If I do, the cop car will be held up and we might stand a chance of making it back to the house alive and in one piece. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, flooring it, bracing my arms against the wheel, closing one eye.

  “Beau!”

  “I can make it.”

  “Fuck, Beau!”

  I start yelling, shying away from the wheel, hiding like Rose. The sound of the truck’s horn blares, along with other cars. Brakes screeching, smoke rising from tires.

  The truck about ready to plough into the side of us.

  “Fuck!” I feel the back end of the car brush with the nose of the truck. “Oh my God!”

  “Shit,” Rose gasps, her hand on her chest, looking back. I peek up at the rearview mirror to see the truck in the middle of the road, a faint blue glow surrounding it from the police car behind it.

  I nearly lose my breath when I see the car appear around the truck. Not giving up. “Shit,” I whisper, pulling a sharp left, then a right, then another left. I screech down the bumpy road and skid out onto another main road, then back into another alleyway. I stop and look at Rose. “Out.”

  “What?”

  “Rose, they might catch up with me. You can’t be in the car when they do. That door leads into a hotel. Get Danny to pick you up.”

  Her face falls. “No, Beau.”

  I growl and get out, rounding the car and opening the door, physically removing her. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Beau, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Get in the fucking hotel, Rose,” I yell, and she flinches, moving back, stung. I take a few calming breaths and quickly hug her. Then I get in the car and drive off, looking down at my lap when my phone rings. It’s not who I expected.

  “Beau?” Ollie’s voice sounds frantic with worry.

  “Was that you behind me?”

  “No, fuck, no, Beau!”

  “Then who?” I yell, turning onto the street. “Who the fucking hell is it chasing me in a cop car?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “You’re lying!”

  “Jesus Christ, I am not lying.”

  I look up and see the blue lights through the haze of my watery vision. “Is that you behind me now?” I listen carefully down the line. And I hear it. The sirens. It is him. I hang up and smack the steering when on a yell, then take the next turning for the freeway, heading toward MIA.

  And the bank.

  * * *

  I park on a nearby back street and go to the front of the building, peeking through the glass doors and gazing around. It’s quiet. To be expected in this part of town at this time of night.

  But then I see something and move to the side to conceal myself. I recognize him. It’s the guy I saw in the picture on Danny’s desk and at the Minute Key. Kenny Spittle.

  Didn’t they shoot this piece of shit?

  I pull my gun and wait, and as soon as he turns to lock the door behind him, I wedge it in his temple. He stills. Curses.

  “Open up,” I say.

  He inhales sharply and peeks out the corner of his eye to see if it’s really me.

  “The Brit and The Enigma won’t show up to save you this time.” I force the gun farther into his temple as I pat him down, checking he’s clear, before taking the briefcase in his hand and tossing it into a nearby bush.

  “I’m legit,” he says, sounding panicked as he pushes his way in, me following. “Do you think after what I’ve been through with those two I’d fuck up again? They held me in a metal container for weeks, for fuck’s sake. Starved me!”

  “Shut up.” I lead him with my gun to the next door. “Where’s security?”

  “Through there.” He points to a closed door, and the sound of a TV drifts into my ears. A football game.

  I gaze around at the cameras pointing down on us. “How many work?”

  “What? All of them.”

  That’s unfortunate, but I haven’t got time or the resources to fix that. They’ll see me soon. “Open.”

  His shaking hands fumble over the keys until he finally gets it open, revealing more doors.

  “Where’s the vault?”

  “Oh God, I’ll go to prison!”

  “I’m not here to rob you.” I hold up a key. “Familiar?”

  He nods and points to a door. “Oh Jesus. The vault’s through there.”

  “Open.” I demand, waving my gun. Spittle holds a key to a pad and then his eye to the scanner, and the door pings open as he starts praying while he goes through the motions of opening the vault.

  When the colossal metal door drifts open, I inhale, momentarily losing my focus. A moment is all it takes. Spittle moves fast, facing me, and I fire before I have a chance to think about where I’m shooting him. Blood splatters against the wall, and I look away on a wince. “Shit,” I breathe, telling myself, forcing myself to calm the hell down. I find Spittle face up, eyes open, a hole in his head. Fuck! I still, listening for any sounds of security coming to investigate. Nothing. I frown and step toward the door, hearing cheering from the security room, then look up and around at the cameras. Uneasy, I take Spittle’s legs and pull him to the door, using his body to wedge it open.

  Then I start trying all of the boxes, looking up every time I hear a sound, pausing my search, bracing myself for a security guard to come running in. No one does. Box after box refuse to open, until . . .

  The key turns, and I inhale at the sound of a lock shifting. I open the box, tense, finding a piece of paper, and with shaking hands, I unfold it.

  A letter.

  From my father.

  And with each word, my heart slows more.

  Beau, If you’re reading this, you’ve found out something I desperately didn’t want you to know.

  I’m so sorry…

  “Beau?”

  I still, staring down at the words before me, frozen. The voice behind me spikes both comfort and distress.

  And then a sharp stab in my arm has me dropping the paper.

  And everything is . . .

  Black.

  37

  DANNY

  James screeches up outside the hotel, and I’m out before he’s brought his Range to a stop, sprinting up the steps and bursting into the lobby, frantically scanning the space for Rose.

  I don’t see her.

  I turn on the spot, my stressed sweat starting to meet the collar of my shirt. “Where are you, Rose?” I say to myself, raking a shaky hand through my hair as I stalk around, dialing her. It goes straight to voicemail. “Fuck!” Have I got the wrong hotel? I run to the reception desk and thrust my phone at the woman, showing her the photo of Rose on the beach in St. Lucia that dominates the screen. “Have you seen this woman?”

  The receptionist leans back, wary, her eyes jumping from the deranged man before her and his mobile. “I’m sorry, no.”

  “Can I help you, sir?” A man steps forward, suited and booted, looking all important. I look down at the gold badge on his blazer. The manager.

  “I’m looking for someone,” I say, showing him the screen. He doesn’t bless it with even a look, instead raising his chin. I mentally warn him not to be difficult. My patience is non-existent. He’s lucky I’m not already tearing up his hotel.

  “I’m afraid guest confidentiality is something we take very seriously.”

  “She’s not a guest,” I grate, my hand squeezing my phone. It’s that or this cunt’s throat. “Have you seen her?”

  He still doesn’t look at the screen. Is he detecting the unexploded human bomb before him? The heat rises from my toes, burning the worry away and replacing it with something this prick definitely doesn’t want to see in his hotel. The woman moves back as I reach for the glass jug on the counter and wrap a hand around the neck, turning it upside down. The water pours out all over the marble counter and he looks at the weapon in my hand.

  No second chances. And with that thought, I draw back the jug.

  “Danny.”

  My name breaks through the mist of fury and I still, ready to launch, and look back. James has Rose under his big arm. I drop the jug, letting it shatter everywhere, and jog over, my lungs tight, relieved. I grab her and haul her into my chest, squeezing the life out of her. “Thank God,” I whisper, over and over, looking to the heavens. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “We need to get out of here,” James says, taking the top of my arm, jerking his head back toward the entrance. I look over my shoulder and see the manager with a phone shaking at his ear. I turn Rose around, tuck her into my side, and lead her out onto the street where James has abandoned the car. We make it to the passenger side, and I release her, finally taking the time to check her over. Legs, stomach, chest, neck, face.

  My eyes land on hers, just as she delivers a belter of a slap across my cheek, snapping my head to the side. “You promised to look after Amber?” she seethes.

  I close my eyes and roll my jaw. It grinds, cracks, aches. “Now is not the time for your temper, Rose.”

  I peek up at James. I’ve found mine. She’s fuming, but at least she’s safe and well. He gets in the car, his way of communicating we should leave, and I dare to look at Rose again. Her cheeks are stained with streaks, her eye makeup is smudged, her lashes sticking together.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” I whisper. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  Her shoulders jerk, she lets out a ragged breath, and I haul her back into me, cuddling her, holding her, making a mental vow to never let her out of my sight ever again. It’s wishful thinking, I know that. “Get in,” I order, opening the back door and helping her. She shifts across the seat, and I slide in next to her.

  James pulls away immediately, glancing up at me in the mirror. I nod, turning to Rose and taking her hands. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what happened.”

  She looks at James and reaches forward resting a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you.”

  He looks away, his face pained. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I see his nostrils flare, watch his knuckles go white around the steering wheel. “Please talk, Rose, before I smash this town up,” James says so calmly, it’s pretty fucking terrifying. The Enigma. I’m seeing more of him recently than in all the time I’ve known James.

  “We went to Amber’s,” Rose starts hastily, releasing her hand from his shoulder, probably from being burned by the sheer temperature of his body. “She was at the apartment that Beau’s dad said he would buy for her. Hiding out, I think.”

  I flick my eyes to James. “Go on,” I say, taking her hand as James takes a right and pulls up at the side of the road, turning in his seat to give Rose his full attention too.

  “We couldn’t get into the elevator, but Beau figured out the code. It was the date of her mom’s memorial.”

  What the fuck?

  The looks flying around this car are non-stop, and I have a feeling they’re only going to increase.

  “Amber was there.” Rose looks at me with a smidge of resentment that is really fucking misplaced right now. “She said some pretty awful things to Beau.”

  “Like?”

  “Goading her. About her dad, about the money. I tried to get Beau to leave.”

  Something tells me she didn’t succeed. At least, not before . . . I can’t think it. “And?”

  “And then she called me your latest whore.”

  “And?” I ask, leaning back.

  Rose’s lip trembles as she chews it nervously. “And I shot her.”

  “Oh Jesus.” I rake a hand through my hair, slumping back in the seat.

  “You shot Amber?” James asks.

  “Yes.” Her voice wobbles. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was cooling down, talking myself out of killing her, then I opened my eyes and my hand lifted. I couldn’t stop it. I shot her.”

  “So where’s the fucking body?” James asks.

  My brain slowly gets over the shock and catches up. I turn my attention to Rose. She’s frowning. “We left it—”

  “Rose, baby, we’ve just come from that penthouse. There was no body.”

  “But it was there on the rug! We left it and ran because—” She stops, the lines on her forehead multiplying. James and I both wait for her to find the next words, words I’m pretty fucking certain we’re not going to like. “Because Beau’s ex-fiancé showed up.”

  “What?” James blurts. “Burrows?”

  “Yes,” Rose whispers. “We left. He came after us.”

  “Fuck!” He slams his fist into the dashboard and starts his Range, pulling off fast.

  38

  JAMES

  “Talk to me,” I demand, sweating fucking fury.

  “She’s at Mid Bank,” Otto says down the line, sounding grave.

  “What the fuck is she doing there?” The bank where her mother’s safety deposit box was held? The empty safety deposit box. Empty because The Bear found it before we did with a little help from the bent manager Spittle. I hang up on Otto and look at Danny in the rearview mirror. “We should never have let that prick go.”

  “The key,” Rose says out of nowhere.

  The words have me losing concentration on the road for a split second, making Danny yell and me swerve. “Fucking hell,” he breathes as I miss a man on a bike by a whisker.

  “A key?” I say, splitting my attention between Rose and the road, heading for Mid Bank.

  “Amber had a key. Beau took it.” Her eyes dart, as if she’s struggling to piece together the events.

  “Think hard, Rose,” I say as softly as I can.

  “Come on, baby,” Danny says, soothingly. “We need details.”

  “Amber pulled a key out. Asked if that is why we were there. I was trying to get Beau to leave. I could see she was going to snap. But then I saw Ollie on the surveillance screens in the office. I was distracted. Amber barged me to the floor and got my gun.”

  “You had a gun?” Danny asks, proverbial steam coming from his ears.

  “Yes, I had a gun.” Rose’s eyes narrow. “Amber told me you were going to look after her. I believe you’ve killed men for less where I’m concerned.”

  Danny can’t argue with that. “And you ran,” he finishes, putting aside his grievance for now. If Amber was still alive, Danny would kill her.

  “Yes, we ran, but as soon as we were on the main street the cops came after us.”

  The cops? Or Burrows? “Anything else?”

  “Beau dropped me at the hotel, and I tried to stop her, but she removed me from the car and refused to listen.” Her eyes overflow again. “I tried to stop her.”

  I blink slowly, going back to the road and focusing on getting us to Mid Bank without killing us. I know Rose would have tried. I know Beau would have won.

  I also know how much Beau loves Rose. She knows she’s walking into danger and she didn’t want to expose her pregnant friend to that.

  God help me.

  * * *

  Otto makes it to the bank before we do. “Cameras are all cut,” he says, falling into stride beside me. “Doors all open.”

  “Is she here?” I ask, getting straight to the point.

  “No. Her phone’s fallen out of service.”

  “Not switched off?” I ask, sounding robotic. It’s the only way right now.

  “I’m waiting for it to come back online.” Otto leads the way into the bank, and I follow him, scanning the place. “Spittle’s dead,” he says, just as my eyes fall onto his body wedged between the door and the frame into the vault, a trail of blood leading there. “He was dragged.”

  I assess the scene, the blood, the pieces of Spittle’s brain coating the wall.

  “Two security guards through there also dead.” Otto leads me into the vault, both of us stepping over Spittle’s dead body. “No call has been put into the police yet.” He goes on, as my eyes find the open safety deposit box on the counter.

  “Beau and Rose found Amber,” I tell Otto, giving him a quick, emotionless rundown. “She had a key. Beau took it after Rose shot Amber.”

  “Rose shot Amber?”

  I nod. “Burrows showed up. They ran. I think he cleaned up the body.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he thinks Beau killed her and he wants to protect Beau.” I laugh under my breath, walking over to the box, wondering what the fuck was in there. Burrows’s name? How the fuck did Amber come to have the key? And was that why he was at Amber’s place? The man we’ve all hated, all wanted dead. The man who’s been present yet absent. Hiding when his fucking ducks were no longer all in a row. The man with the largest reach with every criminal house . . . except us.