“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you here.”
“To wind down after a kill?” I retort, staggered. And it hits me for the first time. The worry. The nerves. Every time he leaves, I’ll be a wreck, wondering if he’ll be coming back. Who he’ll be killing.
James scowls, unimpressed. “Stow away that sarcasm, Beau. Now isn’t the time.”
“Now’s the perfect time,” I say, half laughing. “When you’ve left me here, when you’ve disappeared, had errands to run, you were killing men, weren’t you?”
“I was working toward justice,” he grates.
“And the opera house? You left me handcuffed to a chair while you murdered someone. Why the hell did you take me?”
“It would look a bit suspicious if a man was alone at an opera.”
He’s right. Especially a man as good-looking as James. “So I was an alibi?”
“No, you were my date.”
“It wasn’t much of a date,” I retort, indignant. “I didn’t see all the performance, my date disappeared for twenty minutes to commit murder, and I was restrained.”
His smirk is faint but filthy. “You didn’t enjoy me eating your pussy?”
My mouth snaps shut and the elevator dings in the distance. We both look toward the bathroom door. “Details of your next kill, I expect,” I say quietly as he rises, the water pouring down his hard physique like it could be tumbling down solid, perfectly cut rocks. He steps out and leans over, slamming a hard kiss on my lips. “Make sure you soak.”
“I don’t need to soak.”
“You do. You also need to start doing as you’re told.”
“Fuck you.”
He smirks. Another hard kiss, and I stubbornly yank my face away. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re insolent.”
I look out the corner of my eye at him. Damn that cute half-grin. It’s about as much as I’ve ever had out of James Kelly. And then he places a hand on my head and dunks me. He actually dunks me! The coldblooded assassin, The Enigma, the silent, invisible killer, just fucking dunked me.
“James!” I gasp when I break the surface, using my one good hand to wipe the water from my face. “You asshole.”
He strides out of the bathroom. “Soak,” he calls back.
I snort, outraged.
But I smile the brightest I’ve smiled in years.
And I wonder . . .
Could James find who killed my mother and put an end to them too?
56
JAMES
Relief. God, it feels good. But I have to remember I’m getting ahead of myself. She knows. But she doesn’t know.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I walk to the kitchen to greet Goldie, and the second I clap eyes on her, my relief falls. “What is it?” I ask as she reaches into her pocket and slaps something on the table. Photographs.
Photographs of this building.
Of me.
And of Beau.
What the fuck? My heart jumps, and I turn on my heel and race back up the stairs, bursting into the bathroom. The tub is empty. “No,” I breathe, backing up, going to my office. No Beau.
“Where was she?” Goldie asks, joining me on the landing.
I march into my bedroom. “In the tub.” No Beau. “Fuck!”
“What?” Beau appears in the doorway to my dressing room, looking on in alarm. Even more so when she sees Goldie behind me. “What’s up?”
What is that leaving my body? It feels like ten tons of fear. Fuck…me. But, shit, I need to play this down. “Nothing’s up,” I say, adjusting my towel, cringing. Beau’s not stupid, and here I am treating her like she’s stupid. I peek at her and see what I knew I would. Disbelief. “You didn’t soak for very long.”
I hear Goldie sigh from behind me and Beau’s eyes dart to her too. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she says, backing out of my bedroom. “Don’t be long.”
“I won’t.” I’ll be right along just as soon as I’ve pacified a woman who looks nowhere near close to being pacified.
“What’s going on?” Beau asks, awkwardly pulling in her towel tighter with one hand, trying to hold one side by clamping her arm to her hip. I can’t watch her struggle like that.
“Here.” I go to her, pulling it open and evening up each side before wrapping her up neatly and securely. Her eyes burn holes in me the entire time.
“What’s Goldie doing here?”
“Delivering the details of my next kill,” I quip, buying myself some time, quickly walking through my options. I have only one.
I grab a robe, help her into it, and take her hand, leading her out of my bedroom, down the stairs, unwilling to leave her alone, even in my own apartment. I place her on the couch, drape a throw over her, and hand her the remote control for the TV. “Give me five minutes.” I kiss her and leave her still looking stunned.
When I make it to Goldie at the island, she gives me a nod to confirm she’s scoped the place. I take my phone from my pocket and load my security app multi-view screen, placing it down before us, my eyes darting across each camera view. Nothing. No one here except us.
“Otto’s watching the rest of the cameras,” Goldie says quietly as I turn all the frosted glass inside my apartment to clear glass with one click of a button on my mobile, and make sure all the external glass is opaque so no one can see in. “There’s no one in the building.”
“How the fuck?” I whisper, perching on a stool, trying to keep my concern from my face, knowing Beau’s not too far away and she’s riddled with curiosity.
“You missed this picture.” Goldie spreads the photos and pushes one toward me, and I inhale when my twisted mind computes what I’m looking at.
Me.
A rifle in one hand, my balaclava hanging from the other, stalking out of a factory with murder etched all over my face. Not because I’d just committed it. But because Beau was missing.
“You fucked up,” Goldie murmurs, as I stare at the condemning image, wondering how I could have been so fucking stupid. I look over my shoulder to Beau, to the woman who’s made me stupid. She’s watching us closely. I don’t force a reassuring smile. It would be insulting her.
“I know,” I whisper, returning my attention forward. “I fucking know.”
“So what now?”
“Now I wait.” I get up and get two beers from the fridge, twisting the caps off each in turn before taking one to Beau. She looks up at me as she accepts, her expression screaming questions. Questions I can’t answer, because the truths will have her running. I tear my eyes away from hers and return to Goldie.
“Wait for what?” she asks.
“His call.” I take a slurp of my beer, wondering where he is. Plotting. Planning my demise. Because now he knows where to find me. What I look like. He’s played the game, and he’s played it well. “Be ready,” I tell her. “And I need you to pick some things up from Beau’s place.”
“Like what?”
“Her passport.”
“How the hell will I know where to find her passport.”
“Because Beau’s going to tell me.” I look to my side and find confusion that doesn’t suit Goldie plastered all over her face.
“She’s just going to jump on a private plane with you and go wherever the hell you say, is she?”
“Yes,” I answer surely, even if I feel anything but. “She knows who I am.”
“What?”
I smile on the inside. “She figured it out.”
Goldie laughs, and it’s one hundred percent sarcastic. “Did she figure out you were involved in her mother’s murder?”
My secret smile falls.
“Didn’t think so. What the fuck, Kel? Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Without question.”
“Then let me help you find it,” she hisses. “On your couch is a woman who is a sure-fire way to get yourself killed.” Her arm shoots toward the table where the photos lay. “I give you exhibit C.”
“What’s exhibit A and B?”
“Your dick and your fucking heart, my friend.” She stomps away, and my teeth naturally clench. But she won’t go far. Never will. Because Goldie couldn’t repay me in a thousand lifetimes for finding her and giving her a new purpose.
“James?” Beau calls from the couch, pulling my attention her way. Just tell her. Spill it all.
And then what?
She leaves.
And if she leaves, she’s dead.
And if Beau’s dead, I may as well be too.
My foot lifts from the floor to take the first step to her, but I’m halted by the sound of my phone vibrating behind me. I look back. “I’ve got to take that,” I say, swapping my beer for my phone and wandering away, feeling Beau’s eyes on my back as I go. As soon as I’m out of earshot, I answer. And as always, I remain silent, unwilling to kick off the conversation or the threats. Him, though? He’s straight in.
“All these years I was sure I would know your face when I saw it.”
I smile, and it’s as salacious as fuck. My father was a showman, yes. But he kept me, Mum, and my sister well away from the spotlight. I’d love nothing more than to tell him who I am. Why I’ve hunted him and his men for so long. Unfortunately, I can’t do that until I can look him in the eye. Right before I kill him. I’m dead. Otto made sure of that. I need to remain that way after this is over. “Annoyed?” I ask.
“Mildly. I lost a few good men for the cause. But whether I recognize you is irrelevant now. I know what you look like and where you are. So I’m one step ahead of you, yes?”
For the first time, yes. He’s one step ahead. But not for long. “Seems we’re both being enlightened these days.”
“Oh?”
“Nathan Butler,” I say simply, but I get no reaction. Not that I expected one.
“Beau Hayley,” he says instead and, fuck me, I react.
“She stays out of this.”
“You’ve put her in the center. That was very stupid if you want her to be safe.”
“She’s innocent.”
“She’s digging like her mother.”
My jaw feels like it could break. “She knows her mother’s death wasn’t an accident.”
He laughs. “Then perhaps you should convince her. If you want her to live, that is.”
“Do not push me.”
“Back off, and so will I.”
It should be an easy deal. Should be. “Never.”
“Every time you kill one of my men, I lose money. And patience.”
“I bleed for you,” I seethe, my blood burning my veins.
“Who are you?” His voice is suddenly lacking the lightness he kicked off with. “James Kelly, who the fuck are you and what do you want?”
“I’m your end,” I promise, hanging up and bracing my hands into the wall, breathing through my fury. And my fear. Because the bomb has started ticking. I’m running out of time, and it isn’t only me I need to worry about now.
I flinch when I feel a hand slide onto my shoulder. “Your whose end?” Beau asks quietly.
“Yours. Mine. His.” I clench my eyes closed and push away from the wall, turning to face her. I’m shaken. For the first time, my nemesis has me shook. And so has the woman before me. The pregnancy test flashes through my mind. It has to be playing on hers too. “Maybe your ex’s,” I add.
She retracts her hand like I could have burst into flames. “What?” she whispers.
“When were you last with him?” I ask, sounding harsher than I meant to. But, again, The Bear and his bombshell isn’t the only blow I’m dealing with.
Her round eyes stare at me in disbelief. “I assume you mean intimately.”
“Yes, I mean intimately.” She was at his place. Did he talk her into his bed? My gaze falls to her stomach, and I stare hard, my eyes burning. “When?”
“That’s none of your fucking business,” she retorts, stepping away.
I finally blink, dampening my dry eyes, trying to see straight. “None of my business?” I ask, stunned. “None of my fucking business?” I grab her uninjured hand, and all but manhandle her up the stairs.
“What the fuck, James?” she yells, unable to even try and pry my grip away. So she yanks and pulls instead.
“Shut up, Beau.” I turn and dip, getting her gently on my shoulder. “Don’t wriggle or you’ll hurt yourself.
“James!” she shouts as I cart her the rest of the way, taking her into the bathroom. “I’m not having another bath.”
“I didn’t say you were,” I place her down. “Wait,” I order, marching out of the bathroom. I go to my room, find the pregnancy test buried in my pile of clothes, and stomp back. “You’re doing this.” I hold it up and watch as her face falls and she retreats. But she’s silent, just staring at the harmless box. Harmless? Good God, this box could finish us both.
Enraged by that thought, I tear it open and slam it on the vanity unit. “So I’ll ask again.” I fold my arms over my chest like some kind of idiotic, proud twat. “When were you last intimate with your ex? Or any other man, for that matter?”
She backs up, her eyes still rooted on the test, until she meets the wall. Then she slowly slides down the tile until she’s a small bundle on the floor. “Nearly two years,” she says quietly, refusing to look at me. “I haven’t been with any men since Ollie.”
Something inside lifts. Stress. And doesn’t that speak volumes?
“Only you.” Her eyes drop to her feet, ashamed. She’s not refusing to look at me now. She simply can’t face me. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Sorry? She’s sorry? I look at the ceiling, my cheeks ballooning. Maybe she is, but never as sorry as me. “I thought we were protected.”
“I didn’t take the pill for protection. I took it to stabilize my periods. I only missed one,” she whispers. “And I’m not due until tomorrow, but since the doctor mentioned it, it’s all I can think of.”
“Fuck me,” I breathe, lowering to my arse and moving in close to her, my knees bent and framing her curled up body. “Look at me.” I take her chin and pull her face from its hiding place. Tears are bursting from her eyes, and it’s the most painful thing I’ve seen. “It’ll be okay.”
She chokes on a sob. Or was it a laugh? “You’re a murderer.”
It was a laugh. And, yes, okay, it’s quite fucking laughable. If it wasn’t so fucking tragic. “Not by nature,” I say, and then frown at myself. Am I going to just keep saying stupid shit? “I mean it’s not something I want to do.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because there was nothing else but that need.”
“And now?”
“Now there’s you.” I reach blindly for the vanity unit and pull down the test, holding it between us. She looks at it. “And maybe someone else,” I add.
Her shoulders jerk, her eyes round and surprised. But not happy. Not relieved. “I’m not mother material.” She hiccups over each word, and it shocks me that I feel hurt by that statement. And annoyed. “I can’t do it.” She’s suddenly up, standing over me.
“Do what, Beau?” I stand too, making sure she can’t get past me.
She points at the test in my hand, and I take the tops of her arms, moving her to the toilet and sitting her down on the lid. I crouch, holding the test up. She’s looking at it like it could be her end. “You don’t have a choice this time, Beau. No running.” I take her hand and put the test in her grasp, squeezing her fist around it. “I can stay, or I can wait outside. What’s it to be?” I know what I want to do, but what I want has to take a back seat for the time being.
“Stay. No, go. Stay.” She growls and stands, nearly knocking me back to my arse. “Go,” she says, resolute. “I need to be on my own.”
I don’t like it, but I give her what she thinks she wants and leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I turn around and find her on the other side, the now clear glass not giving her the privacy she’s requested. She shows the ceiling her
palms, and I reluctantly switch this pane of glass, and this one only, back to frosted. The lock engages, telling me she’ll only let me back in when she’s ready. It doesn’t matter that one shoulder barge could put me back in the bathroom. Or that with another press of a button, I would be able to see her. I’ll give her space.
I start to pace outside the door, walking in circles for what feels like forever, intermittently checking the security cameras while my head tangles more with every circuit.
Ten minutes pass, and there’s not been one sound from beyond the door. Nothing. How long do these things take? I lift my fist to knock but withdraw again when movement on one of the cameras catches my eye. I tap on the screen, bringing up that one camera’s live footage. My blood runs cold. “Fuck,” I hiss quietly, looking at the bathroom door, torn between speaking up or not. But I know Beau, and if I tell her to keep the door locked and stay put, she’ll do the exact opposite. So I mentally beg her to stay in the bathroom for another few minutes. Just a few minutes.
Because that’s all I need.
I haven’t got time to arm myself fully. Or even fucking dress myself. I take the stairs silently, three at a time, and sprint to the kitchen, pulling open a cupboard and feeling around the back of some books. I pull out the Heckler, grab the biggest kitchen knife I have, and head for the lift. I look down at the screen of my phone as I go, wondering how the fuck they got past Otto and Goldie. Where the fuck are they?
I pull up the rest of the cameras and scan them all. Nothing, except for the fucker in the stairwell. I board the elevator and smack the button for the next floor down.
And as the cart starts moving, something sounds above me.
I look up to the ceiling.
“You fucker,” I growl.
57
BEAU
My eyes won’t move from the white stick. My mind won’t stop praying for one line. It feels like I’ve been standing here for years, waiting and praying. He’s outside the door. Close but giving me space. I can feel him there. Tense. Stressed.
He has nothing on me.
I’m staring at the test on the back of the toilet so hard, my eyes are burning. One line. Please, just one line. One little li—
The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2 Page 31
