The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  I flinch when I feel her touch on my shoulder. “I want justice.” She takes my hand and places it on her stomach, and I look up at her. “I can’t move on until then. I know it’s fucked up, but I have to prove for my own sanity that Mom’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  Fucked up? She’s pretty fucking perfect in her own fucked-up way. I yank her onto my lap and hug her to my chest. “I want justice for your mum too. But by digging, I’m risking exposing myself.”

  She frowns. “How?”

  “Your mum figured out who I was,” I whisper. “She said she was keeping my identity as security. You pushing an appeal into the circumstances of her death wasn’t only bad news for The Bear and Butler, it was bad news for me too.” The video footage case in point.

  “So why show me the CCTV footage now? They’re risking exposing themselves too.”

  “No one will see that footage.”

  “I have a copy.”

  “It’s a cut version, Beau.” And even if it wasn’t, she’d be dead before she could share it.

  She closes her eyes, shaking her head, as if trying to let the information settle. “So you found me,” she whispers, looking at me.

  “And I wanted to kill you,” I admit quietly, hoping she’ll forgive me, since she just shot at me herself. “But only because I wanted to physically get rid of you to stop the crazy in my head every time I saw you. And because I knew you’d be the end of me. And you are.”

  “The end of you?”

  “The end of this me.”

  “I kind of like this you,” she whispers, almost reluctantly. I smile. Perfectly fucked up. Both of us.

  “I need to ask you something.”

  She stills. “What?”

  “Did your mum leave you anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a safety deposit box key?”

  “That’s very specific.” She leans back, eyeing me with suspicion. “And also the reason, I expect, why you conveniently brought up a conversation about safety deposit boxes the other day.”

  I shrug. “I found a record for an account held by Dolly Daydream.” I raise a brow when Beau’s eyes widen. “Knowing your mum as I knew her, she would always cover her arse. Put security measures in place.”

  “You think she’s put your identity in there?”

  “It’s a possibility. Along with other information that might be of use to me.”

  “Is that the only reason you hunted me down?”

  I inwardly roll my eyes at her indignant face. “If I hunted you, you’d know about it.” I lean forward until our noses meet. “I’m hoping now that you’re carrying my baby, you might help me find the key to that safety deposit box to eliminate any possibility of your child’s father being murdered or put behind bars for thirty life sentences.”

  “Thirty?” she blurts. “Fuck me, is that how many men you’ve killed?”

  My lips straighten, and she pouts.

  “I don’t know about any safety deposit box. Or key.” She looks truly sorry about that. “So what now?”

  I pull her in, smoothing her hair from her face. “I find another way.”

  “You kill more men,” she says quietly. “Before they kill you.”

  Basically, yes. All while keeping Beau safe too.

  59

  BEAU

  I sink my teeth into the toast and chew slowly, staring at the kitchen window. There’s no view today, the glass still frosted, closing me in. Keeping us safe. On one hand, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. On the other, I feel even heavier than before. A key. A box. It’s driving me insane.

  And Nath.

  I don’t want to believe it’s true, and yet it makes sense. His reluctance to help me. His evasiveness. His weird behavior recently. His dislike for James—a man he’s never even met. I need to know what the hell happened to get him in up to his eyeballs. And, maybe, convince James to let him live. I’m not a monster, after all. But James . . .

  My cell starts dancing across the counter. “Oh no,” I mumble around my toast, leaning back.

  “Who is it?”

  I twirl around and find James coming down the stairs. He’s still in his boxers. I’m still in his T-shirt. All morning, he’s not let me leave his sight, except for just now, when he used the bathroom. But I know he had the cameras up on his phone the whole time.

  “My uncle.” I brush my hands off, not only to get rid of the crumbs. “I need to build up to that conversation.”

  “What conversation?” James asks, giving my thigh a squeeze as he passes me to the fridge. “That I’m a cold-blooded killer?”

  “Stop it.” I roll my eyes and turn on my stool to face him across the island. “You’re not cold-blooded.”

  “Hot-blooded?” He gives me high brows, downing some water, and I laugh. Then James stills, the water in midair. “What?” I ask, suddenly worried. Did he hear something? See something? I glance around his apartment.

  “I’ve never seen you laugh before,” he says quietly. And it occurs to me. I’ve never seen him laugh either. Nor have I heard him. “Do it again.”

  “What, laugh?” I ask, and he nods. “I can’t just laugh on demand.”

  He pouts and sets his bottle of water aside, and I see something in James that’s new. Mischief. “Laugh,” he orders, leaning across the island, his eyes glimmering.

  “I can’t just laugh.”

  He hums, drumming his fingers, his mischief growing.

  “Whatever you’re planning on doing,” I say, tilting my head, “don’t do it.”

  He tilts his right back, and just as I’m bracing myself to run, his arm shoots across the island at lightning speed and seizes me. I gasp. James grins. “I saw you moving before you thought to move yourself,” he says, far too smugly, staring me down across the island, his hold of my wrist solid. I’m not concerned.

  “You’ll have to release me to get around the island to me,” I point out haughtily. “And then I’ll run.”

  “Who says I have to release you?”

  “Oh.” I nod, looking as sarcastic as could be. “Do they call you Mr. Tickle, as well as The Enigma?”

  He can’t restrain his smile. Neither can I. “Tickle,” he muses, and I solidify on my stool. No. No tickling. I can’t stand it. He needs to release me to get to me, and as soon as he does, I’m out of here. I’ll lock myself in his bathroom. Just as I think that, James braces a hand into the counter and launches himself up.

  “Oh,” I murmur as he flies across the island. Literally. He didn’t even jolt my arm. One swift swivel and drop has him on the stool next to me, my wrist still in his hold. Fuck it. I lift my cast. “This is a white flag.”

  And there it is. A laugh. It’s rich and deep and like a balm to my broken heart. And that’s just the sound. The sight makes me fall a little harder. I sit, admiring him, lost, dazed. Stunning.

  Once he’s gathered himself, James stands me up and walks me back to the rug by the window. He silently lowers me to my back and sits over my thighs. Not my stomach, but my thighs.

  I’m rigid beneath him, unable to appreciate his gorgeous form or his twinkling eyes. “Please don’t,” I beg.

  “Then laugh,” he whispers, and I tilt my head back, clenching my eyes closed.

  “I can’t just laugh.”

  “Try.”

  “Ha!” I blurt like a fool. “Hahahahaha!”

  “Lame.” He digs me under my arm, and I burst into a fit of hysterics.

  “No!” Oh my Jesus, torture! “Stop,” I splutter over my laugh. “Please, stop.”

  He does, and I’m surprised. Then he shoots up, and I’m worried. “What is it?” I ask.

  “The sensor on the front entrance,” he says, going to his cell and checking a few things before taking it to his ear. “Visitors? Who?” he asks, coming back to me, his pace faltering. “Oh?” He holds his hand out for me, and I take it and let him pull me to my feet. I’m not grateful I got off lightly. I’m too concerne
d by these visitors.

  He hangs up, his lips straightening. “You have visitors.”

  “Oh no,” I breathe, pacing to the kitchen and getting my cell. I find three missed calls and a message threatening to come here. “Shit.” I slam it down. “Time to be roasted.”

  “That’s not fucking funny, Beau,” James mutters, collecting me and guiding me to the stairs.

  I don’t have the mental capacity to be remorseful of my choice of words. “I think it’s best I see him alone.”

  “Forget it,” he snaps.

  I grimace at the space before me. “Don’t be so unreasonable.”

  James releases me from his hold when we make it to the bedroom and goes into his dressing room, while I scratch around for something to throw on. He comes out moments later in his jeans, dragging a T-shirt over his head. He’s grouchy, and my inappropriate comment isn’t the only reason. He has bigger issues than my family politics.

  “Worried I’ll let them convince me to walk away?” I ask, removing my T-shirt.

  James laughs under his breath, then falters, his eyes climbing my body to my face. He scowls. “No.”

  I sigh. “Can we agree on one thing?”

  “Depends what it is.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, what’s got into you? You’re behaving like a petulant school boy.” It’s actually quite hilarious, this heartless killer sulking like a brat. I pull my shirt on and start buttoning it with one hand. “I’m not telling them about this.” I take my index fingers and point them at my stomach. “Not yet.”

  James stalks toward me and stops, dropping a kiss on my cheek. “Agreed.” He heads toward the bathroom, leaving me a little shell-shocked in the middle of his room.

  “Oh,” I say to myself, going to the bed and sitting on the edge. That was easier than I thought it would be.

  “You ready?” he asks, coming toward me with his hands in his hair, coaxing it into place. I smile, and he stops. “What?”

  “Trying to make a good impression?”

  “No, I’m trying to keep busy to stop myself thinking about all the things I should say to your uncles.”

  “Like what?”

  “Fuck off.”

  I press my lips together to stop my laugh. He seems so tense. Could it be nerves?

  “You can laugh,” he mutters, and I fall back on the bed, clenching my stomach. Am I going crazy? I shouldn’t be laughing. Not after the shitstorm and avalanche of information I’ve been hit with. I should be rocking back and forth in the corner. Crying. Screaming. Booking a lifetime’s worth of therapy sessions, but, instead, I’m laughing.

  My body jerks, and I sigh, laugh, sigh, laugh, unable to get a hold of myself. Wiping at my wet eyes, I open them and come face to face with James. He’s bemused, his forehead a map of lines. “You done?”

  And then I burst into tears. What the fuck is wrong with me? My sobs rack my body as much as my laughing fit, and I cover my face, hiding. “I don’t want to do it. I just want to disappear.”

  “We can do that.” He lays himself all over me, not resting his entire weight, cupping my cheeks with his big hands. “Disappear. I’m a master at it.”

  I laugh over my sob, and James dips and kisses the wetness away from my cheeks. “I’m just fed up with fighting everyone. Why can’t they just leave me be? Ollie calling Nath, Lawrence calling everyone, Dexter turning up at Nath’s—all to deal with me. I’m fine.”

  He’s quiet for a while, looking at me in a way that suggests he feels as sorry for me as I feel for myself. “What do you want to do?”

  I know what I want to do, but I can’t do it. Lawrence would have a breakdown if I disappeared. I have to clear the air with him. Make him see James is good for me. It shouldn’t be too hard. After all, to Lawrence, James is just a regular man with a regular job, living in a not-too regular glass box. For fuck’s sake. “I should see him.”

  He nods and stands, pulling me to my feet and handing me my jeans. “It’ll be okay.”

  I pull them on, and James reclaims me. I wish I could believe him. I don’t know what happens after today. After Lawrence. After Nath. My father doesn’t matter, and neither does Ollie. All I know is we can’t stay here, and James must already have plans in place because he’s asked if I have a passport and those bags are still by the door.

  The sound of the elevator opening has my hand squeezing around James’s tighter, and when we make it to the top of the stairs, I see him. My uncle. And Dexter. Neither man can hide their awe as they step off, gazing around. “Makes sense now,” Dexter says quietly, grunting when Lawrence’s elbow sinks into his side.

  They both see us coming down the stairs at the same time. “Oh God,” I breathe, feeling James’s thumb stroking over the top of my hand.

  “It’s fine.”

  Is it? Not judging by the look on my uncle’s face. “Hi,” I say as we reach the bottom, letting James guide me to a stool at the island. Lawrence doesn’t reply, his eyes following us the entire way. The silence is so awkward.

  “Can I get you a drink?” James asks, going to the fridge.

  “We’re not staying.” Lawrence appears to roll his shoulders. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

  James’s motions falter, his hand on the door, two bottles of water in his other hand. He slowly shuts the fridge, nodding mildly to himself. “Beau?”

  “Maybe it’s best,” I say, needing to be rid of this awful atmosphere.

  “For whom?” James counters, sliding one of the bottles across to me. “Not for me. And not for you.”

  “James,” I plead, looking at him with imploring eyes. “Please.”

  “Are you worried we’ll make her see sense?” my uncle asks.

  “Lawrence,” Dexter pipes in warningly.

  “Listen to your lover.” James grinds the words out, not looking at either of them, his focus set on me. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

  “Why, what will you do?” Lawrence steps forward, and I stand, ready to stop him getting into something that he really isn’t equipped to deal with.

  “Stop this madness,” I snap. “Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Happy?” He laughs sardonically. “Beau, you hardly know this man. And since you have, you’ve sustained more injuries in a few weeks than you have in your entire life.” My guess is he’s now focused on the bruise forming on my cheek, courtesy of Goldie. I look to Dexter, willing him to step in and reason with Lawrence. But he doesn’t, his loyalty to my uncle preventing him.

  “Stop dreaming up issues.” James rounds the island and takes a stool next to me, showing his position. Unmoving.

  “I thought you were leaving,” Lawrence spits.

  “I’m exactly where I should be.” James takes my hand, and the look Lawrence throws his way as a result is pure filth.

  “You will know when I talk to you because I’ll look at you.”

  I recoil, stunned. Who is this man? “Lawrence,” I whisper, stung on James’s behalf.

  “And why are you so quiet?” My uncle swings toward Dexter. “We agreed. Beau needs to come home.”

  “And maybe there’s a better way to make that happen,” Dexter says, reaching for his brow and rubbing into the creases. “Force obviously isn’t it.”

  “Force?” James mimics, almost laughing. I can sense his body tensing beside me, his back straightening. “I’ve had enough of this shit. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

  I fold in on myself, defeated, and yet I can’t blame James for being at the end of his rope. Lawrence has walked into his home, thrown insults, and shown absolutely no willingness to reason. No acceptance. Only ignorance. He’s more like my father than I thought.

  “You’re going to let him speak to me like that?” Lawrence asks me. I remain silent, so he turns to Dexter. “And you? You’re happy about this? We need to get her away before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for what?” I ask, completely exasperated. It’s the most ironic situation. They
know nothing, thank God. Their issues aren’t even issues. And all I can think is, if only they did know . . .

  “She’s pregnant,” James says, his voice quiet, but the words echo around the apartment loudly, banging off all the glass. My jaw falls open, and I look at him disbelievingly. “So it’s already too late. Would be with or without my baby inside her.”

  Lawrence very nearly falls over, and Dexter looks like he’s gone into shock, standing there, silent, staring. I can’t believe he’s done this. We agreed.

  “Oh my Christ, this is a disaster,” Lawrence wails, virtually staggering to a stool and collapsing onto it. He starts to hyperventilate. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

  I roll my eyes and unscrew the cap of my bottle, passing him the water. “Stop being so fucking dramatic.”

  I see James out the corner of my eye looking all too smug with himself, and I knee him, narrowing displeased eyes onto him when he turns my way. He’s taking far too much pleasure from my uncle’s shock.

  “I’m done,” he says, showing absolutely no remorse for throwing me under the bus.

  “Pregnant?” Dexter finally splutters, blinking his way out of his trance. “You’re pregnant?”

  “I’m pregnant,” I confirm, hearing myself say it for the first time. Odd doesn’t cover it.

  “But you’re not fit to be a mother,” Dexter blurts, and then quickly looks very sorry.

  “Excuse me?” James’s back straightens.

  “I didn’t mean that.” He, too, staggers toward a stool and collapses onto it.

  “Dexter?” I ask, deeply hurt, even if I can’t really blame him for blurting something so unkind. But is that what they think? That I’m not fit? I feel myself shrinking on my stool, feeling so small. Unfit. Unstable. Unprepared. It’s all true. Look at me. Look at my history. And the father?

  I peek across to James, my eyes welling with unstoppable tears, but I still see the unbridled fury brewing. “Enough,” he snaps, standing from the stool. “Get out.”