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“She said her family sent him. Something about her father’s estate. Her parents weren’t murdered in a burglary. Her father died in a drunk-driving accident.”
“So she lied?”
“Yes,” he grates, every question being thrown at him being answered with a tight jaw.
James’s hand appears in midair before us, distracting us both. Winning our attention. “Can we ask how King got Pearl’s mobile phone number if Otto gave her the new phone?”
I raise my brows. Brad maintains his fixed glare. “What happened to her old mobile?” I ask.
“She said she dropped it.”
I rest back, wondering, thinking. “Why won’t she talk?”
“Is she scared?” James asks.
“Of whom?” I ask. “King?” That infuriates me. “She should be fucking scared of us.” I rise slowly from the table, and Brad’s eyes follow me up. “If she’s set us up, she has to die. Simple. So are you going to fix this, or am I?”
Brad stubs out his smoke on the tabletop and gets up. I take that as his answer, and he stalks off toward Pearl.
“What’s he not telling us?” I muse, not liking his lack of talking or emotion.
“What did I miss?” Otto asks, breezing into the café, all smiles. Makes me want to knock it off his face.
“Pearl ran,” James says. “But you already knew that, because Brad called you to track her.” Both of us hold Otto in place with accusing eyes. It doesn’t faze him. “King called her on her cell after Brad found her on a train. She won’t talk.” At that moment, a bang rings out, and we all look toward Brad and Pearl, seeing his fist balled on the table and her back pressed into the back of the chair. Fuck, he looks livid. Good. So am I.
“How’d King get her number?” Otto asks, opening up his laptop.
“That’s what we’d like to know.” It could be as simple as Pearl gave it to him. It would be pretty fucking dumb of her, but I’ve got nothing else. “Anything on the bug on mine?”
“Nothing.”
I pout across the table at him. “Do I get to call you Stepdaddy yet?”
“Fuck off.”
James smiles, getting up and going to the fridge, collecting some beers. Beers and brainstorming. What the fuck is going on? “We pulled her out of a hangar at Winstable, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, my head hurting.
“Could have been planted to get in on the Poles,” Ringo muses.
“But why?” I scowl toward the decking.
“Or maybe she was planted to get in on us,” he adds.
“What does King want with us?”
“If he’s working with the Russians and Mexicans, maybe Pearl was his in. Someone on the inside to feed information to King who in turn feeds it to Sandy and Luis.”
“His in is supplying them. He doesn’t need Pearl spying on us. She needs to start talking.”
“Or else?” James asks, looking at me expectantly. “For fuck’s sake, Danny.” He slams a beer down and pulls his phone out when it chimes. “Ah. She knows I’m alive.” He scowls. “They’re at the salon.”
I growl. “What does my wife not understand when I say don’t leave the fucking house?” She better not argue with me when I put my foot down about St. Lucia. I check out on the veranda. “How long do we give them?” I ask, getting up and going to the doors. Brad’s sitting opposite Pearl, arms on the table, looking way too patient for my liking. I give him a gesture, like, well? He shakes his head. “For fuck’s sake.” I go back to the table and sit. Be patient, be patient.
“Hello, hello,” Ringo says. “What’s he doing back?” We all look over our shoulder. Higham’s marching across the café. I don’t like the expression on his face.
“Did you miss us?” I ask as Brad appears at the door, interested in Higham’s unexpected arrival too.
Higham doesn’t answer, coming to a stop at the table. I lift a beer. He looks like he needs one. “You have a problem.”
