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“No more anything.” She stares me down, refusing to look away from me, strong and firm in her stance. “You and me.” Her finger drifts between us. “We’re impossible.”
“Who says?”
“Me.” She turns away and drops her eyes from the mirror, hiding from me. “We’re toxic all on our own. Together, we’re poison.”
And explosive. And perfect for each other. I engage my muscles to approach, but hear footsteps coming from behind.
“Danny, for Christ’s sake, we’re late.” Brad takes in the scene, but impatience won’t allow him to take in the atmosphere. “Let’s go.” He reverses his steps, jerking his head. “Now.”
“This isn’t done,” I tell Rose, backing up.
“No, Danny, it’s done.” She looks up, and I swear there are tears in her eyes. “Trust me.”
I shake my head, not prepared to believe it. “I’ll be back,” I say, turning and leaving the room. I pull the door closed and take my keys from my pocket, locking it with the master. Something unsettling tells me that Rose doesn’t plan on being here when I get back, so I need to ensure she is. And not only because we’ve got shit to iron out, but because, as Adams pointed out, his contact wouldn’t think twice about killing her. “Not a word,” I warn Brad as we head back downstairs.
“Fine.”
“Talk to me.”
“It’s the shooter from the hospital. He’s dead.”
“What the fuck?”
“I went to the prison this morning. They turned me away. He was found in his cell. Twenty stab wounds to the neck. Worried he’d talk, I expect.”
“Fucking great.” I shake my head to myself.
“And Adams—”
“Don’t tell me he’s dead too.”
“No, he’s hiding. Somewhere in the Hamptons, but not at his own place. Don’t worry, we’ll smoke him out.”
Amber is loitering in the entrance hall when we make it there. “Go home,” I order without looking at her, striding down the steps and slipping my shades over my squinting eyes. “And stay the fuck gone.” The men will have to find another in-house whore.
We get in the car and Brad starts the engine, putting his foot on the pedal, racing down the driveway.
All I can see in my mind’s eye is Rose’s tears. Rose doesn’t cry. What the hell is going on?
The last of the shop staff is leaving when we pull up, and he waves out the window of his truck as he passes us on the mud track road leading up to the shack. The water is especially calm this evening, still and almost eerie. I get out and walk down to the shoreline, staring out at the sun dipping on the horizon. I hear the slide of the huge bolt of a container behind me, then the creak of the door being pulled open. Looking over my shoulder, I find one of the men pulling up to the container in a forklift, the telescopic arms extending into the metal shed and reappearing with one of the jet skis across them. “Ready to go,” he calls, motioning out to the water.
The deep chug of a boat rumbles in the distance, slowly appearing around a rocky section of the bay. “You have to be kidding me.” I say as the logo splattered down the side of the boat comes into view. “Miami Cruises?”
“You get a free trip.” Volodya’s Russian accent from behind tears my eyes away from the water, and I turn, finding him leaning on the open door of his Rolls Royce.
“What happened to the eighteen-wheeler?”
“It’s a bit conspicuous. There’s nothing strange about a tour boat loaded with jet skis.”
“Very creative,” I say, strolling over to him and accepting his extended hand.
“We’re branching out into water sports.” He motions to the jet ski still on the arms of the forklift. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of competition.”
“Sure I’ll cope. All this will be a lot easier when we’re operating from Byron’s Reach.”
“Hurry up that day.” Volodya strides across to the forklift and runs a palm down the side of the Sea-Doo. “Beautiful machine. I bet some fun can be had on one of these things.”
“Not that one, since it’s a shell.”
Volodya laughs. “How have you been, Danny? I hear the grim reaper is out to get you.”
“I am the grim reaper, Volodya,” I retort, reaching into my pocket when my phone rings. Spittle’s name on the screen rattles me, and I slam my thumb down on the accept button. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” I hiss, wandering away from Volodya .
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been trying to fucking call you all day, Danny. The FBI and half the MPD are currently heading your way. I’d say you have ten minutes tops.”
My eyes immediately start scanning the area. “What?”
“Ten minutes, if you’re lucky.”
“Fuck.” I hang up and find Brad. “Code fucking red,” I grate. “Volodya, turn your boat around and get the fuck out of here.”
