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“Put me on loudspeaker.”
“Who is he?” I repeat, my dejection converting into impatience.
“Put. Me. On. Loud. Speaker.”
“Fine,” I grate, clicking the icon. “It’s not like he couldn’t fucking hear you.” I fall back in my seat, my eyes laser beams on the Audi getting farther away, my mind spinning.
“Location,” James barks.
“North West Twelfth heading downtown,” Fury answers obediently, rolling to a stop at a red light as the Audi sails through. I feel Rose’s hand rest on my knee, feel her eyes on my profile, as well as Zinnea’s.
“Go back to the house.”
“Copy that,” Fury says, checking his mirrors and signaling.
I breathe in deeply, exhaling calmly. “Who is it, James?”
“The manager of the bank where your mum held her safety deposit box.”
“What?” And he’s just going to let him get away because of some misplaced, fucked-up need to keep me out of harm’s way? No.
“We’ll find him, Beau.”
“I’ve found him,” I grate, jumping out of the vehicle. I throw my bag over my shoulder and sprint across the road, dodging the traffic, tucking the gun into my pants. “Beau!” Rose yells, sounding distressed, but I focus forward, my attention split between the fading Audi and the cab across the street. Car horns blare, the twins bellow. I cut James off and jump into the back of the cab. “Drive,” I order shortly, looking out the back window. Fury’s stomping down the road, a face like thunder, cars screeching to a stop around him. “Drive,” I yell.
The driver, looking startled, pulls away fast. “Okay, ma’am.”
“The silver Audi up ahead. Follow it.” I find it again, pointing, and I don’t take my eyes away. “Keep two cars back.”
“You got it,” he practically sings, now sounding excited. “Cop?”
“Yeah,” I murmur for the sake of it, killing the conversation and any potential further questioning.
He follows as instructed until we make it Downtown, and when the Audi signals left into a side street, he looks to me for guidance. “Slow down,” I order, shifting to the left of the car so I can keep the Audi in my sights. It rolls to a stop, sitting idle at the curb halfway down the quiet street.
“I think someone’s trying to get hold of you,” the taxi driver says as my cell rings persistently and the cab comes to a standstill.
“I think someone’s probably having a hernia,” I murmur, taking the handle and letting myself out. I can’t even begin to imagine the mood James is in, but he needs to come to terms with the fact that I will never be a glass girlfriend to go with the rest of the glass in his life. This isn’t just about him. His history. His heartache. His justice. I need this as much as he needs this, but now for many more reasons. Not just justice. Not just peace. But so I can move forward with James. “Can you wait?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” I pace down the street to the Audi, sure and determined, reaching into the back of my jeans and pulling the gun I seized from Ollie. I check the magazine. Smack it back in. Release the safety. My heart is thundering in my chest, my adrenalin booming. Keeping my gun by my thigh, I pass the car slowly, looking inside, seeing the man engrossed in his phone. I round the hood, putting myself in front of the Audi. He looks up. Blinks his surprise.
I aim.
He shoots back in his seat, hands up, and we stare, him undoubtedly recognizing me from the store, me wondering what the fuck I do now. My phone won’t stop ringing, my heart won’t stop racing. I’m not a cop anymore, keeping the streets of Miami safe. I’m a woman fighting for my life. Fighting for eternal peace. And this feels fucking good. I’m not broken. I’m not despairing. I’m not passive. I’m making shit happen.
He moves, and my decision is made for me. I fire, shattering the windshield, and round the side, opening the passenger door and getting in. “Do not move,” I say calmly, feeling anything but.
“Who the hell are you?”
I keep quiet and reach for his phone that he’s dropped into his lap. “My name is of no consequence. What you can tell me is.” I ram the gun into his temple. “Let’s talk about the safety deposit box that belonged to Agent Jaz Hayley.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yes, oh shit.”
His eyes clench shut, his back plastered to the back of his seat. “Who are you?”
“I’d say I’m your worst nightmare, but that wouldn’t be true.”
His eyes turn but his head remains stuck to the back of the seat. I can see it in his stare. He’s scared to ask. So I’ll help him along the way.
“The Enigma,” I whisper, almost menacingly. “I believe he’s vying for your blood too.”
His intake of breath is sharp. “No.” And then he’s moving fast, swiping his arm up and knocking me away before reaching under his seat. I lunge forward, cuffing his cheekbone with the handle of my gun. “Fuck!”
