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I ram my palm into the side of his head, wedging it against the window, re-aiming. “Let’s be sensible.”
“Okay, okay.”
I release him, holding my gun steady, and reach under his seat. I pull out a gun. “Who told you to get the box?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did he tell you?”
“Text.”
“What did he threaten you with?”
“My father’s life.”
“Who’s your father?”
“Frank Spittle.”
I still, hiding my frown. Spittle. I’ve heard that name. My cell starts ringing again, and I glance down, seeing James’s name filling my screen. And then the sound of screeching tires fills the side street, and my heart turns in my chest. I don’t know who should be more afraid. Him or me. “Don’t move,” I say, letting myself out of the car. The Mercedes races toward me like a bat out of hell. I can literally feel the anger in that car from here. I don’t bother asking myself how he knew where I am. “Good luck,” I murmur, to both of us, lowering my gun, ready to bear the brunt of James’s temper. The smell of burning rubber saturates my nose, the Merc screaming to a stop, James and Danny jumping out, both armed, both furious.
I soak up the fire in James’s glare, standing firm, shoulders back, chin high. I don’t give him a chance to tell me to get in the fucking car. I pace over and slip into the back, settling and watching as Danny yanks the guy from the driver’s side and thrusts him against the side of the Audi, his face lethal, his lip curled, his gun pushed into his throat.
James, however, maintains his deadly glare on me. I break the connection and go to my cell when it rings. I take Rose’s call, if only to escape the silent wrath of James. “I’m alive,” I say, looking back when I hear another car skid into the street. “The cavalry has arrived.”
“Jesus, Beau.”
“Does the name Spittle mean anything to you?” I ask.
“Spittle? Yes. He’s the one who let on that Danny isn’t dead. Ex FBI,” she says, and I nod to myself. I knew the name was familiar. MPD. FBI. It’s my old life. “I saw them dragging Spittle into the house,” Rose goes on.
And I bet he didn’t leave. At least, he didn’t leave breathing. “The guy we were following is his son.”
“Shit. I seriously wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now.”
I laugh a little. “I’ll see you back at the house.” I look across to James, who’s now manhandling the man over to Otto’s car. “If I’m not dead.” I disconnect and wait for the men to finish their business, using the quiet time to cool my temper. James was prepared to let one of his wanted slip away because of his misplaced worry for my well-being. It’s probably childish, but that pisses me off. Frank Spittle’s son is an obstacle in our way. I had a chance to remove the obstacle, and I took it.
I pull my belt on as James and Danny stomp back to the car, swing the doors open, fall in, and slam them. I’m sure a thorough telling off is coming from both sides. So who’s going to be first?
Danny swings around in his seat and pins me in place with livid, icy eyes. But he says nothing, probably out of respect for James. And yet I bet he has plenty to say, none of it pleasant. I make sure I hold his stare. I’m not breaking. He eventually growls and returns to the wheel, starting the car, but before he can pull away, James fills the space Danny just freed. He doesn’t look at me as his hands start patting at my body forcefully. I know what he’s looking for, so I let him go ahead and find them. He pulls a gun from between my thighs, then leans forward more to reach behind my back, roughly yanking the other free. And I remain still and accepting. I’m not, though. Choose your battles. His mood now won’t allow him to see reason, so I’ll sit on my grievance until he’s calmed the hell down. The buildings around us are virtually shaking with the tremors of his rage.
When he’s found what he’s looking for, he returns forward. Except he’s missed one. So I reach into my purse and pull out the gun that I took from Ollie’s partner, letting it hang from my finger as I hold it between the two front seats.
He looks at it out the corner of his eye, snarls, grabs it, and then Danny roars off, taking his anger out on the Mercedes rather than me. James doesn’t have that outlet. Which means I’m in massive trouble when we get back to the house.
17
DANNY
* * *
I’ve seen silent rage on James. I’ve seen his eyes glaze, his body shake, his jaw twitch. But all of those times pale in comparison to now. I know how I feel, which is fucking incensed, and she’s not even my woman. She’s playing fucking kamikaze.
