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“Shut up, you girl,” Goldie mutters, taking herself back to the other couch, her eyes on James. “You okay?” she asks him.
“Fine.” He’s thoughtful, his eyes on his feet. Thinking.
“The journalist’s source?” I ask.
“Anonymous.” James looks at me. “To everyone else.”
But to us, this is a plain poke fromhim. A way to smoke us out. Get us back in Miami. The police can’t touch either of us, we know that.Heknows that. This is becoming more about ego than anything else. A game. James can prove he didn’t kill Beau’s mother, and if the police had anything on me, I’d already be caged. That article is The Bear’s way of telling us he’s in contact with Potter. “Find out where she is,” I say, but Otto is already on his phone. It prompts me to make a call myself.
“Agent Higham,” he says in answer, sounding somewhat cautious. I don’t know why he declared his name. Perhaps to remind me that he is, in fact, FBI.
“Higham,” I say, letting everyone else in the room know who I’m calling. “I’ll be back in Miami soon. We should catch up for a coffee.”
“An invite to your wedding and now coffee? Anyone would think you’re trying to get me in your pocket, Black.”
“You wouldn’t fit,” I retort, and he laughs. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”
“Rumor on the street is you’ve retired.”
I smile, looking at the others. All of them have a familiar thirst in their eyes. All except Goldie. She looks plain pissed off because she, more than any of us, wanted to walk away. And now she can’t. Or, more to the point, she refuses to. She won’t leave James’s side. So, yeah, she’s pissed. When I thought we’d ended The Bear, I didn’t walk away thinking we were done. I walked away knowing we weren’t. It’s like I said to James one time—if you set the bar, you defend it.
Or you die.
We’ve set the bar, and I’m damn determined to defend the fucker. The alternative isn’t an alternative. The bunker we built at the boatyard wasn’t a temporary solution. James can never walk away from The Enigma. I can never walk away from The Brit. With a reputation comes a responsibility—a responsibility to stay alive and keep your loved ones safe. You can’t turn your back on this life, and that’s a lesson James and I have both learned. We have to continue dealing if we want to stay alive. Weneedto keep control of Miami. The alternative won’t just be messy. It’ll be the end. That was fact before we found out The Bear’s still alive. The Russians are still out there, and that was enough to keep us in the game. Now? Now we finish a job that’s annoyingly dragging out. It’s simple. But complicated.
So rumors are circulating. Retired? If only it was as simple as hanging up my gun. My knife. Or my letter opener. “Rumors are usually just that,” I say, resting my weight on the cabinet again. There are going to be a lot of disappointed people if that’s the case, but more fool them for assuming. Nothing should be assumed in this world. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“I’m not disappointed, Danny.”
Oh, we’re on first name terms now, are we? Interesting. So is the fact he’snotdisappointed. “That’s nice to hear, Harry.” I wander over to the chair behind my desk and lower into it gingerly, my curiousness superseding the discomfort. “I was about to offer my condolences.”
He laughs lightly. “For what?”
“I expect things are going to kick off in Miami very soon. Hear me when I say, I’m not the man you should be coming after. I’ll be in touch.” I hang up and look at Brad and James in turn. “Definitely not bent.”
“Definitely?” James asks.
“Okay, he’s not bent.” There’s nothingdefiniteabout our world. “What next?” I ask, my palm resting on my chest.
“Goldie wants to draw us an updated diagram with her ladylike, pretty, neat handwriting,” Ringo says, collecting a piece of paper and a pencil and handing it to her. She accepts but growls. And with the appearance of Goldie’s suit comes the appearance of Ringo’s teasing.
“We don’t need a diagram,” Brad says, intercepting and removing the tools from Goldie’s hand, at the same time giving Ringo a warning look. I’m not the only one treading carefully around our she-warrior. But Ringo is the only one whoisn’t. Hasn’t he got the memo?
“Won’t everyone stop fucking looking at me like that?” Goldie barks, standing and pulling in her suit jacket, as if to remind everyone that she is, in fact, wearing a suit. Not a dress.
“See,” Ringo grunts, looking at us all like we’re stupid. “She doesn’t like it.” He walks over to Goldie, raises a fist, and jabs her in the bicep. And in return, she launches a punch that would take Wladimir Klitschko off his feet, sending Ringo flying across the office like a rag doll. He lands with a thud, holding his massive nose, that’s going to be even bigger now. Swollen. Probably a pair of black eyes too. “Fuck me,” he moans.
I turn my eyes from Ringo on the floor to Goldie, and I positively hate the glaze in her eyes. “Go,” I order, walking over to her, literally taking my life into my own hands by physically turning her away and walking her to the door.
“I’m fine,” she argues, rolling her shoulders to remove me. “Get the fuck off me, or I’ll—”
“What?” I get up in her face, not aggressively, but a clear sign that I’ll take no shit. She wants to be treated like the rest of the men? Fine. I’m here for it. “Control your urges or get the fuck out of this office.” I’m a fucking hypocrite, I know. “Clear?”
She nods once, and it’s sharp. “Clear.”
“Sit the fuck down.” I’m not angry. I’m not out of patience. I’m merely giving Goldie what she wants. What sheneeds. Equality. Validation. She resumes position on the couch as Ringo crawls up from the floor, feeling at his nose and checking his hand as he joins her, giving her a curled lip as he lowers to the seat.
Now, where were we? “There aren’t many animals left at the zoo,” I say, perching on the desk. “We’ll assume with the elimination of the Irish, the drugs arm of The Bear’s business has ceased.”
