“You’re not getting in?”
“I have things to do, Beau.”
She’s up in a heartbeat, water pouring from her body. “You’re leaving me again?” she asks, snatching a towel down off the rail. “No, James. No way.”
“Calm down,” I say, pacifying her, not liking her looking truly fraught.
Indignant, she smacks my hands away, as I try to push her back into the tub. But she dips. Turns. And my palms slip right off her shoulders, sending me plummeting forward.
Face first.
Into the bath.
Fully clothed.
Splash!
I instinctively yell, getting a shitload of water down my throat and up my nose, making me choke and cough, my arms flailing to find an anchor to sit myself up. “Fuck,” I bark, followed by a cough, as I emerge and push my hair from my face. I find Beau looking at me, her good hand over her mouth. And then . . .
Laughter.
Loud, belly-clenching, hysterical laughter. She sounds psychotic. And I feel it.
Fuck, she looks beautiful. I should be glad she’s okay. Glad I didn’t catch her or knock her stomach when I tumbled. But right now, I just want to strangle her.
Walk away, James. Walk away before you really do strangle her.
My jaw ticking, I rise, water pouring from me, my suit a sodden mess, sticking everywhere. I take one step out, reaching for a towel. And get yanked back.
I land with another splash, except this time on my arse, not going under. “I’m going to kill you,” I seethe, not amused, not at fucking all.
She raises her eyebrows, lowering back into the water at the other end. “Don’t bottle it this time, will you?”
I inhale, my eyes narrowing, as she stares me down, challenging me all the way. “I won’t.”
She lifts a little, exposing her wet boobs, and reaches for the vanity unit. With my gun in her grasp, she settles back in the tub, aiming it at my chest. “You know who killed my mom. You know who The Bear has on the inside. Tell me.”
She’s a fucking case. “No.”
Bang!
I jump out of my fucking skin, instinctively slipping down into the water for cover. “What the fucking hell, Beau?” I yell, looking behind me to see a mirror shattered. Is this the woman who’s been hiding under all that darkness and misery, because I’m not sure I can cope with her? Or is this just pregnancy?
“Tell me who it is,” she orders.
Fuck me, I need to think before I speak. I can’t tell her. Not until I have the proof I want and which Beau will need. But I can’t get that if I’m fucking dead. Pacify her. Lure her in. “I need you to tell me a few things first.”
Her eyebrow quirks. “Have you missed who has the gun here?”
Fuck, I love her. “You won’t kill me.” I pout. “Because you love me.”
She swoons so hard, the gun sways, and she sighs, lowering it.
I get on my knees and crawl my way over to her, pushing my mouth to hers. She doesn’t resist, returning my kiss, and I moan, blindly reaching for the gun and confiscating it. “How did you know it wasn’t Nath?” I ask, freeing her of my lips.
Her cheeks blow out, and she settles back, letting me lie on her front. Still fully clothed. Reaching for my hair, she pushes it back from my face. “He got that footage from a tattoo place opposite the store. Apparently, a cop turned up there the night Mom was killed and flashed his badge. He took the footage. The owner kept a copy. He gave it to Nath.” She takes a few breaths. “You said Nath knew what you looked like because he followed me to the graveyard. It couldn’t have been him, James. He only knew what you looked like because he showed the footage to Ollie. So if it wasn’t Nath, who was following me?”
“The cop who took the footage?”
Her jaw flexes, frustrated by my blatant diversion. “I didn’t get that far in the conversation, James. I was too busy dodging bullets. My life kind of depended on it.”
My blood runs cold just thinking about it. My question is, though, did they know Beau was in the car with Butler? Because if the answer to that question is yes, their death just got messier. I shake away the rage and focus on Beau. Just focus on Beau. She’s here. Alive. Carrying my baby. But when the fog of fury dissipates, she’s looking a bit stunned. “Beau?” I say, reaching for her cheek, stroking it. “Beau, baby, what’s up?”
“Life or death,” she breathes, her eyes turning onto me. “I’m not to go near it unless my life depends on it.”
“What are you talking about?”
She jumps up, diving out of the bath, leaving me a pile of wet suited man sitting in the tub. “Life or death,” she says, over and over, pacing up and down. Then she seems to shake her head to herself, walking calmly out of the bathroom.