I drag my tired eyes open and squint when I see where we are. “We’re going straight in?” I ask, sitting forward in my seat. “Brad, are you mad?”
“Don’t you think they’ll have every bush, tree, and inch of coastline covered, Rose?” he asks, rolling down the dirt track toward the boatyard, putting his hazard lights on as he does. Like a “we come in peace” sign. What the hell? He looks at Beau in the rearview mirror. “What I said to Rose goes for you too,” he warns.
Beau looks away insolently. I know it’s going to happen before Brad has a chance to engage the child safety locks on the rear doors, and even before she moves. That look on her, it’s pure and utter recklessness. “Beau,” I say quietly, reaching for her, but she’s gone, jumping out of the car. “Brad!” I yell, and he slams on the brakes, kicking up endless dust and dirt. “Oh my God,” I gasp, instinct making me jump out of the car too. “Beau!” I yell, watching her run like a gazelle.
“Fuck!” Otto bellows as he sprints past, yelling after her, followed by Goldie, who’s barefoot and still in her dress.
“Oh God, no,” I murmur, watching as Brad and Ringo hold their machine guns up, both cursing.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ringo grunts, looking at Brad for guidance. Brad’s jaw goes into spasm, his eyes flicking from me to the car, trying to decide what to do with me.
I shake my head. It’s not a no, it’s a I don’t know. They won’t leave me on my own. They don’t want to take me. My head is utterly fucking scrambled, along with theirs. But Beau has dashed off, and Danny is here somewhere. Alive?
That thought alone has me picking up my feet, déjà vu kicking in, the same feelings of dread and panic gripping me as it did three years ago when Danny made some deals. “Shit, shit, shit,” Brad curses, seizing me and walking me to the back of the car, popping the trunk and pulling out a bulletproof vest. “There’s only one,” he says. “Take your sweater off.” He lays his gun down as I do as I’m told, pulling it up over my head quickly and letting Brad get the vest on me. It’s way too big, but at least it comes down to my thighs. I get my sweater back on and let Brad claim my hand, walking us the final few yards to the boatyard at a surprisingly steady pace. The cabin comes into view, and my heart drops when I see Danny with a gun aimed at his head.
My whimper is quiet, but Brad hears it. “Be calm,” he says quietly, holding up his weapon when the guy behind Danny pulls another gun from his pants. And more men appear, all armed. “I’m putting it down,” Brad says, placing it gently on the ground, Ringo following suit.
“What the fuck is she doing here, Brad?” Danny yells, his eyes burning holes into his friend.
“She’d be here without me if I didn’t fucking catch them on the freeway.” He rises, squeezing my hand.
“Where’s Beau?” I ask, looking around, “And James?”
“God damn it, Rose,” Danny yells, just as Beau comes running out of the cabin, looking frantic.
“Where is he?” she yells, her face red with rage, her attention on Danny and Danny alone. “Where the fuck is James?”
I cast a worried look over to my husband. “In the green container,” he says, getting a jab of the end of the gun for his trouble.
Beau swings her eyes to the green container. I can see her heart pumping from here. “Who with?” she asks as Goldie moves in slowly, ready to catch her when she runs.
I hate the grave look on Danny’s face. Positively hate it.
31
JAMES
* * *
So it’s straight to business, then? I actually can’t believe who I’m looking at. The man can act, and he can act well. I inhale and raise my hands as another man pats me down, being too rough for my liking. “What the fuck’s going on?” I ask, being wrestled to a chair in the corner as the suited, smart fucker sneers at me, silent and imposing. At least, he’s trying to be. I’ve thought of a million ways to kill this fucker. All slowly. All painfully. Now, as I stare at him, I just want to end him quickly.
“James Kelly,” he finally says, and I cock my head, interested. No voice distorter. He doesn’t sound half as deadly without it. “Or should I call you The Enigma?” He cocks a leg and perches on the edge of the table that’s positioned in the center of the container. “Or Kellan James. Which do you go by these days, because I’m pretty sure all those men are dead?” His smile isn’t dark. It isn’t dangerous. It’s plain smug.