All In (The Blackstone Affair 2)

“Muriel has them ready every morning. She sets them aside just like she’s been doing for the last month. They were just there waiting for me.” She hesitated. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

My heart was still pounding as I stared at the envelope on my desk. Did I want to look? I reached for the flap and unwound the red string tie. I stuck my hand in and pulled out photos. Eight by ten black and white photographs of Ivan and Brynne chatting at Gladstone’s. Him kissing her on the cheeks as I waited for her to get in the car. Ivan leaning in to speak to me and waving us off. Ivan on the street after we’d pulled away. Ivan waiting on the street for his own car to come round.

That photographer I’d seen outside the restaurant was there specifically for Ivan? He’d gotten death threats before…and now we had pictures of him and Brynne and me together? Not a good connection for her. Ivan had his own shit storm of troubles, and I sure as hell didn’t need the added complication of whoever was harassing Ivan to drag my Brynne into his whole mess. Fuck!

I flipped over the pictures one by one. Nothing. Until the last one. Never attempt to murder a man who is committing suicide.

I’d seen this kind of thing throughout my career. It had to be taken seriously of course, but more often than not, it was some lunatic fringe who had an axe to grind on the back of someone notable they perceived to have caused offense to them personally and with cruel intent. Sports figures especially suffered this kind of crap. Ivan had offended a ton of people in his time and had the gold medals to prove it. A former Olympic archer now retired from the sport, he was still Britain’s lauded golden boy hounded by the media. The fact he was my blood family would have earned him the protection regardless, but he certainly kept me busy.

These photos had been taken two weeks ago. Was that photographer there for Ivan specifically, or did he just sell the pictures he’d taken of Ivan Everley, Olympic archer, because he’d been lucky to snap them and could get a few pounds for selling? Paparazzi hung around places that got a lot of celebrity traffic by habit, so it was hard to tell if the pictures had been prearranged or mere chance.

And if you were a lunatic intent upon killing somebody famous, why in the hell would you bother to inform his private security detail that you were planning to do it? Made no sense at all. Why send them to me? Whoever had got the pictures obviously wanted me to see them. They’d gone to the trouble to plant them in a stack of newspapers I regularly ordered from the street cart.

Muriel.

I made a mental note to speak to Muriel on my way out. I’d be leaving early anyway because of the Mallerton thing tonight so I should be able to catch her before she closed up shop for the night.

I opened my desk drawer and pulled out cigarettes and my lighter. I saw Brynne’s old mobile in there and pulled it out too. Not much traffic on it for the past two weeks as all her contacts were onto her new number now. The bloke from The Washington Review had never rang back, most likely he figured her a bum lead, which worked perfectly in Brynne’s favour. I set it up to charge so it would be ready to take with me tonight and into the weekend.

I lit up my first Djarum of the day. The inhale was perfect. I felt like I was doing fairly well with the cutting back. Brynne helped motivate me, but when things were rocky with us, it was chain-smoking central. Maybe I should try the nicotine patch thing.

I resolved to enjoy my one smoke and thought about the upcoming weekend. Our first trip together. I’d managed to scrape out three days of time so I could take my girl up to the Somerset coast to stay at my sister’s country home. The place also operated as a high-end bed-and-breakfast and I was well aware of the fact I’d never asked my sister if I could bring a guest along with me on any other occasion that I’d ever gone there before.

Brynne was different for so many reasons and if I wasn’t quite ready to own up to those feelings publically, I did recognize them for what they were. I wanted to talk to her about where we were heading, and ask her what she wanted. The only reason I hadn’t already was because her potential answer made me really fucking nervous. What if she didn’t want what I wanted? What if I was just her first real relationship that she could test the waters with? What if she met somebody else down the line?

My list could go on and on. I just had to keep reminding myself that Brynne was a very honest person and when she told me how she felt about me, then well, it was the truth. My girl was no liar. She told you she loves you.

The plan was to leave early in the morning after the gala tonight to avoid traffic, and I couldn’t wait to get Brynne up there. I wanted some romantic time away with my girl, and also just needed to get out of the city and into the fresh air of the country. I loved London, but even so, the desire to have time away from the urban crush in order to keep my sanity, played out regularly.

A call came through just then, pulling me out of my wool gathering moment and back into the very demanding and very urgent present situation of my job responsibilities. The day flew and before I knew, it was time to get moving.

I called Brynne as I was leaving the office to tell her I was on my way and expected to get a breathless rundown of everything that needed to be done before the thing tonight and our impending trip. I got voice mail instead. So I sent her a short text: I’m on my way home. Need anything? And got no response.

I didn’t like it and realized right then and there, I would always worry about her. The worry would never go away. I’d heard people say such things about their children. That they didn’t know what real worry was until they had someone important enough in their lives that measured the true essence of what it meant to love another person. With that love came the burden of potential loss—a prospect too uncomfortable for me to think much about.

Remembering about the envelope from the stack of newspapers, I headed over to Muriel’s newsstand on my way out to my car. She saw me approaching and tracked me with her soulful eyes. She might have had a hard life and rough existence, but those truths didn’t alter the fact she was very intelligent. Her sharp eyes missed nothing.

“Hello, Muriel.”

“’Ello, guv. What canna do for ye? I’ve every American rag just like you want, eh?”

“Yes. Very good.” I smiled at her. “Question though, Muriel.” I observed her body language as I spoke, searching for clues to see if she knew what I was asking or not. I pulled out the envelope with the photos of Ivan and held it up. “What do you know about this being placed inside the stack of papers from today?”

“Nothin.” She didn’t look to the left. She didn’t lose eye contact either. Those two things were supportive of her giving me the truth. I could only guess and use my intuition, and remember who I was dealing with.

I set a tenner on the counter. “I need your help, Muriel. If you see anyone or anything suspicious I want you to tell me about it. It’s important. A person’s life could be at stake.” I gave her a nod. “Will you keep an eye out?”

She looked down at the ten pound note and then back up to me. She flashed those horrific teeth in a genuine smile and said, “For ye, handsome, I will.” Muriel snatched up the ten pounds and put it in her pocket.

“Ethan Blackstone, forty-fourth floor,” I said, pointing to my building.

“I

know ye name and I’ll not forget.”

I guessed we had as good a deal as was possible considering who I was making it with. I headed to my car, eager to get home and see my girl.