Arrogant Brit

I turned as he closed the doors behind us and crossed the room to the small seating area near to the fireplace. “Have a seat, detective. If you’re here for business instead of pleasure, we might as well get comfortable.”

As he draped himself lazily across a tufted leather settee, I sunk into one of the high-backed armchairs across from him. I felt like royalty just sitting there, but Nathan didn’t seem to share my perception. He lounged like a bored lion, his muscular limbs dangling almost petulantly off the edges of his seat.

“If you’re not here to fuck, you’re here about Peter Wallace, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I admitted. “His trial’s coming up soon, you know.”

“I’m aware,” he answered in a tone that was half a sigh, half a groan. “I watch the news. I hear the prosecution’s built a decent case this time around, too.”

“Decent isn’t going to cut it,” I interrupted, “and you know that. This is Peter Wallace we’re talking about—the same guy who’s weaseled his way out of prison a dozen times before. And he’ll do it again, unless someone could, say, provide testimony about the particulars of his business in our fair city.”

Despite the oppressive heat lurking just outside, I felt a distinct chill in the air. It was blowing in gusts from Nathan’s side of the room and got stronger with every mention of Peter Wallace’s name. I almost wanted him to turn on the fireplace just to drive it out.

“Sounds like you know a lot about this guy,” he said at last, though he was staring at his bookshelves and not at me. “If you do, then you know what he does to witnesses who agree to testify.”

I nodded solemnly. “I do. And I also know what he does to witnesses who don’t. Last I checked the only difference is how pretty the corpse looks.”

Nathan went quiet, his eyes finally meeting mine. I scooted to the edge of my chair, holding his gaze. “I expect we’ll keep this talk off the record for now?”

“I understand your concerns, Mr. Hale,” I replied, trying to keep my mind off the dark little desires that kept bubbling up inside me.

“Off the record, you’re right. Wallace is not a man to be trifled with. He’s got connections. He’s got ways of making everybody miserable. But that all stops if we put him behind bars, and I’m afraid the only way for us to do that is with your help.”

“And what do I get in return?” he asked me, raising an eyebrow that made it clear he was being coy. As I gave him the death stare, he sat up straighter, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I mean, sure, there’s some satisfaction in watching this guy get put behind bars for the rest of his life. And from what I understand, he deserves it. It’s not like I don’t want to have a hand in putting him there. But you have to understand, detective—the price I’d pay for that… it could be steep. What guarantee can the police offer me that I’m not going to end up in one of those shipping containers?”

I frowned. I didn’t think we’d released that detail yet, but men as powerful and rich as Nathan had a way of getting information. Some jaded beat cop had probably forked it over for a small fee. I counted my blessings that at least the culprit hadn’t talked to the media—as far as I knew, anyway.

“You don’t have any family, no wife, no real girlfriend,” I said, watching as he grimaced, “so there’s only you we’ve got to worry about. We’ll move you to a safe house, someplace that Wallace’s men won’t be looking for you.”

Nathan shook his head. “I’m staying here.”

“You can’t. This place—well, I’m sorry to say it, but compared to the rest of the city, it stands out like a sore thumb. Your address isn’t exactly private information these days, either. I’m pretty sure half the population’s been to one of your parties, which means if the mob is looking for you, you’re making yourself damn easy for them to find. And if they do…”

I trailed off, hoping Nathan’s imagination would fill in the blanks. He stood up, turned his back on me, and visited the bar at the far end of the room, prying a tumbler from the other side along with a bottle of what looked like whiskey.

“This is my home,” he said as if I’d somehow forgotten. “But I’m not going to pretend like Wallace’s men don’t scare me, because they do. I’m not the fighter type. I guess you’d call me more of a lover.”

Although he wasn’t facing me, I distinctly detected the smirk in his tone when he said that last bit. A moment later, he cast a glance at me over his shoulder as if to confirm I understood what he was implying. I shook my head, and he continued:

“But that being said, I’m not about to let some IRA rejects run me out of my home. There are some things a man just can’t abide, and for me, turning tail and running is one of them. So if we’re going to do this, detective, then we’re going to do it my way. The city can spare some officers to guard my home, I’m sure, and if not, there’s always private security—”

I held up my hand, signaling for him to stop talking. He frowned and opened his mouth to speak again, but I gestured more firmly this time, settling my gaze on the floor as I listened hard to the silent, empty house.

It wasn’t so silent anymore. There were footsteps downstairs, heavy and deliberate. I closed my eyes and focused, trying to ascertain how many there were.

Two… three… four… five…

There were five men downstairs. I was sure of it. I finally looked back up at Nathan and whispered:

“Were you expecting any company?”

He shook his head, flattening his lips into a thin, grim line as I stood and slipped my sidearm out of its holster.

“I didn’t call for backup,” I told him.

Then, holding up my hand again to signal Nathan to wait, I readied myself for the worst and approached the study doors.

I listened carefully. I could hear them talking on the first floor. They all seemed to still be centered in the atrium. I wet my lips, surrendering to the pulse of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I hadn’t come here prepared for a fight. Not a firefight, anyway. But that was the thing about being a cop: whether you knew it or not, your life was always on the line.

Stay, I mouthed to Nathan, hoping to get my point across. I couldn’t have him in the crossfire. If things went south, then it was best he was out of harm’s way. I might need a clear shot.

He sipped his whiskey like the sounds downstairs were nothing, but I could see his hand was shaking. His emerald eyes stayed trained on me as I quietly opened the door and slipped out into the hall.

Outside of the study, I could hear their voices much more clearly. They weren’t being subtle in the least. Were they hoping to flush Nathan out?

If so, that probably meant they’d come prepared to subdue him. I hoped to God that they hadn’t considered the possibility that Nathan owned a gun.

There was a lilting brogue that might have been charming under any other circumstances coming from the stairs. “Oi, make sure you get the rugs and the drapes. Don’t leave any room untouched.” I took that to mean he was the leader, and most likely the one I should be speaking with.

Nathan’s mansion wasn’t exactly easy to get to. Though it was still within the city limits, it toed the line. It’d take backup ten, fifteen minutes to get out here in full force. I didn’t have that kind of time. I’d have to negotiate.

I stopped at the end of the hall leading to the rail. Through it, I could see the man on the stairs. He was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans with a pair of scuffed-up work boots, but I didn’t see any weapons on him.

As I surveyed the rest of his crew, I didn’t spot any on them, either. That was good. That meant that these were just thugs hired to beat a little sense into Nathan.

Or, judging by the gas cans they were carrying, burn down his house.

Maybe both.

I came around the corner fast, gun drawn, and aimed at the one on the stairs, their blue-eyed leader with a pathetically stereotypical Celtic band tattooed on his bicep.

“Police,” I said, breathing e

venly to steady my gun. It was easy to let nerves and adrenaline get the better of you, no matter how experienced you were. “Drop the gas. Now.”

The other four paused, glancing at their ringleader, who regarded me with one of the coldest stares I’d ever suffered. Then he shrugged his massive shoulders and set the can down on the stair beside him, holding up his hands, his palms facing out.

“We don’t want any trouble, miss,” he said, his voice low and gravelly and filled with dark promises. Despite his hulking frame, there was something distinctly serpentine about him. “Just came to have a little chat with Mr. Hale, is all.” He looked past me and down the hall. “Is he in?”