The Enigma (Unlawful Men)

Then I go to his office and pull open drawer after drawer. I find burner phones. Lots of them. Then a drawer with a laptop. And under it . . .

58

JAMES

I scrape some peeled mango from the chopping board into the blender, checking the cameras on my phone where it’s propped against the coffee machine. I see Beau in my bedroom pulling on one of my T-shirts. Naturally, I wonder how the conversation with her uncle went. And, naturally, I growl under my breath.

I watch her leave my bedroom and enter my office. She goes to my desk and starts rummaging through the drawers where I keep my phones and laptop. I lay down the knife. What is she doing? Or looking for? She pulls something out and rushes to the door, and I collect my phone to zoom in, but she’s out of my office fast. I turn my stare from my mobile to the top of the stairs.

And freeze.

My eyes travel from Beau’s empty, emotionless eyes, down her scarred arm to her hand.

Where I find a gun.

And I know the fucker is loaded. “What the fuck?” I ask, watching as she takes the stairs, her arm extended, the gun aimed my way. If I didn’t know her, if Beau was any other woman, I’d say her chance of hitting me from that distance was minimal. But I know Beau. I know she aced the Phase 1. I know she breezed through target practice and rarely missed the fucking bullseye. And here I am. The bullseye.

“You killed my mother,” she says, reaching the bottom of the stairs and edging around the room carefully, her aim never wavering. My world narrows and tunnels, every vision from that night charging forward. And my heart? That fucker slows until it feels like it could stop.

“Put the gun down, Beau,” I order, turning on the spot so I remain facing her, keeping her target in range.

“You lied to me. I saw you on the footage.” Her face is scarily impassive. Her voice worryingly steady. Her body free from shakes.

“The gun, Beau,” I say calmly as she comes to a stop by the window. “Please, put the gun down.”

Her arm jolts, the gun jarring threateningly, and I retreat a step, wary. “My mom was hunting you for years. Did she get too close for comfort?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head to reinforce it, but I really can’t deny that Jaz Hayley got too close too many times. The woman’s capabilities were frightening. I often thought it was right place, right time. But I soon learned she had a kind of sixth sense, and it was that sixth sense that earned her the respect she demanded from both her peers and the criminals she hunted down. But . . . what footage is Beau talking about, where the hell has it come from, and why only now, two years later?

“Yes,” she says calmly.

“What fucking footage, Beau?”

“Outside the store. The night my mom was killed. You’re there.”

Oh Jesus. “It’s not what you think.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Beau screams, her composure gone, her arm starting to shake. I watch as she lifts her cast to try and support her other arm. She’s aching. She won’t be able to hold her position for much longer.

I step forward slowly, my hands up in surrender. “Let me explain.” The elevator dings, and Beau swings her aim toward it as the doors open, revealing Goldie. It takes her a second to take in the scene and draw her gun, aiming it at Beau.

“No,” I yell, torn between getting between them or backing off. Beau’s gun redirects to me, and Goldie looks between us, her face a picture of What the fuck?

“Put the fucking gun down, Beau,” I demand, raising my hand in indication for Goldie to do the same.

“Take it easy,” Goldie says quietly. I know she doesn’t like it, but she slowly lowers her weapon to the floor.

“Don’t fucking tell me to take it easy,” Beau shouts, her eyes pooling, the gun shaking. “It was you in the footage. Say it was you.”

God damn it, this is not how this was supposed to go. “It was me,” I admit, my options limited.

She moves fast and fires a shot, and I flinch, ducking, the bullet sinking into a cupboard behind me.

“Beau!” Goldie barks.

“What the fuck?” I murmur, all hell breaking loose across the room. I gather myself, just as Goldie moves in, tackling Beau to the floor. “Goldie, no!” I roar, sprinting toward them as Beau lands with a thud, crying out as her arm smacks the floor. It doesn’t stop her. A second later, she has Goldie at her mercy in a choke hold and her eyes bulge, her legs flailing, as her hands wrap around Beau’s arm and cast to try and free herself. Jesus Christ.