Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Closure.
It seems like a pathetic word to use in such a life-or-death situation. Which brings me to something else. Something I’ve been afraid to ask. “Did you find a key?”
He unclips his belt, despite the jet still cruising down the runway at some speed, and pulls one of his bags onto his lap. “No.”
I eye him with suspicion. “You’re lying.”
“Okay.” He looks up and smiles. It’s sarcastic. “I’m lying.”
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, unclipping my belt and slowly standing, trying to get some life back into my limbs.
“The less you know the better. Sit down.”
The brakes kick in harder, and I’m knocked back into my seat. “Fuck,” I hiss, my face screwing up.
“God help me, Beau,” James seethes, leaving his seat to re-fasten my belt. “Stay.”
“The less I know the better?” Does he seriously think that’ll wash?
“I don’t want you involved,” he mutters, returning to his own seat.
“You mean with your new gangster friends?” I turn away, looking out of the window. It’s so bright, I have to squint. Sunshine. “You don’t get to pull the protection card now,” I say as the jet comes to a standstill. “I’ve told you, don’t treat me like I’m glass.”
“The protection card has been in play since we met, Beau,” he replies, standing and taking my hand. I look up at him. “And you are glass. Always will be to me.” His eyes drop to my stomach. To my wound. To my womb. Fragile. And, of course, I can’t argue with him.
I let him unclip my seatbelt and carefully pull me to my feet. “I’ll walk,” I say before he has a chance to scoop me up. “My muscles are dead.” I start a very slow wander toward the flight attendant up front, who is freshly painted to see us off Danny Black’s private jet. I smile my thanks as I pass her and break out into the sunshine.
“Sunshine on your face,” James whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I inhale the salty sea air and let it stream out slowly. “What are we going to do with all our time now you have no one in the vicinity to kill?”
“Have a holiday.”
“A vacation.”
“Yes, that.” He ushers me down the steps, and a driver meets us. He nods and passes us, collecting our bags. “Dinner,” James says. “Relaxing, reading, recharging.” He opens the car door and looks back. Danny Black emerges from the plane, looking cool and casual in a cream linen suit.
“Strategizing,” I add, my face straight when James turns tired eyes onto me. “Am I wrong?”
“You’re talking too much about the wrong things.”
“I want to know every move you make,” I inform him. “Before you make it.” A wave of something washes over his features, and I tilt me head in question. “Have you got something to tell me?”
“Not a thing.” He gently pushes me into the seat as Black approaches, slipping on his shades.
“The driver will take you to the beach hut,” Danny says, nodding to the guy who’s loading the trunk with our cases. “When you’re settled in, we’ll have dinner. The four of us.”
“Us three and who?” I ask, curious. Don’t tell me the Angel-faced Assassin has a girlfriend. I pause for thought, looking at James. The Enigma. How the fuck did I go from being a cop to a gangster’s moll?
“My wife.” Something shines in his eyes, softening them. “Rose. Something tells me you two will get along great.”
“Why?”
Danny looks at James, serious. “Difficult. Was that the word?”
My eyes swing from Danny to James. He’s smiling too. “Difficult? Me?” The nerve. “Forgive me for needing to know the finer details of my boyfriend’s planned killing spree.”
“Thanks, mate,” James says, and Danny Black smiles. There’s definitely something different about him here. Something lighter. His wife? “Wish me luck,” he says. “And if you don’t hear from me by morning, you’d better come check I’m alive.”
“You’re scared of a woman?”
“Terrified. And she’s not just any woman.” He appears to shudder for effect. “She’s my wife.” He starts backing away, eyes on James, a certain amount of communication happening with that single look.
James nods, understanding, and turns his attention onto me. “Ready?” He shuts the door, rounding the back and sliding in next to me. My cell starts ringing, and I dig it out of my purse. “Oh . . .” I breathe.
“Who?”
“My father.” I flash the screen at James. “I’ve got to take it.” It was a cop-out leaving a message with his secretary but explaining why I’m leaving the country seemed like a mammoth task.
“You can’t tell him where we are, Beau.”
“I know,” I say on a sigh. “Dad.”
“Beau, what’s going on? I’ve had a message that you’ve gone on vacation.”
“A small break,” I say as the driver pulls away. “I’ll be back in a week or so.”