The Rising, page 41
part #1 of Unlawful Men Book 4 Series
“I still care about you, Beau.”
I cannot believe what I’m hearing. But . . . am I more disappointed that he’s seeing someone, or that he hasn’t got any information on my father? No more hate. This has to be a good thing. Ollie will back off, and James and Danny won’t kill him. Because despite everything, I still fucking care about him too. Pull it together, Beau. “I’m happy for you.” I force a smile and reach for his arm, giving it a brief, caring rub. “Truly. Take care, okay?”
“You too.” He looks at me, almost vacant. It’s weird. “Goodbye, Beau.”
“Goodbye,” I whisper.
Ollie gives James a look of pure hatred before he leaves, and I watch him go, my forehead heavy, something . . . off.
“Beau, we should go,” James says, surprisingly softly, pulling me back to the present.
Go. Yes. I pick up my feet and get precisely two paces before I’m intercepted by a short, round man with a moustache.
“Miss Hayley, I’m Walter Foster,” he says, looking quite stressed. “Your father’s attorney. I have been trying to reach you at . . .”—he frowns and looks down at a piece of paper—“. . . 4563 Hillcre—”
“I no longer live there. Haven’t for some time.”
“Ah, well, that would explain it.” He lifts a knee and rests his briefcase on it, opening it while hopping around a few times, trying to keep his balance. I look at James, my eyebrows high.
He moves in and holds the man’s arm. “Here, let me help you.”
“Oh, very kind.” He pulls out a card, puts it between his teeth, and closes his briefcase, returning to two feet.
“You know,” Danny says, motioning to the card as Mr. Foster removes it from his mouth, “there’s this great little device on the market that holds business cards in a handy pocket-sized contraption that you can actually keep in your pocket.” He plasters on an amazed expression. “Maybe put it on your Christmas list and if you’ve been a good boy, Santa Claus might leave one under the tree for you.”
James pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed, and I turn my back on Danny, in no mood for his threatening, backward jokes.
Neither is Mr. Foster, who semi scowls before getting back to business. “I was charged with your father’s financial affairs. He named me executor.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. As I understand it, your parents were divorced, and my client and yourself were estranged.”
“Depends when he wrote his will,” I mutter, looking up to the sky for strength.
“Can we make an appointment for the reading of the will? Perhaps you could let me know when you are available.” He passes me the business card.
“Now,” I say, leaving the card between his fingers. “I’m available now.”
“Oh, well.” He pulls the sleeve of his jacket up and peers at his watch. “I have a commitment in Little Havana shortly.”
“I don’t think you heard the lady, Mr. Foster.” Danny, hands in his pockets all casual, steps forward, and I look at him in disbelief.
“The lady can handle this,” I say through a tight jaw, making James give Danny a sorry look and Danny give me an indignant one. I return my attention to Mr. Foster. “I’m available now.” I reach for the card that’s in his now limp grip by his side and read the address.
“Very well.” He clears his throat. “After the wake?”
“I’m not attending the wake.” I walk away with James and Danny quickly on my heels, and I tell myself that the day couldn’t get any worse. Then I tell myself off for telling myself that, because . . . haven’t I learned? And then, like a fucking omen, something catches my eye on the other side of the parking lot, someone loitering, and I slow to a stop, trying to focus. “That’s Amber,” I say, not taking my eyes off her as she puts some sunglasses on and pulls a hood up over her head, slipping away, obviously because she’s been spotted.
“I saw,” Danny says, stepping in front of me. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“Good question,” I say quietly, overtaking Danny and running as fast as my heels with carry me toward her disappearing form.
“Beau!” James yells after me.
“For fuck’s sake,” Danny shouts, just as my wrist is seized and I’m pulled to a stop. I damn the heels; he would never have caught me if I were in my sneakers.
“She’s gone,” James breathes, the sound of screeching tires filling the air. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“If she was a gold digger, why would she be at Dad’s funeral?” I ask. Danny scowls at me. I ignore him and give James my attention. “Well?”
“I don’t fucking know, Beau,” he admits. “I don’t fucking know a lot.”
“We should go,” Danny says, pulling our attention his way. Collins is standing on the edge of the parking lot, observing. “Come on.” He leads the way, and James claims me, marching me back to the Range Rover. “I don’t like her,” Danny says as we pass and her beady eyes follow the three of us.
I think he speaks for all of us.
* * *
It’s not the kind of office I would expect the attorney of my father to operate from. It’s poky. Drab. Unassuming and unimpressive. I’m sitting in an uncomfortable chair opposite Mr. Foster, flanked by two men who hardly fit in their chairs, their big bodies shifting constantly to try and get comfortable. “Can I take your coats?” Foster asks.
The vest beneath my trench coat becomes heavier, and James and Danny both lift their asses in unison and pull their coats in a little more. “No, thank you,” I say, swallowing, just wanting him to get on with it.
“Very well.” He starts fiddling with papers on his desk, leaving the room to fall silent.
“You could have waited outside,” I say quietly to Danny, as his cell rings. He reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls it out. I see Rose’s name on his screen. She’ll be worried.
“You know, I think I will.” He stands and connects the call, striding out. “Baby,” he says softly, closing the door behind him.
I feel James’s hand take mine where it’s resting on my knee, and I look down at it, then up to him. I hate the torture in his expression. The helplessness. And yet I am without the capacity to reassure him. How can I when I’m struggling to calm myself? And how can I when I know I’m being kept in the dark? It’s disheartening when we have both fought so hard to be free of darkness. How willing he is to leave me there.
Mr. Foster twiddles with the end of his moustache as he looks over the papers on a poorly concealed frown, like he could be struggling to utter the words before him, so after a few painful minutes, I take the lead. “Mr. Foster, let me make this easy. I would like everything from my father’s estate to be donated to the World Society for Burn Victims.” He would probably turn in his grave . . . had he not chosen cremation.
When I feel James’s eyes turn onto me, I shrug. I don’t need my father’s money. Don’t want it. My hand is squeezed in support as Mr. Foster looks between us with a bewildered expression.
“Oh, well, that’s very kind of you, Miss Hayley.” He takes a pen and scribbles down a few notes. “I’m afraid I cannot do that on your behalf. You would need to sell the car and send the proceeds from that to the charity in question.”
“Car?” I blurt out.
“Yes.” He’s back to scanning the paper. “A BMW M4 Convertible. Color, red. Year, 2020.” He sets the pile of papers on the desk, and I laugh to myself. He bought me that car for my birthday. I didn’t accept it.
And he delivers yet another kick to my gut.
I absolutely hate that I have to ask this, and as I lean forward, closing the space between me and Mr. Foster, I lower my voice. “He left me a car? Just a car?”
“A very nice car, Miss Hayley.”
My God, he thinks I’m ungrateful. I’m not. I’m fucking confused. I look back at James and, thank God, his forehead is a mess of wrinkles, telling me he’s puzzled too. I show the ceiling my palms, asking James what the fuck I’m supposed to do with this. He takes my arm and pulls me back into my seat, leaning forward himself. “Mr. Foster, Beau’s father was a very wealthy man.”
“Indeed, he was.”
“His first wife passed away, his only child is Beau, and he was singl . . .” James fades off and looks at me, the same thought falling into his head at the same time it falls into mine. “Single,” he breathes, the wrinkles on his forehead back. “Until recently.”
When Amber was exposed as the gold-digging whore she is. I nod, dreading what I’m about to hear. He’d been dating someone else. Just dating, though. “Mr. Foster, who else is named as a beneficiary of my father’s will?” I ask.
“Miss Amber Kendrick. Unfortunately, I am unable to locate her.”
“Oh Jesus.” James rubs at the lines on his head. “Everything?”
“Except the car, of course.”
I stand abruptly, and the tie of my coat unravels, revealing the vest beneath. Mr. Foster stares at it, alarmed. “Thank you, Mr. Foster.” I turn and leave, retying the belt as I go, swinging the door open and bowling through, nearly crashing into a waiting Danny.
“Beau,” James calls.
Danny’s cell is still at his ear, and he takes in the scene, James coming after me, before going back to his call. “Baby, everything is okay, but I need to call you back in a minute.” He cuts the call with a slow press of his thumb on the screen, continuing to look between us, waiting. “Anyone want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
I look back at James and start to pace the small reception room. I know he won’t want to share. Danny hates Amber, as does Rose. Not surprising when the stupid woman threatened to kill her in a ridiculous crime of love to win Danny. But it can’t be avoided. I want her dead. And yet I can’t utter the words.
“Tom Hayley left everything he had to Amber Kendrick,” James says, his voice low, closing the door to Foster’s office behind him.
“Excuse me?” Danny coughs over his words, tilting his ear forward, as if he’s improving the chances of hearing right when James repeats himself.
“Except a car,” I add.
“What?”
“She did it.” I slap the ball of my hand into my head. “How did I not see it?”
“See what?”
“Killed him!” I say over a laugh. “Before he could change his will back. She fooled him into making her the sole heir, or as good as, was then exposed for being a gold digger, so she killed him before he had the opportunity to amend his will.”
“Beau, hold up,” James says, sounding nervous, his hand rising in a pacifying way I do not like at all. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“She’s capable!” I screech. “She had a gun aimed at Rose when Danny kicked her out of the mansion.” I look at Danny, desperate for him to confirm I’m right. To justify my ramblings. “Tell him, Danny!”
“I know that, Beau,” James says, while Danny stands awkwardly silent, not wanting to make matters worse by confirming. “But aiming a gun and firing are two entirely different things.”
“Fine,” I say, pulling out my cell and calling Ollie. He answers immediately, and I’m completely thrown after being ignored for so long. But he doesn’t have to avoid me now. I know about his new woman.
“Beau?”
I start to pace again, watchful of any hands coming my way ready to grab my cell. “I think Frazer Cartwright knew what happened to my dad.” Of course he did. He was a close friend of my father, wrote endless shining reports about him and his businesses and charity work. He must have spent time with Amber. He must have seen something. “I need to find him.”
James is suddenly before me, reaching for my cell. I dip stealthily out of his way.
“I need your help, Ollie.”
“Beau!” James yells.
“Frazer Cartwright is dead, Beau.” Ollie’s words hit me like a brick to my face, and I swing around, my mouth lax, finding James and Danny looking as guilty as sin before me. They know what Ollie’s just said. I don’t need to tell them.
“Dead?” I ask, needing confirmation. “Frazer Cartwright is dead?”
“Yes. Washed up on the beach.”
I cut the call, my mind a mess. “You knew,” I whisper. They both knew. That’s why Danny shut up in his office. That’s why James took my cell to the kitchen with him while I was sleeping. He was worried Ollie would call me. Tell me. “Why would you keep this from me?”
Danny swallows and steps back, giving the stage to James. He looks so lost. It’s a massive insult. “I can’t lose you, Beau,” he says simply, like that fear in him makes everything he does, all the secrets he keeps, acceptable. I immediately shy away from my conscience that’s reminding me I’m no angel when it comes to secrets. What I’m doing now. That I haven’t told him something so important. But I can’t.
I step back, seeing James’s body getting taller, his muscles engaging, ready to seize me before I run. I reach into my purse and pull out my gun.
“Fuck’s sake, Beau,” Danny yells, making James lift his hand to quieten him, like he’s got this. Like he’s a pro at how to handle me. How to deal with me. That alone infuriates me. I know what’s about to happen. I’ll be disarmed before I can blink and be taken back to the mansion, maybe even locked in our room to ensure I can’t escape. One of them I could handle. Two? And not just any two, but The Brit and The Enigma.
I have one chance.
I turn the gun onto James and pull the trigger, then aim it at Danny. His face is a picture as James flies back and hits the wall. “Beau—”
Bang!
Danny joins James against the wall with a thud, and both men look utterly disorientated as they feel down their jackets. I turn and leave before James has a chance to collect himself, draw his gun, and immobilize me, because I know in this moment, he absolutely would.
25
DANNY
The door to Foster’s office swings open, the drip of an attorney taking in the sight of two mean-looking motherfuckers on their arses propped up against the wall. “Go back to work,” I gasp, and the door is quickly shut. “I can’t believe she just did that,” I wheeze, thoroughly winded, my chest feeling like it’s been hit with a hammer by the Incredible fucking Hulk.
“I can.” James inhales, struggling to his feet, wobbling, practically crawling up the wall. He takes a moment, head back, his face pained. Not only because his chest probably hurts like a bitch too. She shot us. It doesn’t matter that she knew we were vested up. It doesn’t matter that she knew we’d be on our feet again in a few seconds. She fucking shot us.
I try to get up too, hissing and spitting my way to my feet, the healing wounds on my chest stinging like a bitch. “Your woman wins today, mate.” I say, wanting to laugh but knowing I’ll be putting my life on the line if I do. “She’s fucking crazy.”
“I shouldn’t have kept it from her.” James takes a few steps and stops, breathing in deeply, blinking slowly. Then his eyes clear and a rage like no other consumes them. “Fuck!”
“Do you think Amber killed Tom Hayley?” I ask.
“No, I think emotions are getting the better of Beau and she’s telling herself fantastical stories to make her father the hero she always wanted him to be.”
I blink a few times, taken aback, “Ever thought of being a therapist?”
“Fuck off, Danny.” James strides out into the sunshine and scans the carpark. Beau’s long gone, and when he puts his mobile to his ear and then curses, I know she’s also turned off her phone. Jesus, I don’t envy him. What the fuck is she playing at?
Otto pulls up with Fury, then Ringo and Goldie swing into a parking space, all of them getting out. “Where’s Beau?” Fury asks, his bearded face screwed up in worry.
“You didn’t see her?” James says, scanning the carpark again.
“See her when?”
“Just now.” He motions to the door we’ve just fallen out of. “She left.”
Goldie looks at Ringo and Fury, all of them looking as concerned as I’m feeling. She’s emotional. Irrational. Un-fucking-safe out there. “We were across the road,” Goldie says, her voice unusually quiet. “Haven’t taken our eyes off the door. She didn’t leave.”
“Oh fuck.” Fury rubs at his forehead, and I exhale fast and swing around as James flies back into the building like a charging rhino. She didn’t leave. The little fucker. I run on behind, hearing the others coming too, and follow James into the women’s restroom. He proceeds to push every door of every stall open, and each one slams against the wall behind on a deafening bang that’s accompanied by a thunderous curse when he finds each one empty. “Beau!” he roars, kicking the last one open with brute force.
Because he knows she’s not in there.
But there’s a window.
And it’s open.
“Fuck!” His bellow ricochets of the tile, echoing loudly, the sound going on and on.
I look at Ringo, Otto, and Goldie behind me, their faces all grave as James proceeds to punch the wall over and over. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“James.” He can’t hear me. “For fuck’s sake,” I hiss, grabbing his shoulder and hauling him back before he punches his way out. “Calm the fuck down.” I don’t see it coming. His fist. He swings around, crazed, and lands me a corker on my cheekbone, sending me flying into the sink unit behind me. My head connects with the mirror, shattering the fucker, my brain feeling like it’s exploded. “What the fuck?” I breathe, dizzy, double vision getting me. “Are you fucking serious?” I go at him haphazardly, charging and hoping I connect, tackling him at the waist. We both crash into the wall on grunts and hit the deck.
“Cut it out!” Goldie yells, bravely putting her body between our sprawled-out forms.
“You’re a fucking cunt,” I seethe, dragging myself up, everything fucking hurting. “Don’t ever ask for my—”
“I’m sorry,” James mutters, sucking air through his teeth as he stands, his palm on his chest. Winded. Both of us. Twice in as many fucking minutes. “I’m sorry,” he says more quietly, defeated, turning into the wall and resting his forehead there.
