Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“What?” James asks, looking up from his phone.
“Nothing.”
Ringo turns from the window, pointing down at the club. “Why the fuck has Higham just walked into the club?”
Nolan bursts through the door looking panicked. “Higham’s here.”
Well, he certainly didn’t waste any time. I’m curious as to what the big problem is and why it’s brought our FBI friend dashing to Hiatus. I slowly stand, going to Ringo and reclaiming my daughter. “Nolan, her pram is in the trunk. Go get it.”
He leaves and we all make our way down to the other office—the office we’re comfortable hosting an FBI agent in. Because it’s not harboring millions in laundered cash. Everyone takes their seats, and I abandon my drink in favor of breast milk for Maggie. Her mouth fumbles around the teat, her little nose wrinkling, her hands thrashing. “Come on,” I whisper, glancing up when Higham strolls in. He looks smart in a tuxedo. Fresh. Less beaten. “Now I know you didn’t get all dressed up just for me.”
“I have a date,” he says, prompting me to look at the clock on the wall. It’s midafternoon. “A gala for the charity my wife and I support.”
“Your wife? So it didn’t work out with the journalist?” I smile. Natalia Potter was one hundred percent with Higham for information and nothing else.
“It didn’t.” He shifts, irritated. “I’m making amends.”
“So I could have killed her after all?”
He rolls his eyes and looks at my arms. “You recruit young, Danny.”
“Let’s be clear, Higham,” I say, looking down, silently willing Maggie to take the milk. “This is the only time you’ll ever meet my daughter.” She’s gonna be a good girl. Rose will kill me if she isn’t. “So what can we do for you?” Maggie finally latches on, and I exhale my relief, relaxing.
“As ever, Danny, it isn’t what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.”
Oh? “Did I miss the part when I came to you for help right now?” I won’t lie, my heart is clattering with anticipation. None of us have forgotten the small matter of my wife seeing red and shooting my ex-fuck Amber. Problem is, Oliver Burrows moved the body before we could get rid of it. And the further problem is, Oliver Burrows is now dead, courtesy of Beau’s mother, so we can’t ensure the body of my ex-fuck is never found, therefore I can’t guarantee my wife is safe from prosecution. So . . . is that why he’s here? Has Amber’s body turned up?
Higham looks at the less well-stocked bar. “Mind?” he asks, helping himself before getting a nod. I look at Brad. Brad looks at James. James looks at Ringo. Ringo looks at Otto. It’s a Mexican wave of concerned expressions. Higham seems like he really needs that drink.
And then he flops down into a chair and exhales. I don’t like this.
As ever, Danny, it isn’t what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.
“Talk, Higham.” Brad takes the words right out of my mouth, and James moves in closer, adding a presence. His hands are twitching. They haven’t murdered anyone for quite some time.
Higham looks between all of us in turn, like he can’t decide which one of us he wants to be farthest away from right now. He must decide I’m the lesser of three evils—I’m assuming Maggie in my arms is playing a part in that—because Higham gets up and comes to the desk. Reaching into his inside pocket as he necks the last of his drink, he slaps a bunch of photographs down. Everyone moves in, crowding the wood, looking down, and I tentatively reach forward and disturb the pile.
My stomach turns, and I instinctively pull Maggie in closer to my chest, shielding her from the horror on my desk. A horror I recognize.
“What the fuck?” Brad breathes, seeing what I’m seeing. As expected, James and Otto look pretty clueless, the men in the pictures are just two more dead, mutilated bodies, and, frankly, James has made far worse messes of men before. Ringo, however, has been around my family long enough to know what we’re staring at.
Brad looks up at me. His face. I expect mine is a similar shade of Jesus Christ. I feel my nostrils flaring, rage brewing. Not ideal when I have my baby daughter in my arms. Maggie loses her grip of the teat, starting to get frustrated, and I stand, walking off some of the stress as I battle to help her get hold of it again. But for all the will in the world, she’s not taking it. “For fuck’s sake,” I hiss quietly, as frustrated as she is. “Come on, darling. You can do it.”
“Will someone tell me why the fuck the temperature in here just went from comfortable to icy?” James asks, his tall, built body stiff. Charged. “Who are those men?”