“Bottoms up,” I say before gulping it down.
Once I finish the bottle, his free hand digs back into his pocket and takes out a granola bar. “Eat.” He tosses it at me, the gun never moving its aim from the center of my forehead.
He couldn’t give me the bar before the water? First he scares me half to death, then he gives me dry mouth. Maybe this is standard torture protocol. I tear the package open and chew slowly. The dry granola scratches my throat as I force it down. I’m not hungry. After that knife incident, I’m amazed I kept down the water, let alone this granola bar. However, having the barrel of a gun shoved in your face can motivate you to do just about anything.
Crazy Eyes stumbles in, moaning with each step, and collapses in the corner. My pulse races from being so close to him. This is the monster that I just watched crucify O. Sure, he looks wounded and vulnerable, but I still stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to strike.
“Why the hell are you feeding her? Waste of food if you ask me.”
Potato Nose shakes his head and mumbles, “Idiota.” Without taking his gun off me, he says, “It could take days to line up a buyer. If we don’t feed her, she dies. She dies, we don’t get paid.” Once I’ve finished the bar, Potato Nose tosses his gun to Crazy Eyes. “If she moves, shoot her.”
Crazy Eyes nods and watches me as Potato Nose leaves. In the distance, I hear other unit doors opening and closing. What, do they rent the whole damn place? Potato Nose comes back, bolt clippers in one hand and three folding chairs in the other. After opening one of the chairs, he tucks the gun in the back of his pants then helps Crazy Eyes into the chair. Seriously, do these guys never worry about shooting a hole in their ass? I’ve demonstrated I’m gun incompetent, so maybe I’m wrong, but I’d be petrified it might accidentally fire and bestow upon me another orifice.
Once Crazy Eyes is settled in the chair, Potato Nose hands him the gun and leaves. He returns with a shopping bag. He opens one of the remaining chairs and brings it to me. He picks me up and drops me in the chair. I’m tempted to try to fight back, but Crazy Eyes still has the gun pointed at me. While I don’t think he’ll actually shoot me, they seem intent on selling me. I can’t trust these guys as far I can throw them. Crazy Eyes is high and cranky as hell. No matter how much I might be worth, I don’t think he has the impulse control to hold back if I piss him off by fighting.
“I wouldn’t fight if I were you. Remember, there are things worse than death, and I’m happy to show you all of them.” Bending over, Potato Nose rummages through the shopping bag and removes a roll of duct tape. He tapes my thighs to the chair. Once I’m secured, he removes the ropes around my ankles. He shakes the roll of duct tape at Crazy Eyes. “Duct tape. No marks, higher price point.”
Duct tape really is good for everything. The number one tool of serial killers and human traffickers everywhere.
Crazy Eyes snickers. “They’re usually dead when I leave them. I never have to worry about bruises.” His sick smirk fades as he coughs a few times then moans. As he pulls his hand away from his mouth, I see a sprinkling of blood on his palm. He’s in bad shape.
Potato Nose pulls down my shirt sleeves so the cuffs are around my thumbs, then he tightly tapes my wrists to the chair. He’s got this no-leaving-marks thing down to a science.
Once I’m securely taped down, he uses his knife to cut off Crazy Eyes’s blood-soaked shirt. Holy shit. Looks like I did hit him. He has two oozing wounds on his side. I’m not a doctor, but he doesn’t look good.
Potato Nose pulls a pair of plyers out of the bag then shoves a piece of wood in Crazy Eyes’s mouth. Oh, no. He’s not going to… my eyes slam shut when I see the plyers forced into an oozing wound. With the wood clenched between his teeth, Crazy Eyes screams.
How wrong is it that part of me is happy he’s suffering? After what he did to O, what I’m sure he’s about to do to me, I hope the bullets cause him immeasurable pain that he’ll feel every time he breathes, every time he moves for the rest of his life. Does that make me a bad person?
Hmmm, not sure I care.
Chapter Seven
Gavin
After prying myself off the sofa, I straighten my rumbled clothes and mentally prepare myself to meet with the team. I know they need time to investigate, but every second that the bastard who did this to Lily is free is one more second of life he doesn’t deserve. As I close the door to the study, my mobile rings. After how horribly wrong my conversation with Em went, I want to hit “ignore” and push off this conversation as long as possible, but procrastination will not make this any easier. I need to face it.
“James,” I say when I answer, my voice echoing in the marble-floored hallway. Wanting privacy for this call, I grab my coat from the wardrobe and walk out the back door to the garden.
“Good, I caught you. Wasn’t sure if you and Lily would be in for the night. If you are, don’t tell me. I don’t need that image.” He laughs. “Well, it is Lily. Maybe I do need that image. I’ll just replace me for you in my imagination.”
The lump that seems to be a permanent fixture in my throat thickens. “James.” My voice comes out deep and heavy.
“Just having laugh, mate. Look, the reason I’m calling is O is still on the lam. Have you heard from her?”
Bloody hell. I forgot about O. “No, I haven’t heard from her. Look, James—”
“Damn! I was hoping she was pestering you.” He sighs. “She’s still missing. Typically, I wouldn’t be worried. She runs off on mysterious holiday all the time, then returns a few months later pretending nothing happened. But this time… this time’s different. She was such a wreck for days and… I don’t know. I can feel it in my bones—something’s not right.”
As far as O is from my radar right now, I recognize the hurt in my best mate’s voice, and I have to help him. I follow the path to the back of the garden and stop on the bridge over the pond. “I’m sorry, mate. I’ll call my IT people and have them look into it. Hopefully they’ll find charges on her credit cards, track her mobile, or trace the GPS on her car. I’ll have them ring you as soon as they find something.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. I’m bloody worried.”
“I know, and I’ll do everything I can to help you. But look, I have to tell you something. Lily, she’s…” I can’t bring myself to say the words.
“Are you preggers for real this time?” His voice holds so much hope and happiness, it slays me. “That’d be smashing! Between the two of you, that’d be one good-looking kid.”
I slam my fist into the bridge railing. “Shut the fuck up for a second, I need to tell you something.”
“What, mate? What is it?”
“Lily was murdered.”
He gasps then is silent for seconds? Minutes? It could be hours, I’m so out of sorts. As hard as it is to tell him, especially over the phone, it’s somewhat of a relief. I’ve just gutted him, and it’s bloody selfish to want him to go through this with me.
He takes a deep breath, breaking the silence. “That… that can’t be.”
I pick at a knot in the wood rail. “There’s been a boatload of things I haven’t been able to tell you. She was in trouble, and it caught up with her.”
“I-I-I’m searching for the right thing to say, but I’m in shock. I just can’t believe this. Last week I was dancing with her. She can’t possibly be gone. God, Gavin, I’m so fucking sorry. What can I do? I’m in Helsinki, but I can catch the first flight out and be there in the morning.”
I hear papers rustling in the background. He’s probably clearing his desk so he can run to the airport. That’s the kind of friend James is. He’d drop everything in a heartbeat to be by my side, but just like Emily, I can’t have him here. He’ll want to talk, and I just can’t do that. I can’t talk about her as though she’s gone.
“Don’t do that,” I reply. “There’s nothing that can be done right now. Don’t rush home just to sit and wallow with me. To be honest, I’m not up for much company
right now.”
“Fuck, I can’t fathom this is real,” he says, his voice cracking a bit.
Hearing the emotion in his voice makes the conversation that much harder. I need to ring off. “You and me both, mate. I’m going to go, okay?”
“Of course. I’ll pop in when I get back into town.”
“Thanks, mate. Hey, do me a favor?” I ask.
“Anything. Just name it.”
“Please tell Liam and the others. I-I just can’t keep having this conversation.”
“Of course. Liam’s on lockdown, getting ready for the RBS 6 Nations. You know what he’s like before a big match. I’m not sure I can get him right now, but I’ll try.”
“No, don’t,” I reply. “Wait till after the tourney. Telling him now will only upset him, and he’ll play like shite.”
“Okay. I’ll call the others though.”
“Thanks, mate. I’ll ring you soon.” I push end and exhale. Losing Lily is the hardest thing I’ve encountered in my life. How many times must I relive it?
I send a quick email to the boys in the IT department and ask them to look into Olivia, then I put my mobile in my coat pocket. I’m sure they’ll find her on some Greek Isle, shacked up with an actor or rock star. It’ll break James’s heart, but at least he’ll know. Perhaps he’ll finally move on this time.
The sky opens up, and heavy sleet pours down. I wipe my face and continue my walk. I hear a snap and turn around to find Isla stuffing a Zippo into the pocket of her leather pants. With how tight they are, I’m amazed she can fit anything in there.
She takes a long pull from her cigarette. “It’s nice to see you’re not one of those guys who falls apart when he gets a little wet. Looks like I had you pegged all wrong.” She squints, examining me. “Huh. Those lashes are real then? I was sure you were wearing guy-liner.” She tips her head back and smiles as the sleet hits her face. “I love the rain! Makes you feel alive!” She’s not wearing a coat, and her drenched white sweater clings to her.
I take off my coat and put it around her. “You may feel alive, but if you keep walking about like that, you’ll catch your death.”
She slips her arms through the sleeves. “I’ve survived worse. But thanks.” She gestures to the pond with the hand that holds her dark brown cigarette. She nods at the bridge. “You weren’t going to jump, were you?”
I offer her a small smile. “No, there’s no worry about that. I just needed a little air.”
She jumps in a puddle, splashing water over the both of us, and smirks. Something tells me this woman thrives on breaking all the rules. “It’s your prerogative of course, but I actually thought with you on board, I might have the resources to knock the Morelias down a peg or two. If you off yourself, my chances go down considerably.”
Her tone is so dry, I can’t determine if she’s serious or facetious. “You don’t hold anything back, do you?”
She flicks ash off her fag. “There’s a reason I didn’t apply to the ‘blow smoke up people’s asses’ section of Interpol.”
Her blunt, direct manner is actually refreshing. I have no patience for bullshite right now.
“Look,” she says, “Nigel brought me in because he knows I’ve been going after them for years, and he thinks collaboratively, we have a chance of making a difference. Over the next few days, people are going to tell you to smother your thirst for revenge and tell you to find forgiveness. All that Kumbaya shite. If you go that way… like I said, it’s your prerogative. But you’re a smart man. You know what the world is like. Following the path of the righteous will only lead you to a dead end. Sometimes you have to get a little blood on your hands to save lives.”
“Quite a jaded view for someone who works for an intergovernmental agency.”
She shrugs as she blows out a long stream of smoke. “They pay well, the frequent flyer miles can’t be beat, and I get first dibs on the impound stash.” She points at her boots. “These cost thirteen thousand pounds retail. I got them new out of the box in a brothel in the Dominican Republic. The place had no running water, but they had boots that cost more than I pay in rent for six months.” She looks at her watch, which looks as though it’s probably also booty from an impound stash. “We should get inside. They’re waiting on us. Some chap from the US had just called Nigel with some news when I sneaked out for a quick nic fix.” She looks around. “Which way back to the house?”
I put my hand on the small of her back. “This way.”
By the time we get back inside, I’m drenched like a drowned rat. “I’m going to change quickly. Would you like for me to look for something for you to change into?”
She shrugs out of my coat. Her jumper clings to her body like a second skin, and the rain has made it so sheer, it’s translucent. She makes no motion to cover herself. Isla is obviously not dampened down by modesty. “I’m sure I have something in my car. If not, I’ll dry. A damp jumper won’t kill me.”
Mason comes around the corner with towels. He hands one to Isla. “It may not kill you, but it could be disastrous to the furniture. I’ll find you something suitable to change into, miss.”
She gives me a look, as if to say, “Is this guy for real?”
I shrug and turn toward the stairs. Mason can deal with her.
After drying off, I manage to find a change of clothes in the closet. Everything here was left intentionally, not because I had the foresight to leave myself options in case I ended up back here. These clothes are all either ill-fitting or uncomfortable. I’ll have to order some new things. I’m sure Mason could get Leo to let him into the flat and pick up a few things for me, but I want nothing from there. The whole bloody place could burn to the ground for all I care.
I trudge downstairs to the theatre room, and Mason stops me. “Gavin, a Leo Goldstein is here to see you. He’s in your study.”
I run my fingers through my damp hair. “Send him down here. I’m sure it’s about the investigation. Whatever he has to say, Nigel and the boys need to hear it too.”
“I’ll send him down right away.” I turn to walk into the room, and Mason grabs my elbow. “Have you eaten anything today? Drank anything less than sixty proof?”
“I haven’t had a drink all day, and I had some tea during my interrogation.”
He clucks his tongue. “How do you expect to live through this if you don’t at least try to take care of yourself?”
I hold up a finger. “It’s been one bloody day! Cut me some slack! How would you be if it had been Hazel on that wall?”
“I can’t imagine.” He lowers his head. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but someone has to take care of you, and that someone is me.”
I lean against the wall. “It’s fine. I know you’re just looking out for me.”
“I’ll send down some nosh food. Please eat something.” He taps my oblique. “Off my wall. You were raised better than that.”
I cock my head. “Your wall?”
He laughs as he turns and walks away. “When I collect the tray, I’d best see empty plates.”
Richard and Isla are screaming at each other when I enter the entertainment room. I’m not sure what the point of contention is, but I can tell that it has nothing to do with Lily or her killer. I don’t know what their history is, but their fighting pisses me off.
I slam the door after entering the room. “I take this to mean you’ve found him. You’ve tracked him down, and he’s waiting for me in the conservatory?”
They all stare at me blankly.
“No? You haven’t?” I ask. “Well then, why the fuck are you standing around wasting time on a childish argument?”
“Sorry, Gavin,” Richard says.
Isla, who’s replaced her jumper with a just-as-sheer white tank top under her leather jacket, cocks an eyebrow and sits on the sofa. With a defiant look, she crosses her legs and grabs her mobile. I have a feeling apologies and deference aren’t part of Isla’s vocabulary.
Nigel glares at Isla a
nd her act of insolence and says, “We’re all running on fumes and adrenaline here. Sometimes tempers flare, but I can assure you, we’re all focused on the mission.” He gestures to an open seat on the sofa. “Speaking of the mission, have a seat, Gavin. We’ve something to discuss. I just heard from the FBI, and there’s been a development.”
“Leo Goldstein from SIS is here,” I say. “Let’s wait until he comes down before we begin. I’m not sure what he wants, but he might as well sit in on this.”
Nigel taps his chin. “Leo? Why does that sound familiar?”
“Old spook who handled Central and South America?” Peter asks.
“Yes, exactly,” I reply.
“He’s still kicking, eh?” Richard says. “Good bloke.”
I cross the room to the sofa. Mason’s turned the room into a command central, and the sofas have been moved into a square shape, each with a coffee table in front of it. I sit next to Peter.
Mason enters a moment later. “Mr. Leo Goldstein,” he announces as if we’re holding court. Some habits never die.
I stand with my hand extended. “Leo, what brings you here?”
He takes off his hat then shakes my hand. “I’m here on behalf of the task force. There’s been a development. Perhaps we should speak in private.”
Nigel looks at Isla. “You know about this?”
She shakes her head.
Leo waves at Isla. “This came to light a short time after you left.”
I gesture to the team sitting around the room. “This is the team I’ve pulled together. I think you’ve met them once or twice. Whatever you have to say is best said in front of them. We were just about to speak to the FBI. Apparently they’ve had some sort of development as well.”
Nigel quickly introduces everyone.
Leo peers around the room. “Yes, you chaps look familiar. The FBI’s development and ours is one and the same. I’ll let them go ahead and share.”
Nigel taps Roger’s shoulder. “Get them back on the video conference.”
A moment later, I see Sully on the projection screen.
When Fates Align Page 6