The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  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.

  I see it happen before Goldie has even engaged, her head flying back and cracking Beau on the cheek. It gives her the moment she needs to free herself, and she spins, pulling back her fist, ready to sink it into Beau’s face. But Beau moves fast, flipping herself over, and Goldie’s fist lands in Beau’s side, winding her. “Goldie, stop!” I bellow, grabbing her from behind and yanking her back. “For fuck’s sake, stop!” I’ve seen Goldie lose it only once. Only once has the red mist descended and sent her psycho. When that happens, she’s unmoving. Unstoppable. She won’t quit until her victim is unconscious or even dead.

  “She’s pregnant!” I yell, shoving Goldie away. “For fuck’s sake, she’s fucking pregnant.” I go to Beau on the floor and start to gather her up, but I’m met with force, her hands batting me away.

  She scrambles up, moving back, retreating. “What are you talking about?” she wheezes, eyes darting wildly. And it hits me. What I’ve said. Fuck.

  “You’re pregnant.” I exhale, wishing for a clean outcome to this shitshow.

  “You said negative.” Beau points up the stairs, as if I could have forgotten the scene in the bathroom after my apartment got ambushed. “You said it was negative.”

  I did. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was seeing the absolute terror in her eyes. Maybe I wanted to test just how relieved I thought she’d be. How much she didn’t want it. I never anticipated the level of her appreciation. How happy she was. Her smile. And then I couldn’t bring myself to utter the words that would send her relief spiraling into regret. And the truth is, I was gutted. Stunned. Not only by Beau’s reaction, but by my disappointment. Because in that moment, I saw a glimmer of hope for us both. Something to turn us both around. Something to tear us away from vengeance and bring us peace. Something other than each other, for there is nothing to save us from ourselves. Except, perhaps, a new life. Not death, not blood, not pain, not revenge. Peace in its purest form and purpose of the most promising kind. It’s something I never considered finding, and in that moment, it was mine.

  “You were so relieved.” I look away, forcing back any signs of hurt. “I didn’t want to take that away from you.”

  Beau coughs over a laugh, and I flick my eyes to Goldie who’s standing quietly by the elevator. She shakes her head at me. It’s understandable. She sees the hidden hope. I’m a fucking joke. Do I honestly think there’s anything that can save me? No. But without hope that there’s something that can save Beau, what’s the fucking point in me being here?

  I drag my eyes back to the woman who has taken everything I thought I understood and blew it apart. I’m not the man I was when she walked into my apartment only a few weeks ago. Unfeeling. Unrepentant. Unseen. Problem is, I’m not sure who I’ve become in that short time. Or if I can keep him alive.

  Beau looks spaced out. It’s not sunk in yet. I can relate. I’ve thought of nothing since I saw two little lines. “Beau?” I say, moving forward.

  Her hand comes up, halting me. “Don’t touch me,” she orders, her chest pulsing. “Just do not touch me.”

  “We need to talk about this.”

  The elevator doors open, and Goldie enters it silently, leaving us alone. She gives me another shake of her head before I lose sight of her.

  Beau moves across to the kitchen and opens the fridge. She reaches for a bottle of beer, and I feel every muscle in me tense, ready to go over and fight her for it. But she diverts her reaching hand to a water before I’m forced to intervene, s
wigging half the bottle down in one long gulp. Then she turns and paces to the stairs, taking them two at a time, fast and determined. I grab my phone and follow her, checking the cameras as I do. There’s a message from Goldie.

  I’ve never in my life known such a stupid fucking man.

  “Me neither,” I say to myself, calling her. “Are you okay?” I ask when she answers.

  “I’m fine. For fuck’s sake. I don’t even know what to say to you.”

  Nothing. Say nothing about that. “Do we know how they got in yet?”

  “The sensor on the roof failed. Or was cut.”

  “Fix it. Add more backups.” I hang up and realign my focus, finding Beau in the bathroom sitting on the toilet seat rifling through the bin. She pulls out the stick. Looks at it. Then she hiccups over a sob, dropping it to the tile and burying her face in her palm. My heart twists in my chest as I stand on the threshold, wanting to go to her but knowing I’m walking on dangerous ground. We still haven’t cleared up the matter that had her pointing a fucking 9mm at me. I don’t know who told her I was there, or where the fuck this footage has come from. I can’t bear watching her fall apart like this. I should be on my knees before her, holding her, telling her it’s all going to be okay.

  But . . . is it?

  Can it be okay?

  She snivels and brushes at her wet cheeks angrily, finding me by the door. “I don’t want a baby.”

  “You don’t have a choice,” I say without thinking, my instinct taking over.

  She glares at me, steely faced. “Don’t I?”

  I recoil, unable to wipe the disgust away. Is she suggesting . . .? “I’ve killed many men, Beau. I’ve tortured them and felt not a shred of remorse. You expect me to let you kill my flesh and blood?” My protectiveness surprises me. I’ve not had a moment to digest what’s happening. Beau even less time. But something deep and unyielding will not tolerate nor entertain what she is suggesting. This is a life she’s talking about. A life we made together. Not a tarnished, ugly, blood-bathed existence. It’s a fucking child. I slump against the doorframe and slide down to my arse, my legs hollow and weak, my heart hurting.

  She looks away and shame engulfs every inch of her. It’s a mild consolation. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “And yet it has. So we fucking deal with it.”

  “How are you being so stable?” she asks, looking at me for an answer. “This is the worst thing that could have happened.”

  Stable? I’m far from stable. I’ve got someone trying to turn Beau against me, she’s pregnant with my fucking child, The Bear has sent two killers into my home, and she thinks I murdered her mother. Stable? I should be in a straitjacket. But to keep my life—Beau’s life, our fucking baby’s life, I need to keep my head. “The worst thing that could happen is you believing I killed your mother.”

  Her head snaps up. “I saw you on the footage.”

  “What footage? Who sent you this footage?”

  “Nath sent it. And you’re there. Watching. Making sure you got the job done.” She frowns. “But Nath’s never met you. So how did he know it was you in the footage?” Her hand goes to her head, like she can’t cope with the information overload.

  Nath. Her friend. That fucker is as dirty as they come. “He knew what I looked like because he saw me at your mum’s grave.” I can feel my nostrils flaring, the rage threatening. “He was following you.” Her face is a picture of disbelief. Jesus, she has to believe me. “Show me the footage.”

  “I dropped my cell in your bedroom.”

  I drag myself up and go find it, returning quickly and handing it over. Her lips straight, she taps her screen and thrusts it in my face, and I watch the footage while Beau watches me. Jaz’s car. Beau getting out. Me in another shot.

  It cuts before the end. It’s condemning. It’s exactly how Nathan Butler wants it to be.

  Manipulated.

  “Yes, I was there the night your mum died, Beau. But I was trying to stop it.” I turn away from her, giving her my back, which feels like it could be burning all over again. “This didn’t happen in the explosion that killed my family. I wasn’t in the house, I was at the back of the grounds playing golf with Otto. This happened the night your mum died. This happened when I pulled you away from the car. This fucking happened when I tried to get your mother out.” I swallow and clench my eyes closed. The silence behind me is unbearable. The feel of her eyes, new eyes, taking in the damage on my back is as painful as the night I sustained the burns. “Your mother didn’t deserve to die, so I tried to save her.”

  I escape her scrutiny, walking away, heading for my office. The drinks cabinet calls, and I make fast work of unscrewing the cap off a bottle of Black Label and swigging a good dose. The bottle hitting the cabinet masks my gasp. The burn on my back masks the burn in my throat. What the fuck is this mess? And the footage? The Bear would’ve seen it two years ago. Seen me. Wondered who the fuck I was. He wouldn’t have connected the man in the footage to The Enigma, because why the fuck would the man killing off his army want to save an FBI agent? But now? Now he’s connected the dots. Now he knows the man who tried to save Jaz Hayley is the man killing his men. I can only imagine the mindfuck that’s got him in. I’m mildly satisfied. For the most part, I’m frustrated. He has my face, thanks to that footage and the photographs from the factory. One of my names, thanks to Butler. My location, thanks to my stupidity. It’s a fuck load more than I have on him.

  My fingers claw around the bottle, my breathing shallow and erratic. “Fuck.” I swing around and hurl the bottle at the wall, taking out one of the screens. Ironically, it’s the screen where The Bear’s face should be. Is it a sign? A sign that I’ll never find him? Never kill him? Never get the justice I need?

  Beau appears in the doorway, taking in the mess of glass shards all over the floor. “Talk,” she orders, closing the door, a silent sign that neither of us is leaving until this is sorted out. Will it ever be? I’ve delved into the deep, and I’m fighting to keep my head above water.

  My body as heavy as fuck, I go to the chair at my desk and drop into it with a thud, rubbing at my eye sockets. “The night your mum was killed, I found a phone on the body of an associate of The Bear. A message was sent confirming the hit on your mum.” I look up at Beau and find no reaction. Nothing. “I tracked where the message came from. Another burner. It’s been off since. Untraceable. Until a few days ago.” She still shows no reaction, and it’s beginning to fuck me off. What the hell do I need to say to penetrate her? She’s found out the man who ordered the death of my family also ordered the death of her mother. Where’s her fucking shock? “It was tracked to Nathan Butler’s flat.” And there it is. A recoil. “Your mother hunted me relentlessly, but she and I were after the same people, Beau. We just had different ideas of justice. I killed them before Jaz could cuff them. It pissed her off.” Beau’s reinstated her impassiveness. Shutting down? “I was tailing your mum the night she was killed. I called her. Warned her. She told me to fuck off and die.” If I could, I’d smile. How Jaz would have loved me to fuck off and die. “By the time she realized I wasn’t fucking with her, it was too late.” I see balls of fire in my memories. Hear screams. Feel the heat. Butler must have burst a blood vessel when he saw me at the graveyard with Beau. James Kelly—Beau’s boyfriend—is the man in the footage. The footage that’s been missing for two years. The footage that’s missing from the police report. The footage that, if complete, would have proved Beau’s mother’s death wasn’t an accident. But also would have put my face on the FBI’s radar as a person of interest. I laugh under my breath. Interest? They’d have no fucking idea.

  Beau steps back. “It was you on the phone to her,” she says, and I nod. “Why did you contact me? Why did you bring me here?”

  “Because your relentlessness would have got you killed too. The investigation you want won’t happen. You won’t get justice, Beau.” I eye her carefully. She looks about ready to bolt. “Not if you play by th
e rules,” I add gently.

  She inhales. Swallows. “But if I play by your rules?”

  “I have only one rule.”

  “What?”

  “No mercy.” Who I really am is still unknown. My motives are a mystery. But the game is nearly over, and it’ll be me who wins.

  Her eyes drop to her bare feet. I would give anything to know what she’s thinking. “Are you saying Nath had my mom killed?”

  “He’s dirty, Beau. Your mother figured that out.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” I get up, resting my hands on the edge of the desk, leaning in. “The Bear’s got an inside man. Nathan Butler. Your mum was a clever woman, Beau. She figured that out. That’s why she’s dead. You want justice? Let me get you justice.”

  She shoots her eyes my way, and I fucking detest the pain in them. “You want to kill Nath?”

  “I want to kill them all.”

  Her chest expands, her eyes darting across the glass of my desk. “And what about us?”

  “Us, me and you?” I ask. “Or us, you and my baby?”

  She quickly steps back, her eyes wide, her lip wobbling. “I don’t know,” she admits, and it’s crushing. I understand her doubt. Hate it, but I understand it. “What if you’re wrong?”

  She’s clinging to hope. I wish it wasn’t so wasted.

  “He’s hidden that footage for years, Beau. Why hasn’t he shown you it before now? He knew all along your mother was murdered because he played a part in it. He’s cornered.”

  “I’ve trusted Nath with . . . everything.”

  I can’t stand the devastation on her face. “I tried so hard to save her, Beau. And I’m so fucking sorry I failed.” I collapse back to the chair, exhausted, wedging my elbows on the glass and burying my face in my hands. My head feels heavy. Heavy with regret, with sorrow, and with fury. And yet I can’t regret stepping in and bringing Beau here. I can’t entertain the thought of what might have happened if I’d left her alone. She would have kept digging. And she would have ended up dead.