The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  I will Lawrence and Dexter to leave before James really loses it. This has all been so very unpleasant. I’m done. They won’t support me. It hurts so deeply, but I refuse to let their contempt add any more weight to my shoulders. “You should go,” I say, standing and walking away. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

  I feel so heavy as I climb the stairs, needing the handrail to help pull me up each step. I make it to James’s bedroom and collapse on the bed, defeated. Tearful. Absolutely gutted. It feels eerily similar to when Mom died. That desolate, heart-wrenching pain, with nothing tethering me to life. Although, I guess this time, that’s not quite true. But I am losing my biological family, one by one. Lawrence is more like my father than I ever thought possible. Judgmental. Stubborn.

  I roll over and snuggle into the sheets, at the same time listening for any signs that James has been forced to get physical. I just want this day to be over. The men in my life, Lawrence, Dexter, Ollie, Nath—especially Nath, if what James says is true—have annihilated any trust I had for them. Ripped the love for them from my chest.

  “That went well.” James’s voice comes from the doorway, and I roll onto my back and find him filling it with his big body. His temper looks like it’s been stowed away.

  “You shouldn’t have told them. We agreed.”

  “It wasn’t exactly going swimmingly before my little bombshell.”

  “It’s my bombshell too. I should have broken the news.”

  “You’re right.” He wanders over and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I was pissed off. But it was that or kill them both for being so narrow-fucking-minded.”

  I look away, tears pinching the backs of my eyes. You’re not fit to be a mother.

  “Don’t cry, Beau.” Taking my hand, he helps me up from the bed, wiping away the stray tears, his lips straight. He leads us out of his room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to make us both feel better.” Taking us into his office, he sits down in his big swivel chair and pulls me onto his lap. He slides the remote control from the desk and points it at the screens, and they all come to life at the same time. I expect to see footage from various rooms of his apartment. I don’t. Instead, I see mug shots of men, one on every screen.

  “Who are they?” I ask, a chill licking down the length of my spine.

  “Those are all the men I have killed.” He snakes a hand onto my tummy and pulls me back, resting his chin on my shoulder.

  I swallow, my eyes gliding across the screens slowly, taking in each and every face. All associates of The Bear. I arrive at the final two screens. They’re blank.

  “One of them was reserved for the man who covered up your mum’s death.” James clicks a button, and the blank screen is filled.

  “Nath,” I breathe, my skin suddenly freezing. “And the other?”

  “The other is for the man who ordered it.”

  The Bear. James won’t only be getting justice for me—for my mom—he’ll be getting justice for himself. “But no one knows what he looks like,” I say.

  “I will soon.”

  “What are you going to do, James?”

  “I’m going to end this story.”

  60

  JAMES

  Having a private conversation when I’m determined to keep Beau in my sights is tricky. I’ve put her on the couch on the far side of the room and turned on the TV, making sure the surround sound is as loud as can be without raising suspicion. I’m a fool. A total, first-class prick. I accepted that some days ago. I can see by the way she keeps flicking looks across to me where I am in the kitchen that she knows something is about to go down. Plus, I told her I’m about to end this. I need to learn to control my mouth around Beau. But I’m keeping her well out of it. Especially now. While keeping her close, Kel?

  My brain spasms as I put in the call, turning my back on Beau so she can’t read my lips, because I know she’ll try. A cop. Of all the women I could fall in love with, I fall in love with a fucking cop. A talented cop. A cop who was destined to become an FBI agent most criminals should fear. And here I am, a criminal, fucking terrified.

  He answers, sounding as wary as he should. “Where did that footage come from?” I get straight to the point.

  “Fuck you.” And so does he.

  I blink slowly, inhaling some patience. “You’re in The Bear’s pocket.”

  “Is that what you’re trying to make Beau believe?”

  “I didn’t have to try very hard.” I cast my eyes over my shoulder, checking on her. Of course, her eyes are nailed on me. “She trusts me.”

  “It’s you who’s in the footage. Fuck, man, are you on another planet?”

  Another planet? He’s not far wrong. I feel like I’m in orbit. “I’m in the fucking footage, you moron, because I was trying to fucking save them.” I have to take a few breaths or risk destroying my kitchen in a temper. “But you made sure she didn’t see that bit, didn’t you? I’m coming for you,” I hiss, threat dripping from every word. “Harder than I’ve come for anyone before.” My mind’s reeling, and I slam my phone down harder than I mean to. I turn around and find Beau blinking rapidly. I’d smile, if my face wasn’t straining with fury.

  She pops a grape in her mouth, chewing slowly while she regards me. “The end’s going well, then,” she says, looking at me in question. Christ alive, her lightness would be welcome if I didn’t feel so fucking heavy. “Can I help?” she asks, and an unstoppable burst of laughter erupts. But I soon shut my big gob when she looks at me offended. “What’s so funny?” she asks, insulted.

  I exhale and stroll over, crouching before her and laying my hand on her tummy. I smile fondly at the flat plane and look up at her. She’s smiling too, and it’s precious. “No,” I say sternly, dropping my smile and stalking back to the kitchen, hearing her huffing as I go. Help me? Someone needs to, but not Beau. “Fuck it,” I whisper. I’m out of options. “Fancy a bath?” I ask.

  “Depends if it’s with you.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Then no.” She turns her attention to the TV and continues popping grapes in her mouth. “You’re not locking me in your glass bathroom in your glass house so you can go on a killing spree, Mr. Glass.”

  I scowl at her profile. If anyone could hear us. “Then I’ll have Goldie watch you,” I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear, going to my mobile. I’m about to have two pissed-off women on my back.

  “No,” Beau yells, scrambling up from the couch and making her way to the kitchen.

  I ignore her and return to my call when I hear Goldie’s voice. “I need you to watch Beau.”

  “No,” she says over a laugh.

  Beau’s smug face is perfectly slappable. “See?” she says. “Even Goldie thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

  So they’re allies now? Typical. “Fine, I’ll ask Otto.”

  “No,” Otto says, stepping off the elevator with Goldie.

  I growl, pointing my mobile at them. “One of you is watching her. I’ll give you ten minutes to decide who.” I turn and stalk away. I’ve got shit to do, and here I am arguing with people who are supposed to work for me about who’s going to babysit my girlfriend while I go on a killing spree. Why can’t she be a regular woman? One who wants to stand behind me and be protected.

  Because then you wouldn’t have fallen in love with her, you dickhead.

  I shake my head and take the stairs fast, going to my dressing room, hearing Beau running after me. “I’m coming with you,” she declares, and I laugh my way into a pair of trousers. “I fucking am,” she says, underpinning her defiance.

  I approach her as I zip my fly, bending and getting my face up close to hers. “You’re. Fucking. Not.” I slam a kiss on her lips and feel her body folding, but her arm remains at her side, defiantly refusing to seize me.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she murmurs into my mouth, sounding truly worried. I pull back, thrown, and see pure fear. This is new. I study h
er closely, and she drops her eyes, as if trying to hide her uncertainty. “I think it’s my hormones or something,” she murmurs. “I’m feeling weirdly scared.”

  I pull on a shirt and start buttoning it up. “Your boyfriend’s The Enigma.”

  “Not anymore, are you?” she retorts. “Because someone knows who you fucking are, so we need to think of another name to scare the shit out of the people you’re going to hunt down.”

  “You’re so cute.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “It’s not safe, Beau.”

  “Exactly, which is why you should stay here.”

  I fasten a tie and pull on my jacket. For years, I’ve only ever had Otto and Goldie to worry about me. Not that they ever have. They know of my capabilities. My determination. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Why are you wearing a suit?” she asks, looking me up and down, her confusion obvious. I go to the safe at the back of my wardrobe, punch in the code, and pull out my Beretta. “A suit and a gun.”

  I smile and check it over before slipping it into the back of my trousers. “Would you prefer a suit and no gun?”

  With her jaw twitching, she swivels and marches to the bed, dropping to her back, and while I’d love to go and smother her with some reassurance, regrettably, I don’t have time. I back out of the room, and she drops her head to the side, watching me go. Silent. But her hand falls to her stomach to remind me that it’s not just her here waiting for my safe return.

  I take two fingers to my lips and kiss them, holding them up. And then I leave her. And it’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

  I stop by my office to collect a few things, and when I make it to the top of the stairs, Goldie and Otto are in a full-blown row. “It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it?” Goldie more or less growls, poking Otto in his shoulder. “You think I should stay here and be the babysitter because I’m a woman.”

  I fasten the button of my jacket, watching them.

  “I’m not sexist,” Otto mutters, stalking to the elevator.

  “No? He who’s buying a fucking villa and filling every room with women.”

  “I like variety.”

  “Good,” Goldie barks, stomping after him. “Then you can stay and watch the pregnant girl.”

  “Pregnant?” Otto blurts.

  “Oops.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, taking the stairs. “You two done?”

  They both turn, silenced for a few moments. “She’s pregnant?” Otto asks. “Then you’re definitely babysitting,” He steps into the lift and pulls his gun, aiming it at Goldie. “I don’t do hormonal women.”

  “Bastard,” she seethes.

  “Shut up and listen,” I order, loading the security app on my iPad. “I want you in the lobby,” I say, moving my gaze over both of them, since it’s still not confirmed who’s staying to watch the pregnant woman.

  “Got it,” Goldie replies. She’s relented.

  “I’ll make sure everywhere is clear before we leave.” I step into the elevator with them and hit the button for the ground floor. “Give me a lift.”

  Otto cups his hands and holds them out, but before I get a chance to use them as a launch pad, Goldie shoulder barges him out of the way. I laugh to myself and her need to prove a point as I step onto her hands and push through my knee to reach the elevator hatch. I pull my gun, pop the ceiling tile, and slide it across, peeking through. Nothing. “There’s a remote camera in my bag. Pass me it.”

  “There’s a good boy, Otto,” Goldie says.

  “Fuck off, witch.”

  For the love of God. I dip and get them both in my sights. “Shut the fuck up before I shut you the fuck up.” Ironic. They both shut the fuck up. Otto passes me the camera, and I hoist myself up higher. The mechanics of the lift clank and whirl, carrying us down, and I stretch to reach the bare brick wall. I see an iron support bar nearing, and I activate the magnet on the camera. The moment it’s in reach, I stretch farther and slip it onto the edge as the lift passes. Done.

  I grunt as I drop back into the lift. “That gives you a three-sixty view of the shaft, up and down. Keep it on the screen.” I tune in the live footage and hand Goldie a phone. “Keep the rest of the block on the screens in the foyer, and I want every room in my apartment on here. I hand her the iPad. “The glass is all clear. Do not let her out of your sight.” I’ve never been concerned about security—my building is like Fort Knox—but since the breach, I’m twitchy, despite all the extra measures that have been put in place.

  The doors open, and I stride out, Otto on my heels. “Dare I ask who you’re going to kill?”

  I don’t answer.

  61

  BEAU

  If I walk around this apartment one more time, I’m going to fall through the floor from the hole I’ve worn doing laps. I stop at the foot of the glass wall spanning one side of James’s apartment, looking at the barrier between me and the view of Miami. The cars would be dots, if I could see them. The people mere specks.

  Where is he? My stomach is constantly churning, my pulse thrumming. “God damn it,” I mutter, heading for the stairs. I need a change of scenery.

  I find myself in James’s bathroom, and as I stare at the bin by the toilet, my pulse thrums harder, my tummy cartwheeling more. I rummage to the bottom and pull out the white stick. Except now, I don’t see a disaster. I see hope. These two little lines could be a sign. A new start. A new attitude. There’s never been anything other than my misery and anger to focus on. Then there was James. And now there are the lines on this white stick. Hope. Purpose.

  Urgency takes over, and I rush downstairs to call James. To get him back here. To convince him we don’t need anything other than this stick. No justice. No revenge. It could ruin everything, take away this unexpected opportunity of freedom and happiness.

  I pull up his name, but before I have a chance to hit the dial icon, my cell rings in my hand. An unknown number illuminates the screen, and I stare at the digits for a lifetime, torn, not knowing if I should answer. My mind tangles, my eyes flit from my cell to the floor repeatedly. Answer. Don’t answer.

  I gulp back my uncertainty. “Hello?”

  “It’s Goldie.”

  My body relaxes, but my mind does not. “Hi.”

  “Would you please remain in one room? You’re making me dizzy.”

  I lower to the couch. What can I say? I’m worried? Anxious? Is she? “Have you heard from him?”

  She sighs. I can’t figure out if it’s sympathetic or tired. “Trust me, Beau. He will be okay.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because good shades evil,” she says quietly, and I swallow. “Now stay in the living room, for God’s sake.” The line goes dead, and my shoulders drop, my anxiousness still firmly with me. Good shades evil. Then why is my mother dead? Why—

  My phone rings again. Goldie. “I haven’t moved,” I say when I answer.

  “I’m ordering a Starbucks. Do you want one?”

  I blink back my surprise. “Is this your way of saying sorry for headbutting me?” I ask, reaching up to my cheek. It’s still tender. That woman has one hard head.

  “Do you want one?”

  “Sure. A latte, please.”

  “You’ll have to come down and fetch it. I can’t leave the entrance.”

  “Okay.” Another change of scenery. Perfect. “I’ll keep you company.”

  “Whatever,” she grunts. “I’ll order now. Bye.”

  I bring my cell to my chest, my eyes drifting across the frosted glass before me. Call him. Don’t call him. What if I disturb him? What if he’s stalking his prey and my call blows his cover? What if I didn’t have to think about that kind of crazy shit? And who’s his prey? Nath?

  My final thought has me pulling up his number and dialing as I head to the elevator. It rings and rings until it eventually goes to an automated message, telling me the person I’m trying to reach isn’t available right now. “Come on,” I murmur, stepping
into the cart, dialing him again.

  The doors close, and he answers. “James,” I breathe, so relieved just to hear his voice. “You don’t have to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Whatever you’re doing. Killing whoever you’re killing. You don’t have to do it.”

  There’s silence, and I know he’s probably wondering who’s got a gun to my head. But clarity has arrived, and I need to keep it.

  “Let’s just go somewhere,” I say. “Anywhere. Away from Miami. Away from America.”

  “Are you serious?” he asks, not sarcastic, more daunted.

  “So serious. Let’s just get on a plane and go.”

  “I . . . leave . . . people . . .” His words crackle and break. “. . . Beau.”

  “James?” I say, circling on the spot. “You’re breaking up.” I check my cell, seeing the service has dropped. “Shit. James?”

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, but you’re fuzzy.” I look up at the screen above the door, watching the lights for the floors illuminate in turn as I’m carried down to the first floor.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the elevator.”

  There’s a brief silence, and I wonder if I’ve lost service again. But then he speaks. “Beau, why are you in the elevator?”

  “Goldie’s having Starbucks delivered. She can’t leave the foyer so I’m going to collect it from her.”

  “What?” he bellows.

  I jump, pulling my phone away from my ear. “I—”

  “I fucking told you not to leave the apartment,” he seethes. I can literally feel the fire of his temper down the line.

  “A coffee.” That’s all. He’s overreacting.

  “No. Beau, she’d never ask you down there. Stop the—”

  “What?” I murmur, looking up at the screen above the doors again.

  Five.

  Four.

  I look to the buttons on the panel, hitting anything and everything before me, glancing up at the screen.

  Three.