The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  Face first.

  Into the bath.

  Fully clothed.

  Splash!

  I instinctively yell, getting a shitload of water down my throat and up my nose, making me choke and cough, my arms flailing to find an anchor to sit myself up. “Fuck,” I bark, followed by a cough, as I emerge and push my hair from my face. I find Beau looking at me, her good hand over her mouth. And then . . .

  Laughter.

  Loud, belly-clenching, hysterical laughter. She sounds psychotic. And I feel it.

  Fuck, she looks beautiful. I should be glad she’s okay. Glad I didn’t catch her or knock her stomach when I tumbled. But right now, I just want to strangle her.

  Walk away, James. Walk away before you really do strangle her.

  My jaw ticking, I rise, water pouring from me, my suit a sodden mess, sticking everywhere. I take one step out, reaching for a towel. And get yanked back.

  I land with another splash, except this time on my arse, not going under. “I’m going to kill you,” I seethe, not amused, not at fucking all.

  She raises her eyebrows, lowering back into the water at the other end. “Don’t bottle it this time, will you?”

  I inhale, my eyes narrowing, as she stares me down, challenging me all the way. “I won’t.”

  She lifts a little, exposing her wet boobs, and reaches for the vanity unit. With my gun in her grasp, she settles back in the tub, aiming it at my chest. “You know who killed my mom. You know who The Bear has on the inside. Tell me.”

  She’s a fucking case. “No.”

  Bang!

  I jump out of my fucking skin, instinctively slipping down into the water for cover. “What the fucking hell, Beau?” I yell, looking behind me to see a mirror shattered. Is this the woman who’s been hiding under all that darkness and misery, because I’m not sure I can cope with her? Or is this just pregnancy?

  “Tell me who it is,” she orders.

  Fuck me, I need to think before I speak. I can’t tell her. Not until I have the proof I want and which Beau will need. But I can’t get that if I’m fucking dead. Pacify her. Lure her in. “I need you to tell me a few things first.”

  Her eyebrow quirks. “Have you missed who has the gun here?”

  Fuck, I love her. “You won’t kill me.” I pout. “Because you love me.”

  She swoons so hard, the gun sways, and she sighs, lowering it.

  I get on my knees and crawl my way over to her, pushing my mouth to hers. She doesn’t resist, returning my kiss, and I moan, blindly reaching for the gun and confiscating it. “How did you know it wasn’t Nath?” I ask, freeing her of my lips.

  Her cheeks blow out, and she settles back, letting me lie on her front. Still fully clothed. Reaching for my hair, she pushes it back from my face. “He got that footage from a tattoo place opposite the store. Apparently, a cop turned up there the night Mom was killed and flashed his badge. He took the footage. The owner kept a copy. He gave it to Nath.” She takes a few breaths. “You said Nath knew what you looked like because he followed me to the graveyard. It couldn’t have been him, James. He only knew what you looked like because he showed the footage to Ollie. So if it wasn’t Nath, who was following me?”

  “The cop who took the footage?”

  Her jaw flexes, frustrated by my blatant diversion. “I didn’t get that far in the conversation, James. I was too busy dodging bullets. My life kind of depended on it.”

  My blood runs cold just thinking about it. My question is, though, did they know Beau was in the car with Butler? Because if the answer to that question is yes, their death just got messier. I shake away the rage and focus on Beau. Just focus on Beau. She’s here. Alive. Carrying my baby. But when the fog of fury dissipates, she’s looking a bit stunned. “Beau?” I say, reaching for her cheek, stroking it. “Beau, baby, what’s up?”

  “Life or death,” she breathes, her eyes turning onto me. “I’m not to go near it unless my life depends on it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She jumps up, diving out of the bath, leaving me a pile of wet suited man sitting in the tub. “Life or death,” she says, over and over, pacing up and down. Then she seems to shake her head to herself, walking calmly out of the bathroom.

  What the fuck? “Beau!” I bellow, scrambling up and flopping out of the bath, going after her, my body feeling ten times heavier, dragging a saturated suit with me. I land in the dressing room and find her pulling on a pair of my pants and a T-shirt. “Will you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “Our lives depend on it.”

  My God, I’m going to headbutt the fucking wall in a minute. “Depend on what?” I grab her and hold her still, not prepared to let her go until she clues me in on what the fuck she’s talking about.

  “I know where the key to Mom’s safety deposit box is.”

  I recoil, dropping her, stepping back. “What?”

  “The night of the explosion,” she goes on. “I asked if we could open Mom’s special bottle of Krug to celebrate my Phase One Test results. She said no. She said I mustn’t go near that bottle unless my life depended on it.”

  She turns and leaves, and I stand there, stunned, coming to terms with the fact that I might finally have that mystery put to bed. Did Jaz Hayley know who The Bear is? My cheeks blow out. In that box are potentially the names of two men many would pay millions for. But now there’s the footage to be rid of too. And the rest of The Bear’s army.

  And, the top prize, The Bear.

  “I’m going to Uncle Lawrence’s to check,” she calls, and doesn’t that snap me back to life.

  “What?” I murmur, my mind playing catch-up. Going. Leaving. “Beau!” I yell, chasing after her. I’ll chain her to the frame in my bedroom if I have to. She’s not going anywhere.

  I, however, have someone to kill.

  63

  BEAU

  I smack the button of the elevator repeatedly, and as soon as the doors slide open, I walk in. I feel so calm. Resolute. Together. But as soon as I hit the button for the first floor, I’m dragged back out. “What are you doing?” I ask incredulously.

  “Have you forgotten there’s an army of murderers out there that want us both dead?” He carries me to the kitchen, placing me on a stool.

  “Have you forgotten that the army of murderers know where you live?” I retort, and he scowls at me but doesn’t come back with a counter. Because he doesn’t know what to say. He’s stumped. Doesn’t know what move to make next. To me, it’s easy. Go to Lawrence’s, find the Krug, find the key, find the deposit box, and burn the contents. Then we walk away. Why isn’t he seeing this? It’s all obvious to me, and what’s also obvious is the fact he’s being held back. Because of me. He won’t leave me, not now that his safe place has been compromised. Twice. I’m a problem, as well as a solution.

  I look around his apartment, high and low. “Why all the glass?” I ask, settling my eyes back on him. I have so many questions, but this is the only one I know he’ll answer at this moment in time.

  Slumping down on his stool, he rubs at his forehead. I hate the pain I see. It’s all over his face. “I was raised in a house with few windows, and what windows there were remained covered. My father worried about people seeing us. Knowing what we looked like.” He smiles, and it’s the saddest smile I’ve seen. “It was suffocating.” He blows out a breath. “And then when Otto hid me, he literally hid me. My whole family was dead. I was dead. And where we stayed, where I grieved and mourned and became angrier and angrier, it was damp. Cold. Lightless. I yearned for light. For windows to see the light. For things to be . . . clear.”

  God damn my wobbly lip. I reach for his hand, and he turns his, clenching mine. “Let’s get out of here,” I plead. No more death. No more blood. No more darkness. I’m tired of hating. Seeking revenge is exhausting. Seeing this pain on James is crushing.

  “I can’t.” He looks at me with a million apologies in his eyes. “Not until I find the man who killed
my family.”

  My shoulders drop. “And what if you never find him? What if Mom didn’t know who he is? Then what? I have to sit here waiting for you to finish the story?” I can’t do it. “Don’t make me walk away.”

  “Walk away?” He looks offended, leaning in, making sure he gets as close as possible, perhaps so I can appreciate just how pissed off he is. “We are one now, Beau. Which means the target on my back spreads onto yours.” He slaps a palm down on the counter with force, and I flinch. “And that means I have to finish this.”

  His expression, not the anger but the pain, has me comprehending with frightening clarity that he will never let this go. And, really, there’s no life for us constantly running. This has to end. “Then finish it,” I murmur, reluctant but accepting.

  He swallows, nods, and rises to his full height, dropping his mouth into my hair. “I need to get out of these wet clothes.”

  I get down off the stool, suddenly deplete of energy, knowing he’ll be going nowhere without me. He collects me and guides me up the stairs, and I yawn, not once, but three times on our way.

  “Take a nap,” he orders, pulling back the sheets and physically placing me in the bed.

  “And what are you going to do?”

  He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me in the way he does that tells me more than my tired brain can cope with. He pulls the covers over me, collects an iPad off the nightstand, and goes to the bathroom, yanking at his wet tie.

  I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to shut off from a world I need to remain alert in.

  But my eyes are heavy.

  And James is watching over me.

  I come around to the sound of whispers. I feel around for my phone and look at the time. What? I sit up, looking out of the window, seeing the frosted glass glowing. The sun is out. A new day.

  And still, whispers.

  I look at the door. It’s no longer clear, and the low talking from beyond is sounding angry. I get up and creep over, coming to a stop and listening.

  “That’s the plan,” James hisses. “The end.”

  “It’s a fucking stupid plan,” Otto mutters.

  And then, silence. No comeback from James. Why is it a stupid plan?

  “I can hear you breathing, Beau,” James says clearly, and my nose wrinkles, my hand taking the door and pulling it open. They both step back.

  “Don’t let me interrupt you,” I say, my eyes dropping down James’s semi-naked torso to the gun in his hand. “Did something happen?”

  “Yes, someone thought of a stupid plan,” Otto mutters, stalking off, shaking his head in despair, which leaves me wondering what the hell this plan is.

  James passes me, going to the dressing room, and I go after him, not liking the sense of foreboding I’m feeling. Otto doesn’t like the plan, and if Goldie was here, I bet she’d hate it too, which means I’m going to despise it.

  “What’s the plan?” I ask, standing in the doorway while he pulls his jeans up his thighs, the gun still in his hand.

  “The plan . . .” he says, buttoning his fly before snatching a T-shirt off the back of a chair and his boots off the floor. He drops a kiss on my cheek as he passes me back into the bedroom, “. . . is that Beau doesn’t know the plan.”

  “What?” Is he out of his mind? “James,” I say, going after him, following him into the bathroom. He’s dumped his boots and T-shirt on the counter and is brushing his teeth. Still with the gun in his hand. “You can’t do this to me.”

  “What?” he mumbles. “Protect you?”

  “Yes. I mean, no,” I growl and push my fist into my temple as he spits into the sink. “Don’t do this. Don’t treat me like glass because I’m pregnant.”

  “Whether you’re pregnant or not is a moot point.” He rinses his brush. “But you are pregnant.”

  “I knew it. This isn’t only your war, James. I’m not—”

  He’s across the room like a rocket, his palm over my mouth. “Yesterday, you asked me to walk away. You accepted I can’t.” His head tilts expectantly. I know where he’s going with this, and he can forget it.

  “You don’t get to do this.” I remove his hand from my face, incensed. I will not be that woman. I refuse to be kept. Wrapped in cotton wool. “I don’t need protecting. I don’t need looking after.”

  “Beau, come on. Be reasonable.”

  “You wanted the real me. Now you have me, and you’re suppressing me.”

  “You’re fucking pregnant!”

  “And I wish I wasn’t,” I retort, walking away.

  “Hey!” He grabs my arm to stop me, and on complete reflex, I send my elbow sailing back.

  Into his nose.

  “Motherfucker,” he chokes, staggering back, blinking, his free hand holding his face. “Control that fucking elbow of yours.”

  I wince. Shrink. Shit. I didn’t mean to do that, but I’m not glass, and he’s not making me glass so he can put me in his glass house with his glass things. I roll my shoulders back, standing my ground, refusing to apologize. Not out loud, anyway. Mentally, I’m throwing him apologies left and right.

  Grabbing a towel, he wipes the blood from his face. “You . . .” he says on an exhale, his eyes raging, his bare chest vibrating. Fuck, he looks savage. But I will not back down. He slowly lifts the gun and aims it at me. What the fuck is he doing? Proving a point?

  “The safety is on,” I point out, and he releases it, jaw rolling. I step forward, my eyes narrowing, daring him. This is fucking ridiculous. “Do it,” I push.

  “Don’t fucking tempt me.”

  He growls.

  And I smile, stepping back.

  Then perform a perfectly executed roundhouse kick, knocking the gun right out of his hand. I land softly on my feet, my arm safe, close to my chest, and the gun flies across the bathroom and hits the wall, dropping to the floor.

  Bang!

  The mirror above the sink shatters, I flinch, and James jumps, his eyes darting to me, checking me over. And he stares at me, stunned, his hand still in position, except now he’s unarmed. I throw him a filthy look, turn, and walk away.

  “Not glass,” I call back.

  With every minute that passes, James’s mood declines more. I’ve asked him two questions and got no answers. Not because he’s ignoring me. Not because he doesn’t have the answers. He just can’t hear me speak, his mind elsewhere.

  I’m sitting on the bottom step, watching him pace up and down in front of the window, turning his phone over in his hand repeatedly. The air is thick with tension. No conversation. Hardly any breathing.

  Hearing movement behind me, I look over my shoulder up the stairs. Otto appears, carrying two bags, which I know will literally be loaded. I shuffle to the side, giving him room to pass, my eyes glued to them until he sets them down on the floor by the elevator. He flicks eyes to me. I don’t like the uncertainty I see.

  The elevator doors open and Goldie appears, tossing a look I also don’t like to James. She’s fiddling with her suit jacket, fastening it and unfastening it, and Otto is spinning the piercing in his lip constantly.

  James goes to the bags and crouches, pulling the zipper of each one open and checking inside. I get up from the stairs and go to him, slowing when my cell rings. The name on my screen has me rejecting the call without thought, and James slowly lifts his head, giving me his attention for the first time in an hour. Of course he would hear my cell. And very quickly, the bastard thing rings again.

  “Who is it?” he asks. He knows damn well who it is. Who else would make me this uncomfortable?

  “No one.”

  “Answer it.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can say goodbye,” he grunts, nothing but pure hatred marring his face. I’ve already said goodbye. Numerous times. “A final goodbye,” he adds, and because I’m not completely stupid, I take the call. James looks like he could pull one of those guns at any moment and go on a shooting spree. Ollie’s timing is the
worst.

  “Ollie,” I answer, turning away, unable to see James looking like he’s about to kill something, which is irony at its best. “Now’s not a good time.”

  “You’re pregnant,” he says, his tone loaded with disgust. “And by the man who killed your mother?”

  “Ollie,” I whisper, stunned by the condemnation in his words. “James had nothing to do with Mom’s death.”

  “Explain why he was there then, Beau. I saw him with my own eyes in that footage Nath had. Come on, you were a smart cop.”

  “I can’t do this, Ollie.” My shoulder rises to my earlobes, feeling three sets of eyes aimed at my back.

  He sighs over a curse. “Beau, please, come to me. Let me help you. I can’t sit back and watch this happen.”

  “Ollie—”

  “Remember the good times, Beau. We can have that again. Jaz would want that. She’d turn in her grave if she could see this. Who the fuck is he, anyway?”

  “Goodbye.” I quickly hang up and turn off my phone, my hands shaking terribly. And suddenly they’re not. Suddenly, James is holding them. I look up at him.

  “We need to go,” he says, motioning to the elevator. “Ready?”

  Ready? For what? What’s going to happen? What’s his plan?

  When I don’t answer, he pulls me along behind him as Otto and Goldie lift the bags from the floor.

  Those bags. How many weapons do they need?

  And, more to the point, who’s going to bear the brunt of James’s mood?

  James rides up front with Otto driving, and I get the pleasure of Goldie’s company in the back. James remains glued to his phone, and numerous times Goldie catches me staring at her. “You never did tell me how you and James know each other.”

  She smiles, and I notice out the corner of my eye James moving for the first time since we got in the car. He looks up to the mirror in the sun visor, his eyes on Goldie. Waiting. Or is he warning?

  “He saved me,” she says, simple as that, no elaboration.