Noble Brit

by P. T. Michelle

  In answer to his business partner’s sarcasm, Sebastian hurls a bagel his way. “Get your asses back in here.” As the guys enter, he nods to them. “Calder, you and Elijah will scout out the area around the hotel for cameras. Talia and I will talk to the police to confirm with them that the car belonged to Regan’s mother. We’ll also try to determine if the burned body is Regan’s with the DNA sample we have. It should go without saying that, with so much going on, tomorrow will be a workday. Everyone plan to come in the office.” Cutting his gaze to me, he continues, “In the meantime, nothing better happen to my sister. Not a hair on her head. And you’re not leaving here with her until I know your address.”

  “Understood,” I say, nodding to Mina and Talia as they walk in with the map printouts.

  When Mina and I walk out to my car a couple hours later, a note had been left under the wiper on the driver’s side. I glance around to see if someone is watching, then scan it quickly while Mina gets in the car.

  Yes, I know where you work. The tabloids love the Blake family. I will call you later. Unblock me and answer your damn phone. If you don’t, I’ll show up at your house next. Nice brownstone, by the way. I’m trying to be the friend you obviously think I’m not. But if you’re going to blame me, the least you can do is hear me out.

  * * *

  Hugh

  Bloody bastard. Crumbling the paper, I unblock the bastard on my phone, open my car door and get in. The fact he came to my place of work is too damn close for comfort. I don’t want him anywhere near my home. I’ll let him speak his peace and be done.

  It’s late afternoon before we arrive back at my place, and the moment I open my door, I get a text from Hugh with a place to meet. As Mina walks into the kitchen and asks if I’d like a cup of tea, I text him back that I’ll pick the meet place and let him know when and where later. I won’t text him until I’m already there. No way am I letting him set a trap for me.

  “Is everything all right?” Mina lifts the teakettle as I slip my phone back in my jacket pocket.

  “Everything is fine, but I just realized that I need to pick up some food for dinner.”

  “Oh, okay.” Mina sets the kettle down and gives an apologetic smile. “I guess I’ve been eating all your groceries. Let me get my coat on and I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s not necessary. The sky is getting darker by the minute. It’s going to rain soon. Stay and enjoy your tea. The market isn’t that far.” When an uncertain look flickers across her face, I re-button my coat and nod toward the door. “My home is very secure, Mina. You’ll be safe here. No one but Sebastian and Talia know where I live.”

  “It’s not that,” she begins, then shakes her head.

  “Would you like me to call Theo to watch from outside?”

  “I know you prefer your privacy, Den. And, Theo might be part of your team, but that’s just one more person who’ll know where you live. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call Josi and enjoy some tea while you’re gone.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I say, ready to get this meet with Hugh done and over. I want him gone from my life once and for all.

  The sky has turned completely dark by the time I arrive in the East Village. I text Hugh to meet me outside Village Venue, then park a street down from the club. Double-checking my gun, I tuck it away and walk up the street, keeping an eye out for Hugh.

  He’s standing in the shadows, leaning against the corner of the building as I approach.

  Casually unbuttoning my wool coat, I try to gauge if he has a gun. The way he’s pressed against the brick wall, it would be uncomfortable as hell if his weapon is tucked against his back. But his thick jacket could easily hide its bulk.

  “I’m here,” I grumble. “What do you want?”

  Hugh blows on his hands to warm them against the brisk night air, then glances up at me as a light rain starts to fall. “We could’ve talked inside where it’s warm.”

  I snort and cross my arms as I step between the buildings, but keep my distance against the opposite wall. Folding my hand under my jacket, I grip my gun tucked in its holster. “You’ve grown soft in your old age.” Rain begins to pelt my face, but I ignore it. “I don’t plan to be here long.”

  “Then I’ll make this quick.” Hugh sighs and folds his arms too. “Seven months ago, someone drugged my drink at a bar. I woke up tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse where three masked men beat the shite out of me. Several cracked ribs and bones later, I could barely take a breath or see from the blood dripping into my swollen eyes. A fourth man, obviously their leader, steps into the light. It was Edgar Stewart.”

  I tense, recognizing the name from one of our cases. Edgar’s younger brother, Jonathan, was killed in a Tube explosion during a multi-faceted, coordinated terrorist attack throughout the city of London. At the time, Edgar’s father was just getting involved in politics. “What did Edgar want?”

  Hugh’s exhale sounds so tortured, I frown as I wait for him to speak.

  “Revenge, Den. It was always about revenge for his brother’s death.”

  “What was always about revenge?” I ask, frowning.

  “Edgar gloated about how clever he’d been to orchestrate all the deaths. To make them look like the acts of nature, accidents, and gas leaks people thought they were.”

  My pulse jacks like a bullet train in my ears. It’s raining harder now, but despite the cold, my chest feels like it’s on fire. “What are you talking about?” I snap, my hand tightening on my gun.

  Hugh’s gaze meets mine, pain and sympathy swirling in the dark depths. “Zeke’s son, my Sarah and our unborn child, and…” he pauses, then continues, “Bren and Enya. That sick fuck was responsible for all of it. He wanted the men from our team to experience the kind of pain he claims he feels every day. The pain of living without family. He said, ‘The palace shouldn’t have been our first priority that day.’”

  “It fucking wasn’t!” I roar.

  “I know that and you know that, but with multiple terrorist attacks and explosions happening all at once, his perception was very different, especially since Buckingham got locked down so quickly. Remember, his father had just left the palace that day. We were fucked no matter who we got to first.”

  Indescribable rage fills my heart. “How is the bastard still alive after you learned what he’d done to your family?”

  “With my throat punched to hell, I could barely speak, but I tried like hell to fight. The men easily overpowered me, yanking me upright. I couldn’t even stand on my own two feet, so the bastards held me in place while Edgar put three bullets in me before they opened the warehouse’s sliding door and tossed me in the Thames like a piece of trash.”

  Hugh pushes off the wall and steps closer. I take a step forward too, gravitating to his unbearable pain, feeling it just as deeply. “The only thing that stopped me from drowning that night and kept me motivated to fucking survive these past months, is that you deserved the truth. I clawed my way back from death itself.”

  I blink at him. “Does Edgar even know you survived?”

  The moment Hugh says, “No one does,” a bullet whizzes between us, striking me in the upper arm before hitting the Dumpster behind me.

  Hugh and I spring apart, stumbling back to opposing walls deeper in the alley.

  Guns drawn, we snarl at each other, “You fucking set me up!”

  “I set you up?” Hugh’s eyes widen in disbelief, then narrow.

  “I’m the one with the wound, you lying bastard!”

  Our gazes glitter with fury and distrust for several seconds in the darkness, but neither of us is willing to pull the trigger. Instead our attention shifts back to the front of the alley where the shot came from.

  After a full minute passes, we nod to each other and default to the teammates we’d been for almost a decade. I point skyward to show him the angle of the shot, which means the shooter has to be on the rooftop to our left across the street. Motioning for Hugh to wait for me to mak
e my way around the building, I mouth that I’ll text to let him know when to draw more fire. We’ve worked together long enough that he knows I need to pinpoint exactly where the shooter is.

  When he nods his agreement, I make my way to the back of the alley. Shedding my soaked overcoat to allow better freedom of movement, I grit my teeth as I tie a piece of it’s lining around my arm to staunch the flow of blood, then climb through a window and land on a low shelf in the storage room at the back of the club. Loud music thumps down the long dark hall, muffling the sound of my footsteps as I quickly move down a back hall and find the exit on the opposite side of the building, slipping outside in the darkness once more.

  An awning at the front of the adjacent building provides shelter from the rain, but also a way to see without being seen. I text Hugh.

  Ready.

  My eyes widen as the crazy idiot rushes out of the alley in a full run into the pouring rain. Wearing my overcoat with the collar turned up, he succeeds in attracting the shooter’s full attention.

  Of course the bastard takes his chance. While he pops off a couple of rounds, doing his best to take “me” out, I quickly lift my weapon and fire.

  The second the bloke drops out of sight, I tuck my gun away and take off across the street. Shouldering my way past the doorman at the entrance of the building, I ignore his threat that he’ll call the police, and scan the small lobby until I see the sign for the stairwell.

  Vaulting upstairs, I push the rooftop door open to see a guy about five-ten in a hoodie. The moment he sees the light where I’ve opened the door, he jams a gun in his jeans, then takes off across the rooftop. I only caught a profile but no discernable features, but I chase after him, knowing my long legs will overrun the short bastard quickly. The last thing I expect when he runs out of roof space, is for him to jump onto the roof’s edge and take a crazy leap over to the next building’s rooftop.

  When he lands and stumbles forward, then catches himself and keeps running, I stand in the rain staring after him, my fists curled in anger. No fucking way am I risking jumping between buildings. I might be long-legged, but I’m not superhuman, nor crazy enough to attempt it. He barely made that jump himself.

  Turning in disgust, I start to walk away when the toe of my shoe hits something hard on the ground. I pull the handkerchief out of my suit jacket’s pocket, then wrap the dry part around the phone. At the sound of sirens in the distance, I quickly tuck it away in my inside pocket before climbing down the fire escape.

  After I return to the alley, Hugh is gone. I don’t see him anywhere, so I head for my car. Grabbing the first aid kit and my gym bag from the back of my car, I quickly dress my wound, then change into shorts, a t-shirt and a zip-up jacket. Once I pull on my trainers, I use my dry towel to carefully retrieve the phone out of my wet jacket. Of course the shooter has a lock code on his phone, but once the lock code screen disappears, I stare at the screenshot of my license plate the bloke had apparently put as his lock screen for quick access.

  The motherfucker must’ve tracked me through traffic cams. That’s the only way, because I disabled the GPS tracker in my BMW the moment I bought it. At least Mina’s safe. I made sure there weren’t cameras anywhere near my home, so they couldn’t have tracked me there. But where did the shooter get this photo of my plate? I zoom in on the image, then exhale harshly when I recognize the unusual brick color of the edge of a building.

  This shot was zoomed in on my car as I sat outside Eastend waiting for Mina. Was the shooter part of the clean-up team tying up loose ends? Or did Hugh, in his determined quest to tell me the truth, lead one of Edgar’s men straight to me? It’s not like Hugh to not spot a tail.

  A text from Hugh comes through on my phone.

  Did you get him?

  Playing human decoy wasn’t smart.

  I’ve cheated death already. It worked, didn’t it? So did you get him?

  No, but he dropped his phone, which is locked. For now, stay clear. I’m not sure if he followed you to me or not. I’ll let you know if I learn anything.

  Irritated that I can’t get into the shooter’s phone, I shut it completely off so no one can remote erase it, then drop it in the passenger seat. With the rain, we’ll be lucky if we can get prints off of it.

  I text Elijah.

  Any camera feeds around the hotel with Mina on them? If you haven’t gone through them all yet, take a break and look at the feeds from quadrant four to see if my car shows up. Check that same quadrant to see if Mina is seen as well.

  As I set my phone down, my chest tightens. I want to get home and check on Mina.

  Chapter Twelve

  Den

  The last thing I expect is to find Mina curled up asleep on my couch. When she doesn’t stir as I set the takeaway down on the counter, I survey the room as I walk over to her. The kettle is moved onto a trivet and a spoon is sitting next to the tea she brought with her. Half a cup of tea is left in the mug on my coffee table. It doesn’t look like she ate anything though.

  I hate that I was gone much longer than I expected, to the point she’d fallen asleep so deeply. Sitting on the couch next to her, I touch her shoulder, anticipating it’ll take more to wake her. Instead, she sucks in a scared gasp and swings, punching me in the jaw. “Stay back!” she screams and crab-crawls backward on the couch to get away.

  “It’s me, Mina,” I say, but she’s looking at me with wide, fearful eyes that don’t really see me at all.

  The moment I clasp her hand, she seems to come out of her sleep trance. Confusion flickers in her gaze as she glances down at my shorts and sweat jacket, then toward the dark sky outside. “You went for a morning run? I can’t believe I slept all night.”

  Chuckling, I tuck her wavy hair behind her ear, loving her bedhead hair and appealing lavender and vanilla smell. “No, it’s only six in the evening. I brought takeaway for dinner. I hope you like Italian.” I pull her to her feet, and as she untangles herself from the throw she’s pulled over her, I say, “Though I admit to being surprised to find you asleep, since you slept pretty late this morning.”

  Mina attempts to fix her hair, looking embarrassed. “I—well, I don’t sleep very well.”

  I frown. “Is this all the time? Were you dreaming like you did last night?’

  She exhales and looks away. “Yes.”

  “Talk to me,” I say, touching her chin to pull her gaze back to mine. “Have you always dreamed like this?”

  She looks up at me and tears fill her eyes. As they spill down her cheeks, I don’t want her to feel like she’s so alone. Cupping her face, I brush the tears away with my thumbs. “It’s okay, Mina. I’m here.”

  She nods and takes a deep breath. “I haven’t always had these crazy nightmares. At first they were just dreams, but then the last couple of months, they’ve gotten worse, turning into horror freak shows.”

  “What do you dream about?”

  “My mom.” Blinking back a new rush of tears, she continues, “She’s always in my dreams. Chasing me down, reaching out, trying to get my attention. And it’s a version of my mom all burned up, Den. And then later…” She pauses and shudders. “She literally explodes. It’s horrible.”

  “Have you ever tried visualization techniques?” When she shakes her head, I release her and nod. “Try to do them before you fall asleep. If you can learn to do that, it could help you realize that your dreams are just that. Then you can try to control the outcome instead of feeling pulled along by it.”

  “I’ll try anything at this point. If only you had a suggestion for the real world.”

  “What do you mean?” My brows pull together. “Are you seeing something upsetting when you’re awake too?”

  Biting her lip, she nods slowly. “I’ve seen my mom a few times the last couple of months. Or at least a woman who reminds me of my mom. It’s freaky and probably why I have the crazy dreams I do.”

  I clasp her shoulders, concerned. “Where have you seen this woman who looks like Isabel?”


  “Several places I frequent in town.”

  “I’d like you to write them down so I can check them out.”

  “For a ghost?” she says, snorting. “I know I sound crazy, Den. You don’t have to humor me.”

  I release her and smile. “Weren’t you the one who said how seriously I take my job?”

  Mina’s amusement fades and she takes a step back. “Yes, I did say that. Thanks for being thorough.”

  Her demeanor completely changed. How did I manage to muck up the rapport building between us so quickly? “We should probably eat before the food gets cold.”

  Walking away, she glances over her shoulder. “And you can tell me how you ended up changing clothes while on your way to a corner market you never made it to.”

  Apparently she has no issue calling me out. I follow her into the kitchen. “I bought lasagna and salad.”

  Lifting a box out of the bag, she shifts her gaze to my attire. “What’s up with the new outfit?”

  “I got soaked,” I say as she hands me my two boxes.

  “No umbrella?” Mina locates the plastic forks down in the bag and hands me mine, then sits on the stool, digging into the pasta. “You’re the one who told me it was going to rain.”

  “I don’t have long, gorgeous hair to worry about.” I sit beside her and take a bite of my lasagna.

  A hint of a smile flickers as she jabs her fork into her salad. “What made you decide on take out?”

  “I assumed you’d be starving by the time I got back, so I decided to bring something ready to eat to save time.”

  “That was thoughtful of you.” Giving me the side-eye, she takes several bites of her lasagna, before turning to face me. “So what did Hugh have to say?”

  Despite my surprise, I keep my expression even and only raise my eyebrows while chewing on a bite of salad.

  “Before you left you were irritated and tense. I’ve only seen you act that way when it came to your friend.”