“You’ll do great,” Hannah told her with a nudge. She’d tagged along to see the culmination of her work fighting for Tulane’s arrest, and to make sure it went smoothly. Destiny appreciated her presence on a purely selfish level, as the waves of confidence rolled off her. She wanted this, was excited to see Tulane be brought to justice.
Destiny smiled up at her. “I won’t be doing much. Duncan will be the one in the line of fire, and the one doing the public speaking. I just have to stand there in my uniform and look legit.”
Hannah hesitated. “About that…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, have you thought about what your superiors say? Whether or not they’re corrupt, they won’t like you wearing your uniform on camera to support something outside of the police department, surely.”
Destiny’s stomach dropped. So maybe now was the time to tell Hannah the truth. Her stomach roiled, making her feel nauseated.
“I had thought of that,” she began.
“I just don’t want you to get in trouble,” Hannah said, taking her hand. “I know how much this job means to you.”
Destiny swallowed, fighting back the nerves. She had to tell her. If she ever wanted a chance with Hannah, she had to tell her now.
“Actually, I was thinking of quitting,” she said softly.
Hannah’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“I know it’s not ideal,” she scrambled to explain. “But I’m tired. I’m just so tired of the constant fight against corruption, of dealing with people like those who killed my brother.”
“But I thought you enjoyed the fight?” Hannah asked in a small voice.
Destiny shook her head and sighed. “I’ve enjoyed knowing I’m fighting on the right side, but I can’t keep going without seeing any progress. I’m beating my head against a brick wall of corruption, bigotedness, and ignorance. If I knew I’d helped at least one person, maybe I’d still feel the drive to continue. Instead, I just feel drained. Like nothing I do matters.”
“Oh,” said Hannah. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Obviously I still want to help people, but I think I need to do it a different way, for my own mental health, and so I really see an actual difference.”
“What will you do?” Hannah asked.
“I’m not sure,” Destiny said. “Maybe I’ll join Soldiering On, if it ever gets back up and running. Or open a centre for youths. I honestly don’t know. It’s only a decision I’ve come to in the last few days, and I haven’t thought much further beyond it.”
Hannah was silent for a moment, and Destiny’s heart thundered as she waited for a response.
A soft smile curled at the corner of Hannah’s lips, and she stroked her thumb over the back of Destiny’s hand. Destiny’s stomach flipped, this time from happiness rather than nerves.
“Well, whatever you do, I’m sure you’ll be amazing. I can see you helping people wherever you end up. You’ll rock anything and everything.”
Hannah stepped closer, and Destiny’s heart danced in her chest. “Thank you, that means a lot.”
“Whoever gets you will be lucky to have you.” Hannah’s gaze was intense, burning into Destiny’s soul.
Destiny swallowed, tilting her face towards Hannah. “And what if that person is you?” she murmured, too nervous to ask the question louder.
Hannah grinned. “I think I’ll be the luckiest one of all.” She cupped Destiny’s face and leaned down, pressing her lips lightly against hers.
Destiny sighed into her mouth and settled her free hand against Hannah’s neck. The kiss was soft and sweet, an acknowledgment that now wasn’t really the time or the place, but unable to resist the sealing of their bond.
Destiny stepped closer to Hannah, feeling her warmth. She was so grateful Hannah had taken her confession well. Since they’d first bonded over their pursuit of justice against the odds in their respective departments, it had been impossible to know for sure what she’d say.
But now Destiny knew she needn’t have worried. Hannah was right. Destiny would make a difference somewhere else, somewhere better.
And she’d have Hannah by her side while she did.
Chapter 19
The house on Oakland was an average, mid-sized home—nothing like the mansion Destiny had described Tulane living in. It was two-story, and looked like a clone of all its neighbours, only with a different haircut. A hedge taller than Mandy blocked the view of the street, so she had to travel up the gravel drive to reach the front door. Sam and Paul followed close behind.
“Do you think she’ll be dangerous?” Paul asked, eyeing the innocuous looking house. He didn’t seem nervous by the prospect, just curious. Wondering what they’d face.
Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Women are often underestimated.”
Mandy nodded to that. “They are, but she didn’t seem violent from when I met her in the car—if it is the same woman.” She rubbed her arm where the woman had grabbed her, doubt forming. But regardless, there was three of them and one of her. They could take whatever she served. And what was the alternative? Allow Duncan to put his life at risk? “From my experience, most women like this are only dangerous socially. Accept and drink her tea when it’s offered and she won’t be insulted. You’ll probably be safe.” She gave them a teasing smile.
Sam and Paul nodded sagely.
“You are both armed, though?” Mandy asked, unable to fully rid herself of her unease. “Just in case?”
They nodded again, and Sam patted herself, indicating a whole host of weaponry hidden on her person, from her underarms to her boots.
Mandy exhaled and relaxed.
The front door, prettily decorated in stained glass panels, set back from a pristine porch. Mandy rang the bell and stepped back. They waited. The house was still and silent. Nerves pinged around in Mandy’s system. Perhaps this hadn’t been a good idea after all.
Then, a shuffling sound penetrated the door, and the lock clicked. The porch light flickered on. Mandy held her breath as the door opened, revealing the woman from the car at the warehouse.
They’d been right.
She wasn’t wearing scarlet this time. She wore tan slacks with a white blouse, perfectly pressed and neat. Though she did hold soil-stained gardening gloves, and Mandy remembered being told she had studied botany. Gloria smiled, her lips bare of the dramatic lipstick she’d worn last time.
“Hello again,” she said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Mandy straightened her shoulders. “We need to talk. About Tulane—or Gregory—whatever you call him.”
She raised a perfectly-sculpted brow. “Ah, my erstwhile husband. What has he gotten himself into this time?”
Mandy shared a glance with Paul. “Um…you must know he kidnapped me, since you were there.”
Gloria shrugged. “He’s impulsive. I often try to talk him out of things. Or, at worst, follow him so he doesn’t get himself into too much trouble.”
“So you don’t condone his behaviour?” Mandy asked hopefully. “Because we’re hoping you might help us.”
Gloria eyed her. “You three better come in.”
She stepped aside. Sam went in first, Mandy next, then Paul brought up the rear. Gloria settled them in what looked like a conservatory. Plants of all shapes and sizes crowded the edges of the room, leaving barely enough room for the two benches; the scrolling metal was painted white to match the clean, white cushions with decorative violets on them. Mandy and Sam took one bench, while Paul pulled his chair up to the side.
“Tea?” Gloria asked politely.
“Yes, thank you,” Mandy said. She wasn’t particularly thirsty, but she understood the societal customs of people like Gloria and Tulane. It was the same circle she’d been raised in. To refuse an offer of hospitality like that practically guaranteed Gloria would be too offended to help them.
Gloria pushed aside the large leaves of a fern and stepped through the curtain. An electric kettle switched on, and the click of cups and
saucers filtered through the wall of greenery.
The room was light and airy, with plenty of windows and a high ceiling. But there was something not quite right about it, something Mandy couldn’t put her finger on.
They waited silently until Gloria returned with a tray and poured all four of them cups of tea in delicate china.
“Thank you,” Mandy murmured politely as Gloria handed her the tea.
Paul and Sam also took their cups and cradled them in their laps.
“So, you said you needed my help,” Gloria mentioned, settling back in the garden seat.
Mandy nodded. “You see, we’re hoping you might be able to talk some sense into your husband. Get him to agree to turn himself in and go to trial over the evidence. He needs to see he’ll gain nothing by hurting me or Duncan. It’s too late.”
She took a sip of the tea and kept a straight face at the bitter flavour.
Gloria set her own cup of tea aside and leaned forward. “As you’ve seen, my husband is very impulsive. I can rarely convince him to do anything.”
Mandy looked around for a source of inspiration on how to convince this woman. She took in all the greenery of the plants. It finally clicked what was off about the room—there was no scent. Despite all the plants, crowding every inch of available space, the whole room smelled clinical and wrong.
“You must see this is in Tulane’s best interests,” Mandy said, using the tried and true ‘it’s for his own good’ argument to see if it would work.
The world shifted slightly. Mandy blinked and took another sip of tea, trying to steady herself.
“I’m sure my husband doesn’t see it that way.”
“Surely it’s worth a try. Better to turn himself in now before he gets himself killed. At least then he’ll have a chance when it goes to trial.”
Gloria smiled. “Oh, but darling. It won’t go to trial.”
Mandy frowned. “What…” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She swallowed and tried again. “What do you mean?”
Her vision blurred. Only then did Mandy see the obvious. She’d been poisoned.
They hadn’t expected an attack from this quarter. They’d prepared for guns and knives and violence, not this slow ceding of autonomy.
It took a moment for the full implication to hit her. She was at this woman’s mercy, and slowly losing consciousness. The cup fell from her grip, shattering on the stone floor. The sound penetrated her hazy mind as if from a great distance.
She tried to turn her head, to see if Sam or Paul could help, but she couldn’t move.
She tried again, panic building, but she was paralysed. Her heart pounded in her chest, alerting her to a danger she couldn’t escape from. She was trapped.
Surely if Sam and Paul weren’t helping they must be unconscious, too. She’d hadn’t seen them sip their tea, but she’d been so focused on Gloria. Oh God.
Gloria’s face swam back into focus. The sharp intelligence in her eyes made Mandy see she had grossly underestimated this woman.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asked thickly. “It was you all along.”
Unconsciousness loomed in the corner of her mind.
Gloria cackled. “You don’t really think my useless husband could have managed all this for so long, do you? He’s been my puppet for years.”
“You’re the real Tulane.”
Dread curled in Mandy’s stomach, pushing aside the fogginess for a brief, terrifying second. Long enough for her to know how truly screwed she was.
“What will you do to me?” she muttered, pushing the words out with great effort.
Gloria smiled an unpleasant smile. “I’m going to deal with you once and for all.”
And then Mandy’s mind went black.
Duncan cleared his throat and the press stilled their chattering and turned their attention—and their cameras—to him. He swallowed, nerves making his mind go blank. This was Mandy’s forte, not his.
He squared his shoulders. He could do this. For Mandy, he would do this.
He licked his lips and launched into his prepared speech. It didn’t really matter what he said. It was mostly platitudes and nonsense Morris had helped him write. The fact he was here, in public, should be enough of a draw for Tulane.
Duncan talked about how they’d conquer the threat from Tulane, and how dangerous the man was. He talked about rebuilding Soldiering On in defiance of him. About how he loved the company, and the good work they did, and the people he saw every day.
And as the words came out of his mouth, Duncan realised how true they were. He couldn’t give up Soldiering On, didn’t want to. Yes, maybe Mandy was in danger because of their work, but he loved working with her. He couldn’t do it without her, and didn’t want to. They were a team. They complemented each other perfectly.
Soldiering On was everything he’d worked for—they’d worked for. His purpose. Without it, he would have nothing. And the friends he’d built it for would have nothing, too.
He couldn’t do that to them, or to himself.
And Mandy deserved to make her own choices about the company. Would Mandy be safer if she had a different job? Maybe. But she might also be safer by his side, provided he pay attention, and not distract himself with his conflicted feelings for her.
If they did rebuild—together—how would he handle working beside her every day, knowing he couldn’t touch her, be with her? Not well. But maybe he wouldn’t have to.
Frustrated with the mess his head was in, he shook his head to clear it and focused back on his speech. This wasn’t the time to ponder such things. He needed to get this over and done with so Mandy would be safe, then he could work through everything he and Mandy had said to each other over the last few days.
A few more lines of the speech, and he wrapped it up quickly. Most of the journalists gave him polite nods and left quickly, but a few hung around chatting to each other.
He shared a look with Destiny. Stage one of the plan was complete. Now for stage two.
Duncan slipped away towards the alley they’d decided Tulane would probably try to come through. Their enemy wasn’t a military strategist, so he’d take the easiest-seeming route. Hopefully Tulane would come alone. Since most of his crew had been killed or arrested at the warehouse, Duncan thought there was a good possibility he would. If not, he’d deal with that, too.
Blake and Zack waited in their designated spots.
The alley was long and lit by an orange safety light near the roof, with a wall on one side, and a high chicken wire fence on the other. Overflowing garbage cans sat halfway down the alley, and even where he stood at the mouth Duncan could smell the sour stench of rot.
The minutes ticked by. The empty alley taunted him. He glanced around the lot where he’d held the press conference, but Tulane didn’t appear there, either. Maybe they’d been wrong? Maybe Tulane wouldn’t hear about it? Or wouldn’t come after him?
His throat grew thick with regret. He’d staked so much on this plan.
A movement caught his eye at the other end of the alley. Duncan stilled, using his peripheral vision to get a better look at the figure.
Tulane. At least, from the photographs he’d seen, that was the same guy. He’d come.
Duncan breathed a sigh of relief.
He held still, waiting as Tulane got closer. The man looked about furtively, as if he was being sneaky, but anyone with half a brain would have spotted him a mile away.
How a man like this had managed to evade them for so long was almost laughable. Duncan was embarrassed to admit the guy had almost defeated them. Thankfully, they’d discovered him in time.
Nearly there. Duncan waited a few more moments for Tulane to get nice and close. Duncan knew his weakness was his leg, the same leg that had been aching something fierce for days. If he pounced on Tulane too soon, he’d be in for a chase he might not win.
Just a second longer…there. Duncan spun around, trying not to wince as his old injury sent a sharp stab of pain up his l
eg. He leapt forward, grabbing for Tulane, but the older man was faster than he’d expected. He danced away, leaving Duncan to grab empty air.
Duncan stumbled. Tulane came up behind him, and Duncan elbowed back with enough force to knock down a man twice Tulane’s size. He pulled back just in time as a sharp press of blade slipped against his ribs.
“You’re dead,” Tulane hissed.
Changing plan, Duncan swung around, knocking Tulane’s arm away. Unfortunately, Tulane didn’t drop the knife, so Duncan gripped his wrist to stop him stabbing again. His blood thumped heavily through his veins with anticipation for the fight. For the culmination of everything they’d worked for.
He twisted Tulane’s wrist, and the man yelled in pain but still managed to keep hold of the knife. Smart guy.
Duncan drew his arm back for a punch, but Tulane was quicker. The older man threw out his leg in a clumsy kick, but his aim was perfect, hitting Duncan right on his old injury.
He grunted in agony and let go of Tulane, who used the opportunity to scramble back out of reach, knife at the ready. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, waiting for the other to make the first move.
“It was stupid of you to come here alone,” Duncan said, buying time to suppressed the agony firing up his leg.
“You left me no choice!” Tulane yelled, eyes wide with fury. The man didn’t look sane, his hair sticking up at odd angles and his pupils dilated. He waved the knife threateningly in Duncan’s direction but didn’t come any closer.
“I could say the same to you,” Duncan told him. He shuffled around the other man in a wide circle. Tulane turned, following Duncan’s progress with watchful eyes.
“You ruined everything,” Tulane spat.
“I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”
With a battle cry worthy of the sixty-something man he was, Tulane charged forward, knife leading the way. Duncan waited until the last second, then stepped aside and brought his elbow down on the man’s skull.
Tulane dropped to the ground with a satisfying thud.
Duncan watched him for a second to make sure he wouldn’t get up. A sense of unreality washed over him. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Months of hard work and it was all over in an instant.
Whiskey-Eyed Woman (Soldiering On Book 5) Page 15