Diego: (Brighton Bad Boys 3)

by Tilly Delane

  “You’re awfully quiet, girl,” she says to me with a grin, before she snaps her fingers at the waitress who seems to be too busy wiping the counter, to come over and take our order. “Can we get some service here, young lady?” she demands in her ‘head of housekeeping’ tone.

  It’s terrifying.

  The woman behind the counter looks up.

  “You order at the counter,” she responds, somewhat perplexed.

  Sheena’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “You might,” she retorts. “We sure as hell don’t. Bring yourself over here and take our order, please.”

  It’s magic to see how the waitress just hops to it without a second thought. We ask for coffees and paninis and as soon as she has left us, Sheena’s laser-sharp eyes bore into me again.

  “So, I’m gonna ask you again, Kalina, why here?”

  I nod toward the window.

  “Out there is where Callum O’Brien ran over that boy.”

  Her smile tells me she already knew exactly where we are and why we are here.

  “Uh-huh,” she says. “First honest answer you’ve given me in seven months. So what d’ya wanna know?”

  “Just trying to figure out why Diego is so intent on going after this guy, but the guys won’t tell me. Not even Raven or Grace know what’s going on,” I answer. “But they’re more like...”

  I stop talking to put my fingers in my ears, shut my eyes and make loud singing noises. Which happens to be the exact moment the waitress brings over our coffees.

  Sheena laughs, her eyes having mellowed out, from laser-cutting to sparkling-amused. Which I’ve learned in our poker games means she’s going in for the kill.

  And then my brain catches up.

  “Wait. What? What do you mean the first honest answer?” I ask.

  “That, right there, ducky. And using phrases like ‘intent on’. There is no way on earth you only learned to speak our language in the last seven months. And then suddenly cracked it in the last week and a half. Not a chance. I’d buy a huge improvement after all this time. But you? You suddenly speak British English through and through. Mannerisms and all. Like someone who grew up with it. Not as your native tongue, I do buy your accent, but around it. You spent plenty of time around English people, long before you got here. You may fool the rest of them, hell, George is so head over heels in love with you he wouldn’t see the bullet coming if you cocked a gun right in his face. But I’ve seen your makeup case. I’ve seen the twenty different coloured pairs of contact lenses, the hairpieces, the way you can use makeup to change someone’s fucking bone structure. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I do know you’re not who you wanted us to believe you are.”

  She stops talking and lets what she said hang between us, to allow for the waitress to bring over our paninis. Sheena pries apart her mozzarella and pesto one to look critically inside, while I just stare at her, stunned.

  “You didn’t spit in it, did you?” she asks the retreating back of the waitress.

  The young woman spins around with horror on her face.

  “Of course not!”

  “Good. Because I know people,” Sheena says, grinning, and then bites into her panini.

  She looks at me expectantly, but not with hostility. Chews. Swallows. Puts the panini back on the plate and reaches across to pat my hand.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I tell her, honestly.

  “Well, I’d prefer the full story. But I have a feeling you can’t, or you are not ready, to tell it. That’s okay. But I need some answers here. Depending on what they are, I will answer your questions about Callum best I can. Deal?”

  I nod, helplessly.

  I’ve never been in this situation before. I’ve always successfully remained a ghost. I come, I find the bones, I let the parents know I found them and where, so they know it was me who tipped off the police. Then I anonymously let the authorities know as I’m already leaving whatever country I’m in. It works. There was one time that the police clearly thought it was a hoax and needed a bit more nudging, and another when the parents suddenly refused to pay up, claiming the police had found the bones without my help. Konstantin dealt with both of those instances. I love my job for itself, but payday is important. Yet throughout it all there has never been a time when I got embroiled with the local crime element before. In hindsight, a bit of a miracle, really.

  “Are you police?”

  I shake my head, and she relaxes. It’s kind of lovely that she just takes my word for it. I could be lying through my teeth. But I guess she trusts the truth in our relationship, despite not knowing who I really am.

  ”With any of the authorities?”

  I shake my head again.

  “Free agent?”

  I nod.

  “Which one of my boys are you after? I’m guessing George, but then I see you look at him with the same gooey eyes he makes at you, and I’m not so sure any longer...”

  She lets her voice trail off and searches my eyes, while she takes another bite of her panini. There is an open threat in them. The implication is, it doesn’t matter which one. If I’m here to harm any of them, I’m dead.

  I’ve known all along that Sheena is well connected. Silas and Diego often refer to her as ‘old Brighton’. She went to school with Diego’s dad and with Cecil O’Brien, the father of all the O’Briens, other than Silas. She was even married to Cecil for a while, which is why her and Silas share the surname with Cecil and his brood. But because she had clearly fallen out of favour with all of them and is living in a shitty house in Shoreham, working herself to the ground in a hotel and renting out rooms at home to students, I never considered her as one of the Brighton players.

  But the way she looks at me now leaves no room for speculation about the fact that she could be, if she wanted to be. That if I prove to be a danger to any of her boys, someone will soon have to come hunting for my bones.

  I laugh when I’m nervous, so I laugh.

  “None of them,” I tell her, and she stops chewing for a moment. “I swear, Sheena. It was complete coincidence that the language school placed me with you. I’m not here for any of them. I didn’t even know they existed before I came here. I’m on a completely different mission, I promise.”

  She starts eating again and remains silent until she’s finished her lunch.

  I still haven’t touched mine.

  And I still haven’t asked my question.

  I can’t gauge if she believes me or not. I need her to believe me, and if I now ask her for help with prying into Diego’s business that’ll make me look suspicious all over again.

  She jerks her chin at my plate.

  “Eat, Kalina, if that’s your name. It’s not going to get any better by letting it congeal.”

  I do as I’m told, and she cocks her head, watching me chew through narrowed eyes.

  “You know,” she says after a while. “I don’t believe in coincidence. Or fate. At least not the rigid kind. I don’t believe in God either, though I was brought up Catholic. But I do believe in right and wrong. They might not always be the same right and wrong that the law considers as such, but they exist. George is a good man. Silas is a good man. Rowan tries to be a good man, which makes him a better man than most. I also believe that sometimes things happen for a reason. For example, I reckon that the reason I met James, Rowan’s stepdad, had nothing to do with James, or me, or those two little cuties James brought with him and wanted me to play mummy for. I believe the sole purpose of that particular failed relationship of mine was to bring Rowan into our lives and keep him.”

  I have no idea where she is going with this and I don’t find out, because she stops there. She takes a deep breath, and suddenly her eyes go very soft as she looks at me. It’s the way she looks at Silas and Rowan and Diego. And Grace sometimes. And I realise with a start that I’ve truly become one of her ducklings. It doesn’t last long, because then she straightens up and takes a sip of her coffee before she decides to keep her
end of the bargain.

  “So, Callum. I don’t really know why George hates his guts quite so much. To be honest, I never question why anyone hates anything to do with Cecil. To me, that’s like the natural order of things, or something. But I do know that it’s got nothing to do with the poor kid Callum ran over. I strongly suspect it’s to do with a dead cat that’s buried in my garden.”

  I let my hand holding the panini in front of my mouth sink back down without taking another bite as I stare at her in disbelief.

  “A cat?”

  She nods.

  “Callum is a little sadist, and a cat killer. And Diego loves cats. All animals, really. And according to Silas, the one buried in my garden was a favourite.”

  I lean back in my chair and look at her aghast.

  “He’s waging a war for a cat?” I ask again and feel my heart double in size. “I love him so much!”

  Sheena laughs while she scrapes her chair back.

  “Yeah, we know. I’ve got to go back to work. I’ve got this.”

  I watch her as she goes to the till to swipe her debit card and plonks a hefty tip in the tip jar. Then she comes back and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “I never finished what I was trying to say earlier. I don’t believe in coincidence. I’m pretty sure you ended up in my house because you were meant to. You’re meant to be exactly where you are and with whom.” She smiles gently. “The question is, to what end? Is it just for the two of you, or does it serve a higher purpose? Whichever it is, though, don’t break his heart, Kalina. George hasn’t had a lot of love in his life and it’s a bit of a miracle he turned out as well as he did. If you make him feel loved, he’ll be devoted to you for life. And it will crush him if he finds out you played him. So whatever the reason you’re keeping your secrets, make damn sure they are worth it.”

  Then she leaves without looking back.

  Diego

  “Your father is on the line again.”

  Julian, Silas, Rowan and I all look to Lila as she pops her head around the door of my office and rolls her eyes.

  “Fuck’s sake,” I answer, exasperated. “Tell him I’ll ring him when I get around to it.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “You know, funny that. ‘Cause that’s what I said to him already. Every time he’s called, in fact. Which has been every goddamn hour of the day so far. Can’t you just take his call, please? I’m not getting anything done here. And I’ve got a four-day conference to re-rota before tomorrow morning, because you and Julian have some private engagement all of a sudden that requires half of our best workforce to do something else.”

  I sigh.

  Lila is pissed off because she doesn’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t like it when Julian goes all secretive on her, and I get it. She’s had years of being a soldier’s wife, worrying about him from afar, and civilian life was supposed to change all that. By and large it has. She knows most of what we do, on and off the books, but this is different.

  “Just block his number for the time being,” I tell her with a reassuring smile. “He’ll get the hint.”

  She narrows her eyes at me.

  “Is that why he can’t get through to you on your mobile?”

  I grin at her.

  “Maybe.”

  She rolls her eyes again then retreats back to reception.

  As soon as she is gone, they all stop looking over their shoulders at the door and Silas’ eyes meet mine, with a frown above them.

  “What does she mean, ‘half of your best workforce’? Who else is involved in this?”

  “Nobody. Just Arlo,” I answer.

  We have a communal laugh at that then return to the meeting.

  “Who’s actually been pretty great,” I admit. “If we ever have another situation where we need a guy camping out in camo, he’s the man for the job.”

  “I’m glad you found his talent,” Silas says. “’Cause fighting sure as shit wasn’t it. He was a godawful fighter.”

  Arlo wasn’t that terrible, otherwise I wouldn’t have let him into the league. But I know that Silas still feels crap about costing the guy half his hearing, so he’s kind of obliged to say shit like that.

  “So, what’s camo-guy found out then?” Rowan asks, on a yawn.

  It’s Wednesday, early afternoon, he and Raven have been back three days, and Rowan’s still struggling with the jetlag, while Raven by all accounts was fresh as a daisy this morning and has abducted Grace to go on a train ride to Chichester. They invited Kalina along, too, but she said she had to go to school today. I worry a little about that. I love having her to myself, but Kalina and Grace were becoming really good friends before Raven turned up, and now that Kalina’s moved in with me, I fear that she will get pushed out of the friendship. I feel a twinge of jealousy on her behalf at the thought.

  I realise I’ve tuned out from the discussion when I hear Rowan recap what Julian just said.

  “So, basically, he’s been up there a week and he’s got fuck all to report. And that makes him great at the job how exactly?”

  Julian bristles at that. The three of them are sitting in a semicircle in front of my desk and because I didn’t tell them where to sit, when they came in, Rowan put himself in the middle, opposite me. That pissed Julian off from the get-go. Thing is, I know Rowan didn’t do it on purpose. For Julian, though, it’s an act of insolence by the new recruit. He knows and trusts Silas, because Silas has been working for me for years. He barely knows Rowan, other than as the mystery fighter that took Silas out a few months ago and is thus the reason Silas hasn’t been back to work. In the last hour, Julian’s had to get his head around not only Rowan’s particular brand of ‘don’t give a shit’ but also around the dynamics between Silas, Rowan and me. I’m sure books have been written on dynamics like ours, so I don’t blame Julian for feeling uncomfortable and for getting shirty with Rowan right now.

  “That’s exactly what makes him great, numbskull,” Julian tells him off. “You ever spent a whole week in a sheep barn? Pissing and shitting in a hole in the ground, not showering, eating from cans, barely sleeping, focused on the same vista with fuck all happening the entire time? Yet not once calling in to say you’ve had enough?”

  Rowan turns to him and smiles at his anger.

  “Can’t say I have. Not that particular scenario, no. There are plenty of things I could tell you about that I have done, though. Less Mad Max, more Hunger Games. But I’m not gonna. ‘Cause I ain’t into pissing contests. We can have a wank off later, if you like. See who shoots their load further. But I don’t think that’s your scene. I get the memo, though, soldier. You like your little lookout boy. That’s awesome. We’re cool. Let’s move on.”

  Silas sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

  “Okay,” he says in that subdued voice of his that somehow demands attention more than the angriest shout. “So Arlo hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary at all. If you want to call two guys in a farmhouse getting not a single visitor other than the food truck all week ordinary. What else have we got?”

  Julian perks up at that.

  “Site fencing,” he says with a grin and waits until all eyes are on him. “When I went up there to give Arlo a break and fly my drone, it occurred to me that the reason he couldn’t see shit even from a higher vantage point was because they’re using construction site panels as fencing around the whole lot.”

  “I think you’ll find I mentioned that already,” Rowan growls, which is true.

  He told us about it earlier, when he described his visit to Cormac’s farmhouse to us.

  “Fuck ugly,” Julian carries on, ignoring him. “And, more to the point, not legal. You need planning permission for anything over six foot six. And those panels are more like eight, maybe higher. It’s the kind of stuff you’d normally have around an industrial development. So I looked into it. Turns out, the panels were erected as a temporary site enclosure as part of a rebuild on the farmhouse. Over two years a
go.”

  “Rebuild of what?” Rowan mutters. “It’s still a shitheap.”

  “Thing is, those building works lasted only about a month, according to the neighbours,” Julian continues. “Then they halted. Before any building inspector ever came to check on anything. But the panels have stayed up all that time. The neighbours have complained to the council a fuck load of times about it, but nothing ever gets done. The thing is, they’re like a mile down the road, so I guess the council doesn’t think it’s a priority.”

  “What?” Rowan asks, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “You’re saying we go after them through planning? Well, that’s really gonna fuck ‘em up.”

  “No, numbskull,” Julian starts, but doesn’t get any further when Silas suddenly gets up.

  He pushes one hand down on Rowan’s shoulder, keeping him in his chair, as he looks across the top of Rowan’s head at Julian.

  “Julian? You gotta stop insulting my brother. I respect you, mate. You’ve always been a good manager. But right now, we’re not here as your little boyband, or as D’s bitches. We’re here as friends and brothers,” he explains patiently, but when Julian still frowns at him in confusion, Silas changes tack. “Look across the table. What do you see?”

  “Erm. My boss and business partner?”

  “No, numbskull. What do you see? Visually. I give you a hint, what’s he wearing today? What’s fucking different?”

  “A t-shirt,” Julian says then ducks a little under the table to double check the rest of my attire. “Jeans. Boots.”

  “Exactly,” Silas says. “You’re not looking at the three-piece-suit twat. You’re looking at George Diego Benson, The Roadrunner, my oldest fucking friend and by default Rowan’s brother’s oldest fucking friend. So make no mistake. You keep insulting Rowan and it’s gonna get ugly. And it ain’t just gonna be two of us who’re gonna go for ya. We clear?”

  The beauty about Silas making threats is that he does it so evenly, Isla remains completely oblivious. The dog doesn’t even look up from her place by the window, where she has been sprawled out to let the sun cutting in warm her fur.