Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
“What’s your plan?” James asks, getting us back to business.
“First I’ll take Byron’s Reach. If there’s anything going into Miami, it’ll go through there.”
“Take it how?”
“With force.”
“And The Bear? How do you propose we get to him?”
“We put some piranhas in his pond.” I roll the glowing red tip of my cigarette around the edge of the ashtray.
“Smoke him out.”
“And kill him,” I whisper, my tone as deadly as I feel.
“Is that the end?”
“There’s no end when you’re in this world.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, if we go back to Miami, we set the bar. You don’t walk away from the bar. You defend it, or you die. You need to be prepared for that. It’s what you get for being prolific.” When the waiter comes over, I take the two bottles from his tray before sending him on his way and topping us both up. “So the question is, James, are we going back to Miami?”
His eyes darken. “We’re going back to Miami.” Holding his glass across the table, he turns his stare onto me. “I’m prepared for anything.”
I’ve seen many killers in my time. The one with the most vengeance in his stare was the one I looked at in the mirror every day. I could be looking in the mirror now, seeing an equal swirl of darkness and hate.
“To revenge.” I hit my glass with his and throw back my drink, getting a flash of white in my peripheral vision. Rose is approaching, her feet bare, coated in sand. But no Beau.
She reaches the table and drops her heels to the ground, setting a hand on my shoulder to hold herself as she bends to dust off her feet. I turn my face into it and kiss her wedding ring, before laying my hand over hers. Rose catches James’s questioning face. “She—”
“Wanted to feel the last bit of the sun on her face,” James whispers, almost sadly, sinking back in his chair. “I’ve known what that woman has needed from the moment I set eyes on her,” he says without looking at Rose, his gaze on the break in the wall that leads down to the beach. “Now . . .?” He stands, and my eyes lift with him. “I need the restroom.” Striding off, he pulls his phone from his back pocket, dialing on his way. He’s a lost man. And again, I know exactly how he feels. Women do that to you. Fog your senses. Make you question your instinct.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask Rose, waving for the bill.
“I need the ladies’.” She dips and kisses my forehead, and I smile, watching her go, leaving me alone at the table. Until Beau appears from the beach.
Approaching slowly, her sandals dangling from her fingertips of her cast adorned arm, she takes in my seated form.
“Restrooms,” I say before she can ask. “Sit.” I motion to the chair opposite, and Beau takes it, never looking away from me. I see the same resilience in her as I do Rose. The same fight. She’s simply lost her way momentarily. “Can I ask you something?” I look over my shoulder, a solid indicator to Beau that this isn’t something I want my wife to hear. Not until I know what the answer is, because it could change things significantly and, frankly, I don’t want to give Rose hope that’s wasted.
Beau doesn’t answer, leaving me to go on.
“You used to be a cop.”
“Yes. And now I’m the girlfriend of a murderer.”
“There are worse things you could be.” I feel my lip quirk, but Beau’s face remains eternally impassive.
“Like what?”
“Like one of his enemies.”
She blinks a few times, her eyes dropping to the table. “What did you want to ask me, Danny?” She reaches for her wine and takes a sip, refusing to look me in the eye.
“Can I be prosecuted for faking my death?”
Her glass freezes halfway back to the table, and I’m thrown when her face breaks and one corner of her mouth lifts. She finds my question funny? “Your wife beat you to it,” she says, finally looking at me.
My head slowly tilts, her amusement making sense now. I laugh under my breath, shaking my head mildly as I trace the rim of my tumbler. “Rose has already asked you.”
“She has.”
“And?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Foul play.” She sets her wine down, and I find myself moving in closer to the table, interested. “So long as there is no financial gain to yourself, life insurance, for example, then, actually, no. If you hate your life, you’re technically allowed to engineer an exit from it.”
I nod, thoughtful, thinking this news would have pissed Rose right off. She was looking for an out. Any reason to stop me going back to Miami. “I signed everything over to Rose. There were no policies involved.”
“Then the FBI is powerless.”