Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“I’m turning,” James warns, and we both wedge our hands into the seats as he slams on the brakes and sends the car into a side glide, which would be the equivalent to a good old-fashioned handbrake turn if cars still had good old-fashioned handbrakes. “Done.”
I put my arm back out and look out the rear window, firing just as the cop car skids into the street. It crashes into a trash can, the hood flipping up. “Boom,” I whisper, waiting for the next car. We make it to the end of the street. No cop cars appear. We lost them?
James turns off the music, and we all listen. No sirens.
“Fucking hell.” Brad turns and slumps back down into his seat, head dropped back.
James doesn’t slow down.
Not until we make it onto a deserted track past the marina.
He pulls in past some overgrowth and turns off the engine, bracing his arms against the wheel.
“Good driving, bud,” I breathe, looking over my shoulder when I hear tires across stones, seeing Otto pulling up in James’s Range Rover. “Oh look, here’s Otto with two dead Russians.” He gets out and rounds the front of the car, reaching under the offside wheel arch on the X5 and nodding. A tracker.
I slip out the back, stretching my muscles, and rub at my head. It’s beginning to pound. “And now for a workout after the shoot-out,” I muse, opening the trunk of James’s car and sighing at the sight of the two massive Russians. We all drag the bodies to the X5, putting one behind the wheel and one in the passenger seat. “What if the police find them before Sandy?”
“Then the police find them first,” James says.
My phone rings, and I look at the screen, laughing loudly. “Higham, your timing is impeccable.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Don’t ask.” I sigh, walking away from the others. Just another mess for him to pretend he doesn’t know we caused. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Don’t ask.”
“What’s the situation with the body?”
“Still not officially identified.”
I grit my teeth. “And the unofficially unidentified body’s cause of death?”
“Gunshot. As soon as they identify her, we’ll launch a murder investigation.”
“Fuck.”
“What’s going on, Danny?”
“Too much to explain, especially over the phone. When can I see you?”
“Ah, well . . .”
“What, Higham?”
“My wife surprised me with a post-vacation vacation. I’m at MIA.”
“Then get the fuck out of MIA.”
“Give me a break, Danny. I’m trying to fix my marriage.”
“Aren’t we all.” I grimace as I rub at my sore lip, wandering back over to the others, getting questioning looks. I wave a hand at them dismissively.
“What do you know about Officer Richard Bean?” Higham asks.
“What do you know about Officer Richard Bean?”
“I know his wife reported a break in.”
“I didn’t break in. The doors were wide open.”
“What the hell, Danny?”
“Why would you think I’ve got anything to do with this?”
“Because I took some time over a Scotch while my wife was in bed and did a little digging, and do you know what I found?”
“What did you find?”
“I found out his son goes to the same school as your son.”
“What a coincidence.”
“And footage from a Ring doorbell sent in by a resident shows you and James approaching the house.”
“Footage? You sure?”
He sighs. “Jesus, Danny.”
“Oh shut up, Higham. I don’t need your bitching in my ear. When are you back? I need to talk to you about the unidentified body.”
“Listen, these things take time, so I have time for a few extra days’ vacation, and you have time to think about if you’d like to tell me what happened to Officer Richard Bean.”
“I don’t need time for that. I didn’t stab him and James didn’t knock him out with a table lamp.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“I did you a favor. Richard Bean is an immoral fuckhead.” I still in my seat when I realize what I’ve done, and James’s eyes confirm that I am, indeed, a clumsy cunt today. I can feel Brad’s eyes on me. “Call me when you’re back.” I hang up and every part of me tenses, waiting.
“Bean,” Brad says, looking between us. “Who the fuck is this Bean guy?”
Shit. “It’s nothing.” I wave a hand flippantly.
“Danny, who the fuck is Bean and why the fuck are you stabbing him and James knocking him out with a table lamp?”
“He’s the dad of the little shite that had Daniel kicked out of school.”
“And why didn’t I know you went to have a friendly chat with him?”
“Because you’ve been a miserable fucker recently, and I didn’t want to burden you with my family politics.”
“I am part of your family.”
I pout. “Fancy a beer?”
“Yeah.” He scowls. “Seems like we’ve both got shit we want to share.”
“We have?”
“Yeah.” Brad gets in the Range Rover and rests back in his seat. “But I need a drink first.”
Sorry, cousin. You’ll be needing more than just a drink with the bomb I’m about to drop on you.