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)
She stares at me. “How did he know you took me?”
“There aren’t many people who would take on the Polish. We did. Your uncle has made a point of being friendly with our enemies.” I’m sure Pearl knows many things about Sandy, the girls talk, but I’m not going into details. “King’s made a deal to supply their weaponry. He won’t if—”
“I heard the rest,” she says, looking away. “Intact.”
What I can’t figure out is why a private detective would come looking for her at the club if King knew where she was the entire time. So . . . when did he find out Pearl was here with us? We know he landed in Miami a few months ago—Otto confirmed that. But Pearl’s been with us for six months. And another thing . . . “Kennedy?” I ask.
“It’s my mother’s maiden name. Dad changed our surname. He said it was more fitting.”
And not the same as his psycho brother’s.
Pearl looks at me, frowning. “Anya knew I was sleeping with you,” she says, panic rising. “If she’s reported that information back to my uncle, he’ll know I’m not—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I hold a hand up.
“He saw me at the hotel. With you.” She frowns. “I don’t know if he knows I was with you. Maybe he—”
“It doesn’t matter.” King asked for Pearl intact. That tells me he can’t know about me. It also tells me that Anya wasn’t working for King, or he’d have that piece of crucial information. Danny’s figured that much out too. She was working for Sandy. But does he know, and, if so, why hasn’t he told King? I go to Pearl, dipping, getting close. “I have to go talk to the men.”
She shakes her head mildly as I nod mine. King has inflicted unthinkable atrocities on her over the years. So bad, she’s still terrified, even now when she’s safe here with me. And unlucky for King, that just enhances my unbridled hatred and anger.
I press my mouth to hers. “Don’t be scared. That’s an order.”
“He has Nolan.”
“He has a target on his head, Pearl. That’s what he has.” I plan on hitting that target.
First time.
Point-blank.
59
DANNY
* * *
“I liked that rug,” I mutter as Goldie rolls it up. “Definitely not salvageable?”
She pauses rolling, points a filthy look my way.
“Okay.” I surrender, hands up, before lighting up. “The rug goes.”
“I have a spare,” she mutters.
“You do?” I ask, surprised. I don’t know why. I’ve made a lot of messes in this office. I wander over to the Picasso hanging over the fireplace, taking a moment to admire it. It’s been too long since I have. I still don’t know if the damn thing is real. “Is it, Pops?”
“I think it is.”
I look over my shoulder. James is in the doorway. “I don’t know.” I motion to it with my smoke, pointing at the signature. “It looks . . . off.” I tilt my head, pouting. “Pops took it as payment from a bad debtor.” He killed him anyway. No second chances.
“He would have had it authenticated, surely.”
I hum, going to my desk. We have more important things to worry about, and I’m itching to get on and deal with them. “Brad emerged yet?”
“No. Give it time.” James goes to the cabinet and pours us both a drink, one for Brad too. So he’s expecting him soon. Good. James lowers into the chair opposite me and slides my drink across the leather top. “Are you wondering what I’m wondering?”
I laugh, taking a swig of Scotch. “My head’s a bit busy right now. What are you wondering?”
“I’m still wondering who took out the two Russians and Mexicans and carved your family emblem into their chests. Because the two prime suspects, King and Anya Dimitri, are, or have been, working with Sandy.”
“And Sandy wouldn’t order the deaths of two of his own,” I muse.
“And Sandy and Luis are quite friendly.”
I hum, turning my glass, thinking. “Do you know what I’m wondering?”
“What are you wondering?”
“I’m wondering how the fuck we get out of this mess and get Nolan back, because it sounds to me like King will only take Pearl intact”—I shudder—“and she’s no longer that, thanks to Brad.”
“Brad mentioned someone looking for her at the club.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, my head getting busier.
“King wouldn’t be so stupid to send someone into our club looking for her.”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“So who did?”
My eyes narrow on my desk. So many fucking questions. The door knocks, and Beau pops her head around. “She’s awake.” Then there’s a high-pitched shrill cooeee coming from the hallway. “And Aunt Zinnea just arrived.”
“Great, I need a bit of color in my life right now.” I rise from my chair as James collects Beau and leads her out of the office back into the hallway.
“Darlings.” Zinnea claps her hands, but her painted lips purse when she obviously reads the room. “Is now a bad time?” she asks, reaching back and dragging forward a man. He looks like he’s stepped off Phileas Fogg’s hot-air balloon. So this is the one I’ve been hearing about.