Page 11

DORIAN

My temples throb with such intensity that my vision blurs at the edges. I reach for my collar to loosen my tie, but there is no tie. I’m not wearing one.

I pace the room, the world outside a blur. I could grab my glasses, which might help my headache.

Where’s the Vicodin?

My fingers pause on the drawer pull. I don’t need to pop more pills.

The voice is my father’s. His curmudgeonly tone almost has me smiling. Almost. His doctors have him popping a pharmacy.

Caroline’s here. In Colorado. On the property.

Without enough consideration, I dial my one friend who knows her well.

Clicks sound.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

My thumb hovers over the red circle when I hear, “What the bloody hell? You can’t leave well enough alone? Got a pressing need to gloat?”

I press the speaker phone option but keep the phone in my hand.

“What have I done that deserves a boast?”

“Well, my house is blown to bits.”

He was pissy the last time we spoke. “Already told you. I’m not responsible.”

His country home was blown to smithereens a week ago. Images all over the BBC. Didn’t hit the wire in the States, but not much international news does.

“You took out a bloody two hundred and fifty million bounty on me, you bastard!”

“Not me. We’ve been over this. Can’t believe you’re still going on about it.”

Like Nick, I have a team of cyber analysts tracking the source. But I’m told whoever did it is good. That’s code for it’s unlikely the brainiacs I employ will solve the puzzle .

“I threatened you with a counter bounty, and the bloody bounty mysteriously lifted. Don’t go playing tickle fuck with me.”

I open my mouth and half-chuckle. Tickle fuck. Always liked that phrase.

“Are you serious?” My best guess is Nick pissed off a powerful someone. He pissed me off, too, bringing the syndicate into some mafia nonsense.

“You absolute bastard.” Raw fury slices his tone.

“Wait. You genuinely believe I’d put a price on your head? You don’t trust me? After everything?”

“You threatened me.”

“Well, Christ! Yes. I threatened you. You pissed us off. But I wouldn’t…”

I’m about to say I wouldn’t know how to set a bounty, but with one phone call… “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Is that so? And you didn’t convene an alliance meeting recently? A vote?”

“The vote was to excommunicate you. Kick out. Buh-bye. Not burn you at the stake.”

“A drone strike. On my estate. Blasted the place to bits. You really mean to tell me that wasn’t your plan? You have no idea about it?”

He was targeted. Not exactly surprising given he’d been fucking with the Italian mafia for the past two years.

“You survived. That’s the bit I paid attention to. And you’ve been playing the Italian mafia for years. What’d you expect?”

“Denial. That’s what you’re going with?”

“I swear to god, I had no part in it. I can’t believe you’re still going on about this. Think about it. Is a bounty my style?”

When he accused me before, I’d set about learning what I could. Before I learned much, the crisis was over.

The line goes silent.

He has to know that me being the poster is illogical.

“The alliance is far more refined than to sic randoms on you.”

“Refined. Right. Moscow rules and all.”

“If by Moscow you mean your death would appear natural, yes. There’s nothing about a drone strike that’s natural. It’s still in the news, and that’s with you presumably doing damage control.”

Silence.

“Think about it.” I can’t believe I’m having to do his thinking for him. “You’re the king of the hackers.” Nick’s not an active hacker himself, but he owns a few small outfits that do damage.

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Did you piss one of them off? Seems more likely to me a pissed hacker would be comfortable enough on the dark web to post a kill. I’ve got people looking into it. I’m told it was exceptional work.”

“You truly didn’t post it? Because I swear, within minutes of our call, the bounty got called off.”

“Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

“But I’ve always been a friend. Always.”

He grumbles.

“What do your people say? Could they find anything? Any payments? Surely, any mercenary pursuing a bounty would want verification that a payment can be made.” This isn’t rocket science. His people had more time to research while the post was live. Mine are hunting ghosts.

“If you go far enough in the process, there’s verification.”

“And?”

“I’m working on it. It’s set up well.”

“I expect an apology when you figure it out.”

There’s a loud huff through the line. “If you’re not calling to gloat, why are you calling? Two times in one day.”

The first time he didn’t answer, but…“Caroline’s here.”

“Scott? She’s where? Where are you?”

“In Colorado.”

“Ah. The place you built.”

“That you haven’t visited.”

“A bitch to get to. Besides, there was a time when you showed up on the reg at my doorstep. Funny how you haven’t shown up since the doorstep met its maker.”

“Over a week ago. I checked on you. My source said you’d gone off grid.”

“Yet you just called.”

“Habit. I called earlier, and you didn’t pick up. You’ve got to get off this. You seriously think I’d blow up your home? We shared a flat for years. You’re one of the few friends I have.”

I rub a hand over my face. I sound pathetic. But it’s the same for Nick. It’s rare we let someone in.

“You? Few friends? That, I believe.”

“Asshole.”

“Fair.”

“You believe me?”

“Not sure.” He sniffs, and if he could see me, I’d flip him off. “So, Scott’s at your place. How is she?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But she’s there?”

“Yep.” I step up to the window, peering over at the section of the house I left her in. From this angle, I can’t see much of the house. Definitely can’t see the guest room.

“And you’re on the line with me?”

I grunt.

“What was that?”

“I have work to do.”

“Clearly.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles. Because, of course, he does. “When was the last time you saw her?”

I get monthly reports, and sometimes they include photos and videos. But in person… “Six years ago.”

Six years and two months, but adding the months sounds pathetic.

What’s worse is I saw her, but she didn’t see me.

“How’s she look?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been six years. Has she gained weight? Wrinkled? Gone gray? What is she now? Mid-thirties? Probably not gray, and she’s American, so she’d cover it.”

She’s thirty-one. “She looks the same.” Elegant. Beautiful. Perfect.

“So you’ve buggered off to your study, and she’s…what? Hanging with your pops?”

“God, no.” The response is immediate. Dad doesn’t need to know she’s here. He especially doesn’t need to know I never filed for divorce.

Are you a fucking imbecile?

It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times in my father’s booming roar.

“I always liked Caroline.”

Me too.

“When I think of her…you know what I remember?”

“What?” I press my shoulder against the glass and crane my neck to see more of the house in case she’s near a window.

“Those tiny pearl earrings she always wore and her properly fitting tops?—”

“Do not go there.” If he’s about to talk about her breasts…

He chuckles.

Yes, that’s where he was going.

“A right cool bird. Too fucking elegant and poised. Made getting her tossed a load of fun. Remember that night we had to carry her home, and she was singing…what’s the bloke’s name?”

“Neil Diamond.”

“Yeah. She had a playlist filled with Neil Diamond…god awful taste in music. Played songs from a cover band of that shite. Super Diamond, right? Like…what nut listens to cover bands on their iPod? Of course, that was back before Spotify dominated.”

When things were simpler. My breath fogs the glass in a nearly perfect circle.

“And now you’re hiding from her?”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re not working.”

Fucker .

“I am working, so…”

“Liar.”

On this point, he’s not wrong. “I’m going to tell you something I’ve told no one.”

“Go on.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“Aye, won’t promise that.”

“We’re still married.”

“No shit? Huh. So she’s there to get papers signed or something or another. I’d say to cash in, but that’s not Caroline. She’s there to wrap it up, and you’re playing the pansy and hiding.”

“I’m not hiding. Work’s insane.”

“You still love her.”

I flatten my forehead against the cool glass.

“Can’t help you there, mate. But I will say that this call clears you from my list of suspects.”

I still love her. He’s right.

He goes on, rambling with his colloquial Brit humor while asking me questions about who I spoke to and the chatter about him, but my brain snags on that one true bit.

“What are you going to do?” Of course, he comes back to that question because he knows I’ve been half-listening, half-participating during his interrogative ramble.

What am I going to do? Shake her hand goodbye? Give her a goodbye hug? Repeat history? Watch her leave?

“Dorian? You there, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and stare at the minute counter on the phone.

“Want some advice?”

“Shoot.”

“Get the fuck out of your office and go talk to her.”

I nod, not that he can see me.

“And if she has papers, tell her you’ll sign them after a lawyer looks them over. Then talk to her.”

“What’s with you giving me advice?”

“That’s why you called, isn’t it?”

Hmm. Yes. Maybe.

“I’m glad you called.”

“Yeah?”

“Because I didn’t think I’d have a best mate at my wedding. Now I know I will.”

“Best… You’re getting married?”

“Eventually. She’s not big on the marriage thing.”

“Is this…the redhead?”

“Scarlet.”

“Right. Wow. You’re serious?”

“Deadly.”

Huh. She wasn’t just a lay. Guess that’s why he wouldn’t send her back to her family as requested.

“And here I thought you were using her to screw that mafia family.”

“For best mates, we think a lot of each other, don’t we?”

“Truthfully, you’re one of the few people I know who’s as horrible as me. That’s why I like hanging out with you.”

“Horrible as in…judgy and shit? That’s what you mean, right? Not horrible in like use a woman and toss her?”

“Truthfully, I can’t recall you dating. Ever.”

“You know, I remember the day you met Caroline.”

So do I.

“Love at first sight,” he says.

“That’s a stretch.”

“No. ’Twas.”

Probably .

“How’d you fuck it up? You never did say.”

She left.

“Right, then,” he says. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But it’s on you if you don’t want to talk about it with her.”

“There’s no point.”

“Get your ugly arse out of your cave and go spend time with her! No one in their right mind makes that trip without wanting something. Maybe it’s you.”

He has a point. I expect she met someone and needs a divorce, even though she denied it.

“Let me know how it goes. I’ll be on the lam.”

“On the… Where are you?”

“Not telling. Tracing the call will be a waste of your time.”

“Bounty’s off, right?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not someone’s target. Can you think of anyone with a quarter billion to burn?”

“Who wants you dead?” What he did to the Italian mafia didn’t win him friends.

“Your old man?”

“My father likes you.”

“Bullshit.”

“He’s the old generation. He’d be judicial with his money, hire the best, and spend less.” That rationale should clear my father’s name without my having to share the truth.

“Your father hasn’t texted me since the explosion.”

“How often does he text you?”

“More than you’d think.”

Fuck . My gaze rises to the heavens.

“If it wasn’t you, who the bloody hell did it?”

“I’ll ask around.” I’ll follow up with my team, but if they had something, I would’ve heard. “If you need anything, let me know. You can come on out here, you know.”

“Cause the States are safe.”

“They are.” Of course, so is Great Britain. “Seriously. Need anything, let me know. I’ve been remiss… I should’ve followed up, but when I found out you were all right, I just kind of…” Forgot. Lapsed. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you high?”

“No.”

A beep sounds. I read the screen. Geoffrey Cromwell .

Fuck .

“I’d better take this call.”

“Fine. Then turn the mobile off and go talk to her. Christ. You’ve got her in that creepy mountain house in the middle of nowhere by herself. She’s going to think you’re plotting a murder.”

My house isn’t creepy. My father’s…those big game trophy heads… Hmm, yeah.

I click over to take Geoffrey’s call.

What does Dad want now?

“Geoffrey.”

“You’ve got a guest?”

What the hell? “Yes.”

“Security picked her up on the perimeter sensors.”

“And?” Why am I even talking to Geoffrey? Why didn’t security call? “What’s her current position?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t getting the texts? They sent texts to both you and your father.” That’s why Geoffrey got it.

I’m already moving through the corridor to the main house, pulling up the compound’s security feed on my phone.

The tactical response team would be running standard containment protocols—retired former Special Forces operators with enough firepower to defend against a small army.

She must think I’ve lost my mind if she’s spotted them tracking her movements.

I open my custom security app.

The Security Operations Center’s feed appears on my screen, showing thermal imaging of Caroline moving along the property’s eastern perimeter. Multiple guards maintain distance, running parallel tracks to her position.

“Odd behavior. I don’t believe they’ve apprehended your guest. They need confirmation that they should allow her to continue. You didn’t respond.”

“I was in a meeting.”

Jesus .

“There. Sent a text confirming she may continue. Although, you may want to look at the footage.”

“Why?” I swing open the door to the main house while keeping an eye on the live SOC feed.

“Because security believes she’s behaving suspiciously. If you don’t care, don’t review it. I don’t know why I bother.”