Chapter Twenty-One #2
They slowed to a stop in the circular driveway and got out of the car.
The shorter man thumped, heavy-footed, up the steps to unlock the ornate wooden door.
He held it open and ushered Mathias inside.
The house was tidy but unoccupied. Standing in the entranceway, Mathias could see into the adjoining sitting room, where the furniture was covered with white drop cloths and the chairs had been stacked neatly in one corner.
Scarface stepped forward. “All right, hand it over.”
“I’m not giving you my gun.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
The man advanced, and Mathias waited until he was within arm’s reach before catching him flush on the nose with his fist and sending him sprawling on his ass.
His partner rushed him, and Mathias blocked the man with his shoulder and hurled him into the wall.
Mathias felt the sharp jolt of Scarface’s knuckles as they made impact with his ribs.
He staggered backward, and another blow landed, this time to Mathias’s chin, splitting his lip.
Mathias recovered quickly enough to pull out his gun and smash the barrel into the side of Scarface’s head.
The man went down like a stone. His partner tackled Mathias, throwing him to the floor, and the gun lurched from his hand and slid out of reach.
They wrestled across the marble tiles, the smaller man managing to land a fist just below Mathias’s eye and a strike to the temple, breaking the skin and sending black spots dancing across his vision.
Mathias heaved him off and pinned the man beneath him.
Fueled by bloodlust, Mathias felt his vision narrow, and he slammed his fist over and over again into the man’s face.
He felt two hands loop beneath his arms, and then Scarface was pulling him off with a frenzy of curses.
Mathias snapped his head back and hit the man’s jaw with a hard crack.
Scarface gave a rasping howl and dropped to his knees.
Breathing hard, Mathias spat out a mouthful of blood and scanned the floor for his weapon. Behind him, he heard a distinctive click.
He turned to see Marsela standing in the doorway to the villa. She wore a red dress and heeled boots, a silk scarf tied chicly around her neck. She held his pistol in her hand, the muzzle pointed at his head, and let out an exasperated sigh.
“Now, boys. Must you always resort to violence?”
Laurent had forbidden Rayan from returning to work for the rest of the week.
He wanted to be sure there were no lingering effects from the knock Rayan had taken to the head.
In the lobby of the police station, and again when he’d called to check up on Rayan, Laurent had apologized for putting him in harm’s way.
He’d sounded so despondent over the phone that Rayan had held off on mentioning his idea about raising the remaining project funds independently.
He would see what he could do on his own before putting the plan to Asmarina and Laurent, who had enough on their plate already.
“She’s really cut up, Rayan,” Laurent confessed. “She feels responsible for what happened.”
Asmarina had insisted on accompanying him to the station in the back of the police van, pressing her scarf to his forehead until the bleeding stopped. She’d sassed the officers the entire ride, and when she ran out of words in French, she’d continued in Tigrinya.
“Tell her she shouldn’t,” Rayan said. Asmarina had nothing to feel guilty about. “And it’s barely a scratch. I’ve had worse.”
It was true. The bump had disappeared along with the throbbing pain, and he was pretty sure once the stitches were removed, he’d only be left with a faint scar. The injury was nothing compared to the lasting reminder on his shoulder.
Even if he was allowed to work, Rayan wasn’t sure where he would go. Following the riot at the Jungle, they’d temporarily closed the service office, and Laurent had said that Asmarina refused to resume services at the camp until she was sure it was safe.
Which was why Rayan happened to find himself at home in the middle of the day. Mathias had left early that morning to attend an auction in Germany. He’d been reluctant to go, lingering in bed as their errant fondling turned increasingly impassioned.
“For fuck’s sake,” Mathias muttered when he caught sight of the time. He’d attempted to extract himself, but Rayan had proven less willing. “Cocktease.”
He snickered and pushed Rayan away then got up from the bed to shower and dress. When Rayan went downstairs to see him off, he saw Mathias’s gaze flick to his forehead. The bandage was gone, but the stitches were still clearly visible.
“At least they had the sense to keep you away.”
“Not sure what I’m supposed to do,” Rayan grumbled. He wasn’t used to being idle.
Mathias shrugged. “Clean the house, bake a cake.”
“Have dinner on the table when you get home?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
Rayan opted instead to return to bed. Later, he walked into town and wandered from store to store, buying things he didn’t need.
He’d just returned home and was finishing a late lunch in the kitchen when he heard the thud of someone banging on the front door.
Peering through the peephole, he saw a flushed and frantic-looking Elise.
Rayan opened the door, and she spilled inside. “He told me to come here.”
“Mathias?”
She nodded. “They came to the warehouse, looking for the drugs, and he’s there right now with them. We have to do something—”
“What drugs?”
“The shipment from Indonesia. He didn’t tell you?”
Rayan swallowed a barb of anger, recalling the crate of smashed clay figures. No. Apparently, he doesn’t tell me shit.
“It was my fault. I sourced the pieces, and when they arrived, they were fake and filled with these plastic bags of white powder. Then this woman shows up, asking about Asian artifacts. Mathias must have known she was trouble because he told me to keep an eye out for her, but I didn’t really make the connection until the pig’s head showed up outside the warehouse—”
“That’s enough,” he said curtly, cutting through the panicked recap of information Mathias had blatantly kept from him.
Rayan strode through the house to the study, Elise trailing behind him.
He spun the wheel on the concealed safe beneath the desk and opened it to retrieve a holster, a pistol, and a box of ammunition.
He shrugged on the holster and began loading the gun, his fingers moving with surprising dexterity.
Guess it’s a skill you don’t forget in a hurry, he thought as he strapped the weapon to his chest.
“Christ, you too?”
Rayan glanced up. He’d forgotten Elise was in the room. She was staring at him in horror, like he was a complete stranger.
“What is going on here? Who are you?” she asked.
“That’s a loaded question.”
He pulled open Mathias’s laptop on the desk and tapped in the man’s password. Navigating to the location tracking app, Rayan synced it with Mathias’s phone. He waited for the red dot to appear, but when it did, it was nowhere near the warehouse. And it was moving. Quickly.
“He’s headed along the highway toward Capécure.”
“How can that be? I have his car.” Elise held up Mathias’s car keys.
“Then he must be with them.” Rayan took his phone from his pocket and connected it to the application, the little red dot now appearing on his screen. “Did he say anything about where he might be going?”
Elise shook her head wordlessly.
Not so chatty now .
He held out his hand for the keys, and she placed them in his palm. “Trust me—the less you know, the better.” Rayan led her back to the entranceway and opened the front door. “Go home, sit tight. He’ll be fine.”
As he watched Elise walk down the path to the street, he stifled the fear that accompanied the lie. He had no idea if Mathias would be all right. He had no idea what the man had gotten himself into. He just knew he had to get him out of it.
For a second, he was gripped by a cold terror. Did I kiss Mathias before he left this morning? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. Rayan jerked his head to dislodge the thought. He refused to entertain the possibility that it might have been the last time.
He got in the car and reversed out of the driveway then sped down the street toward the highway.
As Rayan drove, his mind trawled through the events of the past few weeks.
There was the crate and the import license and the way Mathias had brushed off the interest from the Albanians when Rayan pressed him.
And all that time, someone had been after him.
It was one of the man’s exceptional skills. Rayan had seen it often enough in the time they’d worked together—the ability to find himself backed against a wall and still act like he held all the cards, his confidence alone wielded like a weapon.
Rayan cursed himself. He’d let Mathias do it again—placate him with his self-assurance as danger closed in. Rayan had been so preoccupied with his work at the camp and the housing project that he’d let Mathias shut him out and play him for a fool.
Rayan gunned through an orange light and headed toward the on-ramp. He glanced down at the screen of his phone. The little red dot was still moving.
This would not be like the dream. He would get to him on time. He had to.