Chapter 26 A Razor Through My Soul #2
“I sure fucking do—voice recognition.” I log into my laptop and make my way through the layers of security Ozzy has in place to access his private satellite system. “Did they say anything good?”
“Turner is pissed because his client is pissed. He didn’t name the client, but from what I’ve heard, it’s safe to deduce that it’s Harlow’s ex-fiancé.”
I enter the last password to Ozzy’s final layer of security, pull up the tap, and click on the most recent call.
Victor Turner’s voice is easy to recognize. He’s not only a public figure, but I’ve investigated him long enough, I could pick him out of a million voices. I know all his personas from the fake professional one to the private irate one.
And the latter is exactly what he is now.
But it’s the other man...
The one he’s talking to that gets me. I didn’t expect to recognize that one.
It’s a voice I haven’t heard in years. One I’d be able to pick out of a million blokes.
Hell, ten million.
And that voice hits me in the chest like a wrecking ball.
“Fuck,” I mutter into the phone.
“Devon,” Ozzy calls for me. “Do you think Turner is talking about the Humphries guy?”
I don’t answer. For the first time in years, I don’t give a shit about Victor Turner. It’s the other voice on the line that captures all my attention.
There’s no way.
It can’t be.
When I say it’s an impossibility, I mean it with every fiber of my being.
It cannot fucking be. My brain knows it, even if my gut disagrees. World War III might as well be breaking out between them.
Fact versus emotion.
“Devon, did I lose you?”
“Fuck,” I repeat, not able to form complete thoughts. “It can’t be ... there’s no way...”
“What the hell, Vic?”
“It’s about time you answered. We need to talk,” Turner growls.
“How many times do I need to tell you? Don’t fucking ring me.”
“Let’s not forget who funds your entire fucking life. If I want to talk to you, I’ll fucking talk to you.”
“Make it quick.”
“What kind of imbeciles do you have working for you? You shot my man.”
“First of all, I didn’t shoot anyone. Malloy was stupid to put himself that close to a target. He knows when my people have a clear shot, they’re damn well going to take it. That’s on him.”
“They shot my man,” Turner repeats in a thunder.
“He’s contracted for me for years, and now he’s lifeless in some meager medical center with more attention on him than any of us need.
We know from the taps that the local Chief of Police is anxious for him to wake up to question him.
That can’t happen, and you know what I mean,” Turner growls.
There’s a pause before the other voice on the line asks, “Should I take that as an order?”
Turner’s tone lowers. “Too much is at stake. Fuck, everything is at stake. I never should’ve taken the Madison job. It’s been a shitshow from the beginning, and now Humphries is a royal pain in my arse. He’s so desperate, I’m about to cut ties for good.”
“Job security for me.”
“This is on you!” Turner roars. “Make the entire thing go away and do it on your own fucking dime. And when I ring you, answer your fucking phone. Got it?”
There’s another pause before he finally gives in and relents. “Got it. I’ll talk to my team and send someone. Anything else, boss?”
“Humphries and Malloy will talk. I want them gone, and I want it done by you,” Turner orders.
“Me?! There’s no way—”
“Oh, there’s a fucking way. Find it, and make it happen.
I want it done in the next forty-eight hours.
I’d demand it be done faster, but this is me being rational since you’re on another continent.
I won’t entrust this to anyone else. It’s your mess, you clean it up.
And if you don’t, consider yourself part of the mess that will be eliminated. ”
“Are you fucking kidding me? After all we’ve been through—”
“Try me ... see if I’m serious.”
“I can’t go to Winslet. You know that. Donnelly has set roots there. We might’ve put him out to pasture, but he was one of the best. I can’t risk being anywhere near him. Hell, he almost took you down. Of all the places in the world, I cannot go there, dammit.”
“You can, and you will. Maybe this will be incentive not to fuck up the next job.”
“But—"
The line goes dead.
“It can’t be,” I mutter into the phone after Turner ends the call.
Ozzy isn’t fazed and powers through like this is a normal job for Crew Vega, when it fucking isn’t.
This is so much more.
This is life changing.
“I’m creating a file now to run that voice against every database I have access to. We’ll see if it hits. But before that, we need to get with your Chief and let him know Turner is listening to his calls.”
I drag a hand down my face and stare unseeing across the waiting room that looks like it’s from three decades ago. I can’t form words. That war between my gut and brain is raging.
And my gut is winning.
Because everything my brain is trying to rationalize flies out the damn window with what I just heard.
The voice.
“I need a second,” I say through a gravelly tone.
“We don’t have a second,” Ozzy argues. “We need a roundabout way to get hold of the Chief. Who can you call on the side that can get in contact with him?”
“Oz—”
He interrupts me. “This is just the break we needed. He may still be faceless, but not for long. I can find a needle in a haystack with a voice recording—”
“Ozzy!” I bite out for no reason other than to shut him up. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut. I need to say it out loud. If anything, Ozzy can prove that I’ve officially lost my mind. “Before you spin your wheels, I need you to do me a favor.”
The sarcasm bleeds through the line. “Of course. Anything for you, Donnelly. Let me add it to the long list of favors I’m checking off your list.”
I slam my laptop shut and lean back in my chair. “I want you to run that voice against one name.”
Genuine curiosity replaces sarcasm. “You know who that is?”
I shake my head and will myself to be wrong. “I don’t know. There’s so much going on right now, I may be wrong. Hell, I’d better be bloody wrong, because if I’m not—”
A voice hits me from behind. “What do you hope to be wrong about?”
I turn to find Harlow standing at the hall that leads to her father’s room.
Her long blonde hair frames her face and falls down her shoulders in loose waves. She’s makeup free and wearing loose sweatpants and a T-shirt that professes her love for Pilates.
“Devon, did I lose you?” Ozzy asks.
“I’m here,” I say without looking away from Harlow.
“What name do you want me to run that voice against?”
“Something is wrong.” Harlow stares at me through her worried dark eyes. “What happened?”
I’ve got shit coming at me from all directions. Shit that used to plague me to the point I lost sleep and my sanity—like losing a mate and a career, both of which I loved to my core—suddenly feels inconsequential.
I speak to Harlow and Ozzy at the same time. “Bancroft.”
The word is like a razor through my soul.
Harlow frowns in confusion.
“What?” Ozzy demands. “You mean your dead—”
“That’s exactly who I mean,” I bite out. “Hugh Bancroft. If it’s a match, then everything changes.”
Harlow’s eyes widen.
“Fuck me,” Ozzy mutters.
Something inside me shifts, because I know.
Even without a computer telling me it’s a match, I know.
Guilt turns to rage.
“Yeah, fuck me,” I agree with Ozzy before adding, “Revenge just took on a whole new meaning.”