30. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jacob
Those useless fucks. If Grandad is hurt, I’ll kill them. I race toward the helipad, the food I ate roiling in my stomach. I can’t lose Grandad. If I do, I’ll—
Stop it. Don’t think about it. He’ll be fine.
I wish I could believe it.
Wonder of wonders, the helicopter is ready by the time I reach the pad, rotors spinning. Three armed Gilda are already inside when I jump in.
I strap in as the chopper takes off. The engine roar drills into my ears as we rise. One of the soldiers hands me a headset, and I put it on, cutting the roar to a background buzz. I hold out my hand. “Weapon.”
He presses an MP-5 into my hand. We’ll land right behind Grandad’s place—the supported living houses back onto a field. I chose the spot partially for that reason.
It’s a short flight, but it feels a million hours long. Just as we’re coming in to land, a communication signal beeps in my ear. I answer.
“Mr. West, sir? It’s Lieutenant Davis. I’m in charge of keeping your grandfather secure. He’s safe. I’ve got him here. We’ll—”
“Give me that fuckin’ thing, will ya? Right. What’s going on, my boy? These tosspots you’ve got watching me just pulled me right out of bingo. Has something happened?”
He was at the pub.
He was at the fucking pub.
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears collecting as I press my hand to my head and heave in a breath that burns on its way down. The relief almost has me sobbing like a baby. It’s a lungful of air after almost drowning. I try to speak but can’t make the words come out.
“Jacob? You there, my boy?”
Another rough breath, and I swipe at my eyes. “I’m here. I’ll be there soon. Just stay with the men until I get there, okay? Don’t give them any strife.”
“Roger that.” Grandad’s voice is subdued. He must have picked up on my distress. He’s always been able to, no matter how much I played the tough guy. “I’ll be good as gold. See ya soon.”
I angle away from the soldiers, collecting myself as we come in to land. As I pull off the headset and exit the chopper, my relief ebbs away into anger. This fucking bitch, whoever she is, just made her last mistake. From this point on, all I care about is hunting her down.
I instruct the guys to arrange accommodation for Grandad at a local hotel and to take him straight there. He’s a tough old bloke, but he’s getting on a bit, and I don’t want him to see the smoldering ruins of his house. I’ll meet him at his hotel as soon as I’ve checked the scene of the fire.
I’ve tried to keep him focused on everything except what is happening, keeping conversation away from Ruth’s attacker and assuring him we’ve got everything in hand. It’s all been a lie. I’ve been distracted, my mind pulled six ways all at once, and that needs to stop.
The Gilda are already combing the ruins of the house, the fire extinguished, tramping through everything. The scene is a fucking mess. The bloke who seems to be in charge marches over as soon as he sees me. “Sir. Your grandfather is—”
“I know. I’ve spoken to him. What have you found?”
He nods, all business. “Delayed action incendiary, sir. Whoever set it knew your grandfather’s usual pattern. It’s pure luck he decided to go out tonight.”
My heart shudders. Pure luck. “And just how the fuck did this device get into his house?”
The soldier looks away, lips tight. “The cleaning service came today. All looked legit—correct ID, and she gave the right code.”
“And was all her equipment searched thoroughly?”
The soldier pauses before answering, and I know what’s coming. “I believe not, sir. The men let her through.”
Useless fucks. “Tell Brackis if the stupid bastards responsible still have jobs tomorrow, they’ll answer to me personally.”
The soldier nods. “Understood.”
“I want surveillance footage, info from the cleaning company, and everything that can be found on the vehicle.” I pause, taking in the area. I should stay and oversee the investigation, but the pull toward Grandad is stronger. I won’t be able to focus until I’ve seen him with my own eyes and got him settled. “And take me to my grandad.”
Ten minutes later, we pull up to a small but pleasant local hotel. Four stars, nothing flashy, but easy to surround with men. I grudgingly approve the choice, then follow the soldier to Grandad’s room.
The two guards communicate via phone, and the one inside who has been babysitting Grandad opens the door. I enter. “You can leave us now. Wait outside the door.”
The guard, young and with bright ginger hair, actually salutes me. “Yes, sir.”
I don’t bother to correct him.
The room is the boring, inoffensive type favored by companies booking employee trips. Generic artwork, a small TV, and a queen-sized bed, covers tucked in so tight even I couldn’t have done it neater. The only incongruous thing is a huge potted plant with wide, dark green leaves. I step around it to Grandad, who sits on the edge of the bed.
Shit, he looks old. He is old, but being it and looking it are two different things. Rotten guilt curdles my guts. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be living in his little terraced house where he knew all his neighbors. Still drinking at his local, watching the footy every Sunday. Heading to the dog track on Saturdays with his mate Clive, who went to the same school as him.
I wanted a better life for him. A long, healthy life. I thought joining the Brotherhood would give me the means to make things better for my family, but just look at him. I’ve taken him away from everything he knows and dumped him in the shit.
Only a few strands of silver hair still cling to his head, but his mustache looks the same as it has for as long as I can remember. Gray and bristly. He looks up and gives me a weak smile. “There you are, lad. What’s with the penguin suit? You been to a wedding or something?”
I frown, then realize I’m still in my evening wear. I hadn’t given it a second’s thought. “Just a work thing.”
I take a seat next to him on the bed, and the soft mattress squashes under my weight. “Got a bit of bad news. You’re lucky you were at the pub. Your house burnt down. I’m really sorry. This is all my fault.”
My voice cracks as I finish the sentence, and my shoulders slump. There’s a long, painful silence, filled only with our breathing and a distant siren whining past on the road outside.
“My fuckin’ house? When I was at bingo?”
The sharp note to his voice snaps my head up. The steel I remember from my childhood is still there, underneath the old man’s quaver.
“Yep. I’m sorry.”
I don’t tell him I’ll pay for his lost stuff, because it’s not replaceable. He brought all his most precious items with him. All his mementos from my nan and from mum when she was a baby. Everything.
I risk a glance his way. His face is set, hard and strong. British stiff upper lip through and through. But his eyes, green like mine, have a sheen to them. I look away fast. Grandad would hate me seeing him cry.
It’s anger, though, that fills his words. “Don’t say your fuckin’ sorry. Catch the cunt who's doing all this. Are you any closer? Do you know who he is yet?”
“She. And yes. She got in by posing as the cleaning service. We can—”
“What did you say?”
Something in the words sends a jolt through me. The sudden, urgent snap.
“The cleaning service. She posed as—”
“I thought you were looking for a bloke.”
“I did, too. It was stupid of me to assume. It never crossed my mind that it might be a woman. But the computer guy said it most likely was the other day, and today confirmed it.”
“But last week you said it’s someone who knew you as a kid.”
I look up, meeting Grandad’s stare. His eyes are wide, his jaw has gone slack, and his normally ruddy cheeks have paled deathly white. My guts twist. “What? What is it?”
Grandad clasps his hands together, rubbing a thumb over one knuckle. He has bad arthritis, but this looks like a nervous gesture. My interrogation training kicks in, and the cold part of me that is always there studies him. He’s hiding something. Deciding whether to tell me a lie.
I place my hand over his, a much more touchy-feely gesture than we usually make. He looks down, startled, and shudders. My mind whirls, and I force myself to keep my voice gentle. “Please, Grandad. If you know something, you have to tell me.”
His shoulders tense, then slump. He looks around the room, gaze locking on the minibar. In a voice heavy with defeat, he says. “I know, my boy, I know. Can we get a drink first?”
My movements are jerky as I get to my feet and tackle the minibar. I pull out two Jack Daniels and a bottle of coke. Not Grandad’s favorite, but beggars can’t be choosers. Grandad doesn’t look at me as I hunt down two tiny glasses and mix the drinks. When he lifts his hand to take his, it shakes.
I’ve hardly taken my hand off his glass before he’s taken a huge swig. A moment later, the whole glass is empty. “Bloody hell. Take it easy.”
“Don’t you be telling me how to handle my drink, lad.”
The sharpness is almost normal, and for a second, I let myself believe he’s exaggerating. That this is all going to end up as no big deal. With another deep breath, he starts to speak.
“I’d been on the rigs for six years when the social called and told me they’d taken you off your mum. Since your nan died. They told me either I took you on, or you’d be put in a children’s home.”
“I know.”
He meets my gaze, and his mustache quivers as he studies me. “That was the easiest decision I ever had to make, son. If I’d had the faintest idea how bad things were, I’d have done it sooner. I always loved you and Ruth.”
I want to interrupt, to urge him to get to the point. Time is slipping past, and every moment I’m here, the person doing all this could be getting further away. But I force myself to keep silent.
“But I did have to make one hard choice.” He closes his eyes, face twisting. “You see, my boy, you had an older sister too.”