Chapter 12 Mad Skills
Duncan
Three days ago, we finally caught a break in the case.
Nelson and Noah found substantial deposits, as in close to six figures, that were made to the Irish surgeon from a bank in the Caymans.
The account was registered to Imogen Walsh.
It took a while to find the connection, but a thorough search of public records uncovered a certificate of marriage between Niall and Ms. Walsh, dated three years before he and I ever met.
It wasn’t the proverbial nail in the coffin I’d hoped for, however it was enough to move forward with our plan.
It would be up to me to extract a confession.
The next day I made contact. I shot off a text, refusing to talk to the asshole on the phone. Everyone had their limits. Pretending to be sincere when speaking with someone who betrayed me in the worst possible way was mine.
Me: I remembered something about the accident.
Fucker: Something that could help in the case against Murray?
Me: Yes. I think so.
Fucker: We should talk.
Me: Agreed, but not over the phone. You still in Quantico?
Thanks to Quattro Security, I knew exactly where Niall was. Once we started digging into his past, I asked Gabe and his brothers to get eyes on him.
Fucker: No. I’m in Roanoke for a few days on business.
Me: I’ve got a hunting cabin about two hours from there. Can you meet me on Saturday? Alone?
Fucker: Send me the address.
Niall took the bait.
That was yesterday. Tomorrow was the big day.
The team and I were balls-to-the-wall finalizing our plan, the backup plan, and the backup to the backup plan.
This wasn’t our first rodeo. Preparing for every possible scenario was how we didn’t get dead.
I took my role as Waverly’s second-in-command very seriously.
We’d all arrive together and we’d be coming home the same way. Period.
Considering we’d been at it all morning, there was probably more coffee flowing through my veins than blood at this point. One more cup wouldn’t hurt. Standing at the Keurig waiting for my mug to fill, I thought of a few more questions.
“Keaton, did you get a hold of the game warden for Camp Creek State Park?”
“Chatted with him yesterday. He’s fully aware of the situation and said if he can be of any assistance, give him a ring.”
The cabin we were using for the meeting belonged to Keaton.
He’d almost had it demolished because of its connection to Henley’s kidnapping.
Thankfully, she’d convinced him otherwise.
It was the perfect location, secluded with plenty of places for my agents to stay hidden but still be able to get to me if the shit hit the fan.
“Noah. When’s Vlaschenko getting in?”
“His plane arrives somewhere between nine and ten.”
“Did you tell Sloane about him yet?” Lanie asked, kicking her feet up on her desk.
“I’ll tell her tonight.”
“No need.” Waverly rounded the corner from her office. “I just got off the phone with Finn. I hope your couch is comfortable, D.”
“Shit.”
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
“Appreciate the offer, Lanie, but I dug my own grave.”
I hadn’t held off on telling Sloane about Zak for any particular reason.
It definitely didn’t have anything to do with him being the head of one of the Bratva families.
He was a good man, born into a criminal enterprise.
She’d figure that out the second he started gushing about Pru.
The guy was a total goner. Truth was, I’d been so preoccupied with the investigation it’d slipped my mind.
Lame excuse, still it was the only one I had.
After the gear was packed and loaded into the SUVs, everyone except Waverly and I went home for the evening.
We were typically the first to arrive and the last to leave, since she was the resident agent in charge and I was the supervising agent.
I was doing some last minute paperwork when she popped into my office, crossing the room to sit in one of the chairs opposite me.
“Are you almost ready? Despite what I said earlier, I don’t actually think you’re in danger of having to sleep on the couch. Finn said Sloane had calmed down quite a bit.”
“Give me a couple minutes. I’m waiting for a delivery.”
“Okay. Cryptic much?”
“It’s a surprise for Sloane. I asked Shayne to pick it up for me.”
“Is Shayne your favorite now?”
“Jesus Christ, what are you, four? I asked you to hang around tonight because I wanted both of you here.”
She opened her mouth, readying to give me a verbal smackdown for my snippy attitude, when the distinctive swish of the front door opening then closing caught our attention.
“Yo, D. I’ve got the goods,” Shayne called out, strolling into my office like she owned the place. She put the small black plastic bag on my desk before plopping down on the seat next to Way. “That better be what I think it is.”
“You didn’t sneak a peek? I’m shocked.”
“Don’t get me wrong, the temptation was strong. I only held out because you asked me to wait.”
“When have you ever listened to anything I said?”
“I must be going soft in my old age.”
“You’re forty-three, Shayne. You’ll probably be chasing down perps when you’re eighty-three, dragging your walker behind you.”
“Fair point.”
“Enough already. Show us.”
Grabbing the bag, I pulled it onto my lap, then took out the package and opened it so only I could see what was inside. It was exquisite, exactly like the woman it was made for. Early this week when I picked it out, I imagined the look on her face when I gave it to her.
“Stop stalling,” Waverly grumbled impatiently.
I turned the tiny red satin box around, placing it on my desk as if it were made of glass.
“Hell yes,” Shayne whooped, but it was Waverly’s reaction I was waiting for.
“Duncan,” she gasped, looking between me and the box. “I have no words.”
“Then shush because I have a fuck ton of questions.”
Having no filter was one of the many things I admired about Shayne.
Another was her loyalty. She would give a friend the shirt off her back if they needed it, no questions asked.
I wished she could see how much love she had to give.
There was someone out there for her, she just refused to open her eyes.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. Not too long ago, Waverly basically said the same to me, and I told her there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening.
Look where that got me. A set of twins, a misbehaved puppy, and an emerald-cut diamond ring I couldn’t wait to slide on Sloane’s finger.
“Did you pick this out on your own or did you have help?”
“Seriously, Shayne? Have you no faith in me?” She raised a brow. Busted. “Lanie was with me.”
“I would’ve gone if you’d asked.”
“I know, Way, but honestly, it just sort of happened.”
“How do you just sort of happen––”she made air quotes––“to spend thousands of dollars at a jewelry store, Duncan Anthony Palmer? These things take a great deal of planning.”
“That’s not my middle name either, Shayne Renee Black. You’re not even warm.”
“Asshole,” she mumbled. “Answer my question.”
“Lanie and I were driving by the Third Street Jewelry store on the way to pick up lunch Monday. The sign they had hanging in the window was like a beacon begging me to pull over.”
“What did it say?”
“Pull over. Your fate awaits inside.”
Waverly snorted. “Are you fucking with us?”
“Nope. Dead serious.”
“It was a literal sign from the jewelry gods,” Shayne added with a grin. “When are you going to do it?”
“How the hell did you make my proposal sound dirty?”
“I’ve got mad skills.”
The security alarm beeped once when I quietly opened the front door a little after six that night.
I quickly keyed in the code, Sloane’s birthday, then grunted a curse when I rolled my ankle on one of Ralph’s chew toys.
I tossed the silicone bone to the side and went in search of my family.
The first thing I noticed was the scent of freshly baked desserts lingering in the air.
Damn, my girl was even more stressed than I realized.
The second was the pile of Tupperware dishes lined up along the counter in the kitchen.
Double damn. There was no way she was giving my sweet treats away.
I might have to do two-a-days at the gym to keep from gaining a hundred pounds, but to hell with playing nice in the sandbox. I wasn’t sharing.
I found them in the family room, watching a movie on the big screen TV.
Well, Rogan and Reagan were asleep on the chocolate-colored sleeper sofa with Ralph in between them, while Finn and Sloane occupied the plush tan recliners on either side.
My Sunshine saw me first, narrowing her eyes into slits. So much for her being calmed down.
“Hey,” I whispered.
If possible, her eyes narrowed farther. Not good. Shit.
“I’m gonna get going.” Finn kissed his sister on top of her head, then muttered, “Good luck,” on his way past me.
Run, coward. Run.
“Can we talk?”
“Oh, now you wanna talk?”
I held out my hand, helping her up. When she didn’t immediately pull away, I took it to mean I wasn’t entirely in the doghouse.
Partially, maybe. Regardless, it was my fault.
My communication skills, when it came to personal relationships, were severely lacking.
Case in point, my current predicament. If I’d talked to her before making the decision to involve Zak, I wouldn’t be about to beg for mercy.
The temperature outside was mild for a fall evening in the mountains of West Virginia, still I grabbed her a light jacket from the coatrack, pulled it up her arms, then led us onto the back deck.
She stood facing the railing, glancing out into the vanishing sky.
I closed in behind her, wrapping my arms around her chest.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about Zakhar.”
“Why didn’t you?” She turned her head around and back.
“Would you believe me if I said I forgot?”
“If that’s what really happened, then yes. Is it?”
“Yes.” I winced. “And no.”