Chapter Thirty-Eight
Side by side they climbed the wide front porch steps, Ethan’s shoulder holster hidden by a black Windbreaker, Luke still wearing his camo pants, his gun clipped out of sight behind his back beneath his olive-drab T-shirt, along with the seven-inch KA-BAR knife strapped to his waist.
Ethan rang the doorbell. Seconds later, the ornate wooden door swung open and a small, gray-haired man in a black suit and neatly pressed white shirt stood in front of them. The edge of Luke’s mouth tipped up when he realized Stern had a butler.
“Which of you is Mr. Brodie?” the little man asked.
“That’d be me,” Ethan said.
“Mr. Stern will see you in the library. Your friend may wait in the drawing room.”
Luke grinned. “I don’t think so.”
The butler’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up. He took another long look at Luke, must have decided he wasn’t a guy to argue with, turned, and started off down the hall.
Ethan followed, Luke behind him, into an impressive wood-paneled chamber lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books. Paned windows looked out over a manicured garden behind the house. Flames curled over the grate in a mantel-topped fireplace at the end of the room.
The butler backed out and closed the door, giving them privacy. Stern rose from his chair behind a wide cherrywood desk and walked around to greet them.
“This is my day off, Brodie. Whatever you and your friend here want, I’d appreciate if you’d make it fast.”
Ethan tipped his head toward the man beside him. “My brother, Luke.”
“Another Brodie, fine. What do you want?”
“We came to ask you some questions. In particular, we’re interested in your diamond-smuggling operation.”
Stern’s face went pale.
“We’d like to know if Latham is giving the orders or if you’re handling the business yourself,” Luke said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ethan moved closer. “What we really want to know is whether you’re the one who ordered the hit on Delilah Larsen.”
“I want you out of my house.”
“I don’t think so.” Ethan caught him by the front of his starched yellow button-down shirt and shoved him backward till he slammed into his desk. “First we’re going to talk, then I’m calling the police.”
“I don’t know anything about any smuggling. Go ahead and call the police. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“As I said, first we’re going to talk. I want to know why you had your mistress murdered. Did she figure out what you were doing? Did you have her killed to shut her up?”
“I’m not saying anything. You have no right to be here. You’re trespassing. Get out.”
Ethan’s fingers tightened on the front of Stern’s shirt.
He dragged Stern up, then slammed him down on the top of the desk, sending papers into the air and an antique inkwell flying.
He let go of the shirt and wrapped a hand around Stern’s throat.
“It was Gallagher, right? Did you hire him or was it Peter Latham?”
When Stern didn’t answer, Ethan squeezed until Jason started wheezing, gasping for breath. “Was it Gallagher?”
“Let . . . go of . . . me!” He clawed at the hand choking off his air, and Ethan eased his hold. “You don’t scare me, Brodie. You’re a cop. You aren’t going to hurt me.”
Ethan let him go but didn’t back out of his space. “You’re right. I’m an ex-cop. I don’t torture suspects. My brother, Luke—now that’s a different story. You see, Luke was Special Forces. He doesn’t see things quite the same way I do.”
Luke nudged him aside, got right in Stern’s face. “All right, now we’re going to do this my way. My brother is going to ask again. This time I expect you to answer.” The KA-BAR appeared in his hand. He laid the blade across Stern’s throat, and there was no doubt of the threat he posed.
“Was it Gallagher who killed Delilah Larsen?” Ethan asked.
Stern swallowed. Luke nicked his Adam’s apple and a thin trickle of blood ran down his neck. “Answer my brother’s question.”
“It was . . . it was Gallagher.”
“What about Valentine? He the one who shot at her?”
A noise in the room drew Ethan’s attention. He turned at the sound of a husky female voice.
“Bick wasn’t shooting at Valentine, Mr. Brodie. He was shooting at you.”
Ethan had never met Myra Stern, but he’d seen her picture. Brunette, nice figure, fifties, looked to be in her late thirties. She was still a beautiful woman. He didn’t know Myra, but he knew the blond man standing next to her pointing a big black semiauto at the middle of his chest.
Bick Gallagher, aka Ray Bickford.
“Step away from Jason,” Gallagher said to Luke. “Do it now before I shoot your brother.”
Instead, Luke hauled Stern up off the desk and locked an arm around his neck. The big knife rested at the base of his throat. “Looks like we’re at a standoff,” Luke drawled. “You shoot Ethan, I slice Stern’s throat.”
The woman’s dark eyebrows went up. “Are you certain I care?”
Stern trembled. “What are you doing, Myra? I realize we have an unusual relationship, but I always thought you loved me.”
“I do, darling. Of course I do.” She ran a hand tenderly down Bick Gallagher’s arm. Bick was years younger. Clearly they were involved, or at least had been.
“You’re a good husband,” Myra said. “I wouldn’t want to lose you.” She turned to Ethan. “Perhaps we could make a deal. How much would it take for the two of you to forget whatever it is you think you know about our diamonds?”
“So it was you, not your twin brother,” Ethan said. “You’re the one calling the shots.”
“That’s right. Peter’s a good boy. He’s always done what I told him and look how well it’s paid off for him.”
“He lives like a king,” Ethan said. “No doubt about it. Too bad it’s all about to end.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s right. The cops know everything. It’s only a matter of time. The best you can do is use whatever connections you’ve got to get out of the country.”
“Let me kill them,” Gallagher said, his hand steady on the trigger of the pistol. “We’ll be gone before the police figure out what happened.”
“You fool. You can probably kill Ethan. But I know people.” She pointed at Luke. “You kill his brother, that one won’t let you live.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Gallagher said.
“You’ll do what I tell you.”
“Why’d you have Delilah killed?” Ethan asked her, stalling for time. And frankly, curious after all the trouble he’d had because of Myra Stern.
“Little bitch found out about the smuggling—thanks to Jason’s carelessness. She tried to blackmail us. No one blackmails Myra Stern.”
Ethan flicked a glance at Luke. Both of them were ready to make a move. “You send the notes?”
She smiled coldly. “Brilliant, wasn’t it? Bick came up with the design, but the idea belonged to me.”
“It was fairly ingenious, I’ll admit. Even had me fooled for a while.”
Myra turned from Ethan back to Gallagher. “You really think you can kill both of them, darling?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Myra, wait!” Jason pleaded, struggling against Luke’s hold.
It was the moment they needed. Luke shoved Stern between Gallagher and Ethan.
Gallagher fired, Ethan sidestepped, and the shot slammed into Stern.
Jason moaned as he hit the floor. Ethan ignored the burning pain in his side that told him the bullet had gone through Stern into him and launched himself at Gallagher.
The men crashed onto the Persian carpet, Ethan on top, Gallagher on the bottom.
He was a tough man, a professional soldier, his blond hair and good looks disguising the hard man underneath.
Ethan thought of Val and how close Gallagher had come to killing her, and slammed a fist into his pretty-boy face.
Ethan thought of Pete and Dirk and the fire, and punched him hard again.
Gallagher threw a right that cut into Ethan’s eyebrow. He grunted as the man rolled on top. Ethan slid his hands around Gallagher’s throat, rolled on top, and squeezed until Bick’s face turned beet red. He struggled, kicked, fought for air. Ethan thought of Val and squeezed harder.
“Don’t kill him, big brother,” Luke called out to him. “We don’t have time to dick with the cops over this.”
Ethan held on a little longer, till Gallagher’s eyeballs were bulging and his body went limp, but his brother was right. And the wound in his side was beginning to make him dizzy. He rolled to his feet, caught the plastic tie Luke tossed him, flipped Gallagher onto his back, and bound his wrists.
He looked over to where his brother had Myra Stern in plastic cuffs. Jason was bleeding out on the floor. Looked like the bullet had nicked his heart. Myra didn’t seem all that concerned.
“You call it in?” Ethan asked, wiping blood from his eyebrow, wiping his bloody knuckles on his jeans.
“Yeah. Cops and an ambulance on the way.”
The room spun. He was losing blood. He pressed a hand to his side and it came up red.
“What the hell?” Luke strode toward him. “Jesus, you’re hit!”
“Gallagher’s bullet went through Stern into me.”
Luke eased him back into a chair, yanked his T-shirt off over his head, and pressed it against Ethan’s side. “Keep the pressure on.”
He nodded, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes. The good news was, it was over.
The bad news was, once Val found out he’d been shot, he’d never get her to marry him.