Chapter 14
Ethan
“I’m going to kill you on principle,” I mutter as we trudge over a field full of cows.
“Don’t look at me, your brother is the one who came this way.”
“Your son. Or did you forget that you had three sons when you faked your own death?”
“I didn’t forget. This was bigger. I knew the three of you would be fine.”
“Fine. If you consider searching for evidence that Jack killed you for several long-arsed years fine, then yeah. We were… fine.”
“You know what I mean,” Maeve says.
“I do, unfortunately, and we weren’t fine. None of us is fine.”
“I get it. Would it help if I apologised?”
I stop in the middle of the field and glare at her. “Are you fucking joking?”
The thing is, looking at her now, I can see that she isn’t joking. Not one bit. She is sincere, and that pisses me off more than if she didn’t care.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not. I understand it was hard for all of you, and thinking your father did it probably made it worse. I had to do this.”
“And yet you still have no evidence that this corrupt police ring is the one committing these crimes.”
“I do,” she says. “I have a fucking lot of evidence. None of it is permissible in court.”
“Jesus,” I mutter and drag my hand down my face. I keep moving, following the trail that Callan and Aidan left. “So, what now? What is your plan to nail them all to the wall?”
“I need Annabelle.”
“Like fuck you do.”
“It’s the only way to catch them. Does she know?”
“She knows enough. Obviously, not all of this new bullshit you have thrown at me, us. I think that’s a face-to-face conversation. I owe her that much.”
“Bennett asked her to go down to the station. She can’t go until she knows and can agree to my plan.”
“And what is your plan? Use Annabelle as a honey trap to catch them?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why not use someone else? Why not set them up years ago?”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried? Christ, Ethan. I’ve been doing this for years. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I want to come home. These are not stupid men. And the women they target are not on some list for everyone to see and visit to talk them into risking their lives.”
“But Annabelle is fair game.”
“No, of course not. But she wants her mother’s killer caught, and seeing as she is a target herself, who better?”
The thought that she is right sits savagely on my soul. All I’ve done is try to keep her safe, and now I have to ask her to walk into the viper’s pit on the off chance my bitch mother can catch them in the act.
“Through the hedge,” Maeve says as we trudge up to a hedgerow that looks like two grown men have fought their way through it.
We follow and stand on a lane, looking left and right.
“Try their phones again,” Maeve says.
I do, even though I know it’s pointless. “Both going to voicemail,” I say.
“So where would they go?”
“Aidan is hurt. He can’t walk for miles.” I bring up the Maps app on my phone and zoom in on where we are. “There’s a town not far from here. We’ll head there.”
Maeve says nothing for a minute. I am grateful for it.
My phone feels too light in my hand. Annabelle is up in the penthouse with a gun she barely knows how to use, a bent copper has already rung her, and I am out in a field with my allegedly dead mother trying to locate my brothers before the entire day gets worse.
When we get into the middle of the small town, I stop. “A vet.”
“Clever bastard,” Maeve mutters.
“You shot him,” I point out.
“No, I didn’t,” she says. “I also didn’t shoot at Jack.”
“Let me guess? Briggs?”
“Yes. Jack must be getting closer than he’d like.”
“And yet you are somehow still alive.”
“I’m dead, remember,” she retorts.
“Oh, how could I forget?”
We walk into the vet’s and look around. It’s empty apart from a blonde woman behind the reception desk. “Could we speak to the vet, please?”
She looks up, and then her eyes narrow. “The third,” she says. “Aidan and the other one are gone. About half an hour ago.”
“Any idea which way?”
She shakes her head.
“He owe you anything?”
“Nah, all paid up.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
She shrugs. “Find them. They both need a fucking shower.”
I snort, and Maeve and I leave, heading in the direction of the shops. “They’d need food,” I reason.
A bakery sign comes into view at the end of the row.
“If they’ve stopped for pastries while my woman is barricaded in the bathroom, I’m disowning both of them,” I mutter.
Maeve gives me a look. “You can’t disown your brothers.”
“Watch me.”
Through the front window, I spot Aidan first. He is upright. Pale, but upright.
Relief hits so hard it nearly buckles my knees.
Then rage follows right behind it.
I push through the door hard enough to rattle the bell above it.
They turn.
Aidan’s face breaks into a grin that says he already knows I’m going to tear strips off him. “Morning, Eth.”
I go straight for him and slam a hand into the middle of his chest. Not enough to hurt the wound. Enough to make my point. “You utter prick.”
He huffs out a laugh and catches my wrist. “Nice to see you too.”
Callan’s eyes flick to Maeve, still in her beanie and oversized sunglasses, and go flat with instant hatred.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” he asks, quiet enough to worry me more than shouting.
Aidan’s grin drops. He looks past me, sees her properly, and every line in him turns sharp. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Wish I was.” I drag a hand through my hair and look at my brothers, one bloody, one muddy, both alive, thank fuck. “Long story. Worse version is she found me first, and she isn’t the bad guy.”
Maeve stands just inside the doorway like she has every right to exist in public, which is offensive on principle. “Lovely to see you both conscious.”
Aidan lets out a hard laugh. “Fuck off.”
“Seconded,” Callan says.
The woman behind the counter glances between all of us and wisely decides she wants no part in this. She vanishes through the back without a word. Good call.
I look at Aidan’s side. “How bad?”
“Managed,” he says.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s stitched. I’m not dying. Calm down.”
Callan is still staring at Maeve like he’s working out the quickest route to murder. “Start talking.”
“No time. We have to get back to Annabelle,” I say. “Move.”
“Uhm,” Maeve says, chewing her lip. “The car is miles away, and it’s a two-seater.”
“Taxi it is then,” I growl and rap on the counter. “Nearest Taxi?”
Aidan reaches over the pastry case, snatches the little card machine stand with the local numbers printed on the side, and reads one out. “This one is up the road.”
I take it off him and dial.
“We need a cab,” I say the second a woman answers. “Bakery in town.”
“Five minutes,” she says, and I hang up.
My jaw clenches so hard it aches. Next, I call Annabelle as we troop outside.
She answers straight away. Thank fuck. “Ethan?”
The tightness in my chest eases by a fraction. “You okay?”
“I’m still in the en-suite.”
“Good girl. Stay there. I found them.”
Her breath catches. “Alive?”
“Alive,” I say. “Both of them. Aidan’s patched up. Callan is still being a miserable bastard. Everything’s exactly as it ought to be.”
Her exhale comes through the line shaky and thin. “Thank God. Jack?”
“In the wind. We’re getting a taxi back now.”
“Taxi?”
“Long story. I’ll explain when we get there.”
A beat. “Okay.”
I lower my voice. “Did anyone call again?”
“The landline rang. It cut off after about five rings. Nothing since.”
Suspicion punches through the fear. “Okay, it’s probably a scam caller. Don’t leave that room for anything. We’re on our way.”
Her voice drops. “Ethan.”
“What?”
“I’m trying not to freak out.”
I close my eyes for half a second and picture her in that bathroom, pale, armed, doing exactly what I asked because she trusts me not to fail her. “You’re doing brilliantly, Tinks. Just a bit longer.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll ring when we’re on our way up, so you don’t shoot us.” I hang up before I say something that makes this harder.
When I turn back, all three of them are looking at me. “What?” Callan asks.
“The landline rang,” I say. “She said it rang about five times and cut off.”
Aidan’s expression blackens. “Who has the penthouse number?”
“Scammer, utilities, building security…” I trail off and lock gazes with Aidan. “We need to move.”
“Taxi’s here,” Callan says as a sedan pulls up and we all pile in, me in the front.
The driver glances at us, takes in Callan’s expression, Maeve’s hat and glasses, Aidan’s growl and decides his survival matters more than curiosity. Good man.
I give him the address.
He names the price.
“I’ll double it if you stop talking and drive.”
That gets us moving.
My knee bounces hard enough to shake the whole front seat. Every red light feels personal. Every second away from Annabelle feels wrong.
In the back, Aidan says, “So. She isn’t the bad guy.”
Maeve answers before I can. “I’m not.”
“Convenient,” Aidan says.
Callan stays silent. He is sitting by the door, one arm braced against it, body held very still in that way he gets when violence is imminent, and he only needs a reason.
No one utters a word while we weave through morning traffic, and eventually we pull up outside the apartment building. I pay what I owe on the card and then follow the rest to the lift. I call Annabelle. She answers.
“On our way up. Don’t shoot.”
The lift crawls.
I stand in front of the doors with my gun already out. Aidan is at my left, pale and furious. Callan stands to my right with that dead-calm look I’ve learned to fear in other people and trust in him. Maeve stays behind us because if Annabelle clocks her, she will probably fire anyway.
The doors slide open.
Silence.
Too much of it.
“Annabelle,” I call.
No answer.
Ice drops through my body.
I clear left. Aidan takes right. Callan goes for the hall without waiting to be told. The lift doors slide shut behind us.
“Annabelle.”
Still nothing.
The living space is clean, boarded window intact, my discarded coffee mug is still on the counter, which slams into me as something I need to take care of before it drives me insane.
But even that can wait.
Maeve stops near the kitchen island and scoops up the mug. I take a few seconds to watch her cleaning it out.
Then I feel disgust at it.
I’m just like her.
That gets me moving to the bedroom.
Callan is there, holding Annabelle, before Aiden practically drags her into his arms.
“Tinks,” I say. “You okay?”
“Fine. Glad you’re here. Glad these two are alive. Why do you smell like wet dogs?” She wrinkles her nose and stares at Aidan.
“Better wet dog than cow shit,” Callan mutters.
“What?” she asks and then shakes her head. “Never mind.”
Her attention snaps to the door when there is a clatter from the kitchen. “Who? Jack?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and dreading these next words. “Don’t freak out and hit her. She isn’t who you think she is.” Annabelle is already moving, gun up before I can stop her.