Brutal Truths (Falcon Global #3)

1. Aiden

Aiden

“I’m listening.”

Trent sounds annoyed, as though my call is an inconvenience. Which is ironic, since he’d be pissed if I didn’t bother calling.

“Rico’s been busy. Looks like he pissed off some powerful men.” My gaze drifts back to the floor safe, its heavy door still open. This time, my eyes lock onto a brooch. Its ornate design is unmistakably familiar. I’ve seen it before. “I believe I have what you wanted me to find.”

“Good. I knew I could trust you.” A faint, low rumble hums beneath the silence. “Bring it to me.”

“Are you sure?” Reaching inside, I pick it up. The weight is heavy in my palm.

“Bring. It. To. Me.” With a harsh, demanding tone, he declares our conversation over by hanging up.

Trent has a secret.

The rhythmic drone of the tires lets me know he’s inside a moving vehicle. Not something most people would catch. But I’m not most people. I’m trained to hear things others don’t.

Where is he going? Or is he coming from somewhere?

“Bring it to him,” I grumble, glancing over at Bear. He’s watching me from his cozy spot just outside the gallery door. “I should bring you with me when I do.”

With a slight tilt of his head, he seems to agree.

“I would, but knowing Trent, he’d shoot you just because.”

I swear the dog’s eyes widen before he drops his head with a thud and a whimper.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. You’ll get your chance to sniff him, though. I’ll work it out, so he thinks it was his suggestion.”

I start packing things up. As I reach for the brooch, my head snaps to the gallery wall where Sofia’s portrait hangs. The brooch she’s wearing mocks me. Its shamrock shape identical to the one on Trent’s ring. Same curves. Same delicate points.

Did Silas give it to her?

Trent’s ring’s an heirloom and has been in the Doyle family for generations. When things went south between Silas and Sofia, he would’ve demanded she give the brooch back. Assuming it was ever his to give.

Why didn’t he say anything earlier? Did he not notice it? I didn’t, so maybe he didn’t either. Or he did but just didn’t recognize it, which would rule him out as the one who gave it to her.

But if not him, then who did?

And why is it in Rico’s safe? Placed next to the diamond and emeralds like they belong together. A message. But what is it? And who is it for?

Silas? I doubt it, since he seemed uninterested.

Is it Trent? But how could Rico be so sure he’d find it? Does he know Trent well enough to trust he would? But how? And why?

What the hell kind of game is Rico playing with Trent?

The insistent buzzing in my pocket becomes too much of an annoyance.

I remove my phone, letting it drop softly onto the bench, and ignore it for the time being.

When I’m done, I’ll ring whoever it is back.

I need to get out of here and put this in Trent’s hands.

Watch his reaction; see what slips. Too many questions hang in the air, and each new discovery only adds to the list.

I go through the safe piece by piece, deliberate and methodical. Only the items I think will get me what I want from Trent go into the bag I’ll hand over. The rest is set aside for Isabel and Alma to go through with me later.

Using the camera I brought, I photograph every item before placing it inside the bag. No way am I putting them on my mobile, where they can fall into the wrong hands. When I have time, I’ll study everything closer, see if any of it can help piece this jacked-up puzzle together.

If Trent questions whether I brought him everything, he can fuck right off.

Absolutely not! I’m not handing it all over just to watch him destroy it. He’s getting more than he deserves.

A heavy item slips free from between the last stack of folders I lift, landing against the metal bottom with a solid thud.

What the fuck?

My phone goes off again.

Grunting, I ignore the persistent pulsing and lift the heavy object wrapped in a silk handkerchief. The second I bring it into the light, I freeze. Dried blood stains the white silk, and the weight in my hand tells me exactly what’s inside.

And I’m not wrong.

The blood-soaked handkerchief conceals a 9mm pistol.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My DNA and whoever put this here are both now on it. I refuse to be a scapegoat for murder, and I won’t let anyone pin this on an innocent woman.

Even if, for the sake of argument, she did it… there’s a strong chance she doesn’t appreciate the full weight of her actions. Not in her current state.

I bag it, seal it, and set it aside. When Darius arrives in London, I’ll hand it over. Let his team sort it out. They’re better qualified than I am.

Just as I’m leaving to meet Trent, my phone buzzes again. I swear, if this is Silas ringing, I’m gonna lose my shit. Seth is highly competent. Besides, I have more pressing matters that require my attention.

After slinging my bag over my shoulder, I nudge the heavy statue so the gallery door can shut and lock as intended. Once I’ve ensured it has, I turn to see Bear stretching as he rises, then the two of us head for the front door.

My phone vibrates in my pocket yet again. I’ve ignored it for the last five minutes while I finish up. Now that I’m done, I hit the green button and bring it to my ear.

“What?”

“Answer your fucking phone when I call.” The sharp edge of Lane’s voice slices through the air. “We have a problem.”

“Sorry. I was packing up after Silas took off. It takes time to go through a safe full of important shit. You’re not gonna believe what I found.” The lift doors open, and I motion for Bear to get on.

“You can tell me about that later.” He draws in a heavy breath. “Your cousin was stabbed.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My hands shake as I fumble with my phone, catching it just before it hits the floor with a clatter.

“What do you mean, stabbed? By whom? When?”

“An hour ago. If you’d answer your goddamn phone.” A guttural growl erupts from his throat, laced with fury. “I don’t know. Pauly’s looking into it. But that’s not all.”

“There’s more?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

“There was also a shooting in the parking lot. Pauly’s on that too.” The steady drone of tires on the road indicates Lane is driving. “We’re on our way to Isabel’s home in Oxford now.”

“Why? She’s not at hospital?” The lift arrives and the doors open quietly. I step into the garage, picking up the faint scent of petrol in the air.

“She’s in surgery—as the surgeon. She’ll be there for a while.”

I’m glad he cleared that up, because my first thought was that she’s hurt too.

“Then why are you going to her house? What aren’t you telling me?”

There’s a pause, the kind that tells me he’s choosing his words wisely.

When he speaks, it’s clipped, controlled. “The two shooting victims were her guards on duty.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” I increase my pace and open the backdoor, letting Bear jump in. “Someone shot her guards?”

The moment he’s clear, I slam the door and move fast, rounding the front and dropping into the driver’s seat.

“Both are in critical condition. Rushed into surgery. I’m not sure how it works, but with only four surgeons on tonight—and Jen now a patient—I’m assuming Izzy’s operating on one.”

Chances are she is. It’s not ideal performing surgery on her guards, but when she’s their only hope, ethics go out the window.

“Teddy’s arse is parked in the waiting area outside the surgical wing with Marty. He showed up twenty minutes after they took the other two back.”

“Which guards?” I ask backing out of my spot and head for the exit.

“The women: Lynette and Sasha. He said he got a call and rushed over. Not sure from whom.”

The only question I have now is, “Where’s the fucker, Ryan?”

“That’s why I’m heading to her house.” Lane’s voice tightens. “Marty told Teddy that Ryan took some sleeping pills before he went down; was out cold.”

I grip the wheel harder and merge into traffic. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Now wait. Ryan just got off shift, and he expected a twelve-hour break.”

It kills me to hear my friend defend the shithead I don’t trust.

“But that’s not the only reason I’m heading there. Teddy said Marty’s acting… suspicious. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Like he’s a completely different person.”

I blast my horn when some dipshit pulls out in front of me without warning. “What the hell does that mean? How?”

“Marty has a twin. An identical one. Marvin. And guess what?”

If Lane doesn’t just spit it out soon, I’m reaching through this phone and strangling him.

“What?” I growl.

“He’s part of the Doyle mob family. Been in prison for the last five years. Got out a few days ago.”

Shut the fuck up.

My headlights cut through the empty street in front of my house as I stare out the windshield into the darkness. “What was he in prison for?”

My gut tells me this information is crucial in understanding why he’d be in Oxford.

What the hell is going on?

“Trafficking charges. Served his time. Made a few new friends while there. Two Russians.”

The two Russians I recently met flash through my mind; their faces sharp and clear.

“Pauly’s got someone he trusts handling it. We should know more within the hour.”

I don’t like this. Not after all the shit I’ve learned. This feels like a setup.

“I need to take Bear inside. As soon as you get there, ring me.”

“Sure thing. We’ll be in Oxford in roughly ten minutes.” He hangs up.

I sit in my car for a few seconds, my mind spinning out of control. Then my fist slams into the dash. “Fuck.”

What the hell is going on?

A bitterness floods my mouth. If the Russians are involved—the same ones who were working with Cort and Rico—does that mean the Del Markovs are as well?

I don’t like this one damn bit.

Who the fuck is behind this, and why send them to Oxford? A symphony of warning bells ring in my head, drowning out everything else.

What am I missing?

I climb out of the car when Bear barks. Then I grab the bag before letting him out and we head inside.

This whole thing has gone cock up.

Once inside, I head for my office. The bag meant for Trent lands on my desk, and I empty it before settling into the chair. The brooch draws my attention first. It’s an heirloom. I turn it over in my hand, examining every detail.

Why was Sofia wearing it in the portrait?

If only I could ask Alma about it.

Maybe I can.

I pull out my mobile and dial hospital, forcing my focus into place as I bring it to my ear. The switchboard puts me through to Alma’s wing.

“Geriatrics. How can I help you?” a friendly female voice answers.

“Hello. I know it’s late, or early, depending on how you look at it, but I’m calling to check on a patient.”

“We only share patient information with family members.”

“My mistake, sorry. I’m Aiden Bishop.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Bishop. Did you forget something? I can check the room. It hasn’t been cleaned yet.”

I straighten, taking a deep breath to center myself, my senses sharpening. “Right. Sorry, it’s been a day. When I came to visit Alma, I forgot to ask her something.”

“You mean the doctor or one of us, right? You didn’t lose her, did you? I know she likes to wander. We had to keep a close eye on her to make sure she didn’t slip out with a visitor.”

What the fuck?

“Yes, I meant the doctor. Because Alma’s with me. I came by and picked her up, right? So why would I call you to ask her something?”

“Exactly.” A sharp laugh escapes the woman before she continues. “The doctor won’t be in until around eight. I can leave a message for her to get in touch. Would that work? You could also ring her office and leave a message. Everything okay?”

I look at the clock on my office wall. It reads a quarter to five.

“Yep. Peachy. Thank you.”

I hang up and immediately call Pauly.

“I’m working as fast as I can.”

“Stop what you’re doing and listen. Are you listening?”

The rhythmic clicking stops. “Yep.”

“The hospital where Alma is. I need you to hack the security feed.” The clicking starts again, but I don’t wait; I keep talking. “Sometime last night or early this morning, I supposedly checked her out, so find it.”

“Fuck. On it.”

“Call me when you do.”

Before I hang up, I hear him whistle, so I wait. “Damn. Well, I’ll give them credit. He resembles your ugly mug.”

“That was fast.”

He clicks his tongue, breaking the silence. “That’s because I was already tapped in. I needed footage of Marty to compare with his twin.”

“And what have you learned?”

“Well, unless Marty suddenly got a full-sleeve tat in the last few hours, the fucker at the hospital with Teddy isn’t him—which we already knew. He’s hiding it well, but you don’t conceal that much ink, even with long sleeves.”

A low whistle slips through. “And whoever’s posing as you needs a crash course in how to treat an elderly woman. When we find him, I’m volunteering for that lesson. Idiot.”

Keys click in the background. “He’s got a head start. Left the ward five past ten. Running facial ID now… and there it is. Hello Ebert Coffey. Not smart enough to avoid the cameras. That’s why you keep getting pinched.”

A beat passes before he continues. “He’s one of Trent’s. Low man. Twenty-five, but hell, he looks older. Prison will do that to you.”

“Tell me you have eyes on him leaving the hospital.” I need to catch a break here. “That you can track his car.”

“He’s not very smart. Parked right out front. Arsehole threw her in the backseat on the driver’s side, leaned in and did something I can’t see.” His tone turns cold. “I’m guessing he’s drugging her, but I can’t be sure.”

“Track that car. Don’t let it out of your fucking sight until it stops and they get out.”

I end the call and sweep my arm across the desk, sending shit flying. Not everything, just the items that aren’t critical to this damn case.

Just as I’m about to clean up my mess, my mobile rings again, and I answer it without checking to see who it is. “Don’t disappoint me; tell me something good.”

Silas’s voice crackles through the line, low and rough. “I’m outside. Let me in. I have our friend Cort with me, and he’s told me something truly interesting.”