Chapter Twelve
In which it’s Fee’s turn to meet the family. Sort of.
Alec…
“You’ve been busy.”
Alastair and the rest of the idiot MacTavish men took in the smoking ruins of the farm. Bullet holes peppered the front of the farmhouse, and the hen house was on fire, the damned birds racing in all directions, squawking hysterically. Martin’s experimental patch of organic rhubarb/beet splicing was trampled into the mud.
And the bodies. Eight of them scattered across the yard, covered in blood.
“You’ve always had the gift of understatement, Alastair,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
“Are those… bloody hell, you’re wearing overalls?” he howled with laughter. “Is this a new look from Dior or Brioni? I must have missed it during London Fashion Week.”
“If my gun weren’t out of bullets, I’d shoot you right now.” I have never regretted being “rescued” more than in this moment.
A terse instruction from Cormac, Chieftain and eldest of the MacTavish brother, sent their men patrolling the farm, looking for anyone else from Lee Ville’s botched “rescue mission.”
Alastair’s delighted gaze swept from me to a fuming Fintan and Fee, who was eyeing him in the same way you would examine a carton of milk a month past its expiration date .
“These are your kidnappers?”
My eyes narrowed at some hastily smothered laughter from the men behind him.
“Oh, lovely,” Fee sneered, “more soulless corporate Godkings. Do you all get lonely if you can’t come together to compare your recent capitalist desecrations?”
Alastair put out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Alec’s best friend-”
“-former best friend-” I interjected.
“Best friend and fellow soulless corporate overlord,” he steamrolled through my correction.
She folded her arms, eyes narrowed as he finally took the hint and stuffed his hands in his cargo pants. “So, it was the environmentalists,” he said, “to be honest, we never thought they had it in them to pull off something like this. We’d been looking elsewhere until your panic button went off.”
Fee looked at me, arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “The watch.”
“Yes, but I did want it back, it was my father’s, as you know.”
Alastair winced slightly. Fee’s sharp glance didn’t miss his reaction, I suspected she was storing that tidbit away to use on me later.
“So, who were these arseholes?” Lachlan, the youngest MacTavish, strolled up, his assault rifle over his shoulder.
I ignored him, addressing Alastair. “A pitiful rescue attempt they claimed was ordered by Lee Ville.”
“By Leevil?” Lachlan asked, laughing, “What a hell of a name.”
“No, not evil. Lee Ville, a corporate partner in my new computer server venture,” I corrected.
“Actually, Leevil is far more accurate,” Fee said. “I didn’t know there was a bigger despoiler of the environment than your buddy here.” She nodded to me. “But Lee Ville, that shit-shoveling bastard son of a bitch, just drained a hundred and ten acres of protected wetlands in Wales for a parking lot and a big box store. Did he run out of endangered species to annihilate over in the States?”
The rest of the MacTavish brothers looked just as entertained by Fee as my former best friend.
“And why are you all here?” I snapped.
“We’re here as backup,” Cameron, the second eldest said. “Like it or not, we’re still brothers.”
Fee glanced between me and the others, a little frown wrinkling her forehead.
“This family reunion is mighty touching,” Fintan had gathered his wits, “but there are body parts scattered all over my farm and Noreen is nudgin’ at that one’s intestines.” The black goat looked up at us, her snout bloody.
“Oh, don’t worry.” It was Martin, clutching his soil samples and staring at what was left of his family’s farm. “She’s just checking to see if he is edible. Goats don’t eat human flesh.”
“Should we worry about Noreen?” Alastair asked.
“Everybody should worry about Noreen,” Fee said, nudging the goat away from the body.
Martin was turning in little, agitated circles. “Why are these bodies here? Who are these people, then? I was just checking the alkaline level in the north field. When- how did this happen?”
“Oh, we can clean up the bodies,” Lachlan offered. “Do ya have a pig pen? Ya throw a dead man in with a hungry hog and there’s nothing’s left but teeth and toenails.”
Martin stared at him for a moment before vomiting up his lunch.
“This doesn’t make sense. Why would Leevil want to kill you?” Alastair asked. “Wouldn’t that terminate your joint business deal?”
“There’s no proof he intended to kill me,” I said. We were all crowded in the tiny kitchen, where Martin busied himself with taping up the broken window panes and making tea after changing his soiled shirt. I’d reluctantly introduced the MacTavish brothers, Cormac, Cameron, Dougal, and Lachlan to Fee and the men. “This could be the most pitiful rescue attempt in recent history, or something else. And stop calling him that. It’s Lee Ville.”
“My men have already removed the bodies,” Cormac said, “and spent a fair amount of time chasing your goats and chickens back into their pens. They need to be rebuilt after that kind of damage.”
“I’ll patch ‘em up,” Fintan said stiffly. “I don’t need your help.”
“You’re not going to have time,” I said. “You’re all coming with me.”
“Oh no, we are not!”
“Look around, old man. Your farm is shot to hell and whatever those men were planning, they didn’t achieve it. Whoever’s behind this will be back, with more soldiers and more destructive firepower. As much as Dougal there is appreciating your World War Two era shotguns-”
Dougal looked up from where he’d been holding one, examining the walnut stock. “This is a grand piece, Fintan, a rare vintage find. I dinna suppose ya would sell it to me? I’m a bit of a collector.”
“Ya have an entire floor in your building dedicated to your armory, ya nutter!” Cormac scolded him. “There’s enough firepower there to put a hole in the planet. ”
“That’s not true,” Dougal said a bit defensively. “I keep the surface-to-air missiles at the estate’s gun range.”
His older brother sighed, as if this was a long-standing argument that would end with a great deal of bluster and no useful outcome.
“Back to the key point here, gentleman,” I interrupted, “the farm is not safe. You, Cassidy family, are not safe. You do not have the firepower or the security force to handle the storm that’s about to bear down on you like a category five hurricane. And although you deserve it for being foolish enough to kidnap me, I can’t let it happen to you.”
Fee looks at her father, who is studiously pouring tea for everyone and nattering about the honey from the farm’s beehives, and Fintan, who’s torn between outrage and concern.
Finally, the old man sighed, glaring at me balefully. “I knew ya were too much trouble. Fee shoulda dropped ya into the Irish Sea on the way over here.”
“You seemed quite happy to shackle me like a prisoner on death row,” I countered. “Nonetheless, I’m willing to overlook this deeply egregious behavior. While you and Fee - especially Fee - made a foolish mistake, you don’t deserve the death they will certainly give you if you’re caught.”
“Yeah,” Lachlan said between bites of honeycake, “ya do not feck with the mafia, mate. Now Alec here, ya really dinna know who he was?”
Fee closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I thought he was just another rich crit devoted to paving over every last square of forest left in the UK. There was never a hint of his less despicable side.”
Her pretty hazel eyes opened and she managed to include everyone crowded into the little room with a single glare. “So, are you all one big, happy crime family?”
“Not family,” I said sharply.
“Aye, we’re brothers,” Cormac said at the same time. After an amused glance at my narrowed eyes, he grinned tauntingly. “Different despicable organizations, though.”
Blowing out a long breath, I stepped close enough to Fee for our chests to touch. She stubbornly refused to back away, glaring up at me.
“You have to do this,” I said softly. “The lives of your father and grandad depend on it. I have the resources to protect you.” Her nipples hardened into little, diamond-hard peaks and I could swear this Irish witch was doing it to distract me.
“What about the farm?” she said. “Someone has to be here to look after the animals, and it’s almost harvest time for the specialty rosemary beds.”
Finlan sounded like he was strangling when he talked, but at least the old man was seeing reason. “I can call up those agricultural students at Uni who interned here, they’ll cover for us.”
“I’ll send guards in to protect them,” I said.
Fee crossed her arms, an action I noted with some regret since it covered those enticing nipples, and stepped back. “We’ll pack.”
“Make it quick,” I said. “We don’t have much time.”
I’m not going anywhere without Noreen!”
Of all the Cassidys to make a fuss, I didn’t expect it to be Martin. Fee’s father drifted pleasantly through life with the gentle smile of a simpleton and an inescapable sense of optimism. But he was the one digging in his heels while I was trying to get these three the hell off the farm before someone showed up with a case of grenades and a flamethrower.
“Da, we can’t bring a goat to London,” Fee tried to reassure him. “ The students know how to care for the livestock.”
“It won’t be enough!” He had his arms around the goat, snuggling in and not noticing that Noreen was eating the back of his jacket. “She’s pregnant! She needs specialty care.”
Those MacTavish arseholes were enjoying this far too much. “Ya have a trailer, mate?” Dougal helpfully called out. “We can hook it up to one of the vehicles.”
As God as my witness, I would break that man’s nose before the day was over.
Martin cheered up. “Aye, that’ll do. I’ll just kit her out and we can be on our way.”
Fee’s shoulder gently bumped mine. “You’re beginning to regret this, eh?”
“From the moment it left my mouth.”
“You built your own temple, I see. This is a spectacle.”
Fee stood in the two-story entryway of my house in Knightsbridge, surveying the carved walnut staircase that swept up to the second and third floors, the massive crystal chandelier, and the Italian marble floors. Her hands were on her hips, her lip curled and looking vaguely nauseated.
“I’m in hell. That’s it. I got shot back there at the farm and now my soul is in hell, trapped in this depraved, venal testament to capitalist excess.”
“You’re not insulting me,” I said, “hell is my playground.”
“Unsurprising, since you’re Satan’s favorite son,” she sneered, “I’m sure you’re familiar with the postcode.”
If she was this upset now, I can only imagine the incandescence of her fury when she discovered I’d bought the two neighboring multimillion pound mansions and connected them to mine. I didn’t like neighbors. Which meant I also had twenty or so extra rooms that had nothing in them but dust.
Charles, my PA, had greeted us at the door with a pale, sweaty face and a weak smile. He stood in the corner, looking ready to bolt down the hallway as if he was expecting me to pull my gun out and shoot him.
“You and I will have a discussion later,” I said. “But for now, take Mr. and… Mr. Cassidy upstairs to their rooms.”
“When will Noreen be here?” Martin asked plaintively. The sweet but simple man actually thought that demonic goat was going to fly into London on Alastair’s seventy-five-million-pound private jet. Personally, I would have enjoyed Alastair’s expression when Noreen sprayed shit all over his custom leather seats, but he’d made arrangements to have one of his men drive the beast here from the farmhouse.
“In…” I checked my watch, “in about eight hours or so. In the meantime, do go with Charles, and make yourself at home. We’ll speak at dinner.”
Fintan said nothing, throwing his rucksack over his shoulder and heading up the stairs, trailed glumly by his son.
“How is it that you still manage to look like an arrogant prick, even while attempting to be polite?” Fee said.
“It’s a gift, darling. Join me for a drink in my study.”
“Why? Is that where you sup from the hollowed-out skulls of your enemies?” She still followed me down the hall to our left.
“No, they tend to leak. I keep them mounted on my wall instead,” I said, opening the door and sweeping my hand to invite her in. With a disdainful sniff, she entered.
“You garish, pretentious bastard!” Fee gasped. “Did you steal that Renoir?”
I stifled a chuckle. I should be catching up on business - both legitimate and not - that I’ve missed over the last four days. There were contracts to sign, meetings to be held, and most likely people to kill.
But a drink with Fee sounded far more enjoyable.