Where was Nate going? When Pete followed Nate up the ladder, Sarah noticed a knife tucked in Pete’s back waistband.
“Miss Munro?” Ty tugged on her arm.
She followed Ty into the gym’s storage area but tried to get one last peek before the door closed behind her.
“This way, Miss Munro.”
Ty was near an opening on the other side of the room, which led to the main gym. She squared her shoulders and followed. The storage area was stuffed with gym mats, punching bags, folding chairs, and moldy boxes. It was also dimly lit by a few hanging bulbs. Was that a rat?
As they made their way through the gym, she ignored the stares of the men who were working out. She found Luke in the main office, sitting at the desk, typing on his laptop. She took off her hat and laid it on top of a ledger.
Luke shut the laptop and stood. “Hello, Miss Munro.”
Ty dropped the shopping bag on the chair. “Would you like something to drink, Miss Munro?”
“Water would be nice.”
“Where’s Nate?” Luke asked Ty.
“Roof.” Ty went to the mini-fridge with the coffeepot on top and found two cold bottles.
After opening her water and drinking two long sips, she asked, “What is Nate doing?”
Ty’s smile stopped two miles from his eyes. “Making sure you two weren’t followed.”
“With extra ammunition?”
“Just a precaution.” Ty cleared his throat and took a long drink from his bottle. He ran a fist over his lips. “Soooooooo…are you and Nate…you know?”
She tilted her head. “Are we what?”
“Fucking.”
Her mouth opened and shut. She didn’t know what to say.
“Jeez, Ty. Shut the hell up.” A woman came into the room and held out her hand to Sarah. “I’m Samantha. We met a couple weeks ago at Juliet’s Lily.” Juliet’s Lily was the most exclusive landscape architecture firm in the city, and Samantha had consulted with Juliet Capel—the owner—on some old documents.
Sarah tried not to stare at the slender woman with wild blond-red curls that almost reached her waist, black leggings, combat boots, and purple lace tank top. “Nice to see you again.”
Samantha pointed to the handkerchief on Sarah’s arm. “Ty, get Pete’s medical kit and some hot water.”
Ty finished his bottle in four gulps. “That’s not on my chore list.”
“I’d like to apologize for Ty.” Luke, with his laptop, moved toward the door. “Ty’s been under serious stress, and he’s concerned you’re not Nate’s type.”
“That’s enough from both of you.” Samantha stared at Ty. “Go. Now.”
Ty tossed his bottle into the trash and left the room.
Once Ty disappeared, Sarah asked Luke, “When you said ‘Nate’s type,’ did you mean the breathing type or the easy type?”
Samantha laughed.
Luke clasped his laptop against his chest like a shield. “I didn’t mean…I don’t think you’re that type. You’re the other type.”
“Luke!” Samantha’s higher-pitched voice carried in the small room. “You should stop talking now.”
Luke hurried out.
Once the men were gone, Samantha moved the bag so they could sit in the two chairs across from each other. “Are you okay?”
Not really. “Yes. Thank you.” Sarah took another drink of water, unsure of what to say or why Samantha was asking.
Ty appeared with a medical kit, a towel, and a bowl of water and placed them on the table.
“Where are the rest of the men?” Samantha dipped a towel into the water and squeezed out the excess.
“Zack, Pete, and Nate are on the roof. Cain is clearing a tunnel. Luke is at the front desk. Vane is teaching, and I’m”—Ty’s gaze rested on Sarah before skittering away—“managing the main gym.”
“And Kells?”
“Out.”
Samantha put on blue plastic gloves and unwrapped the handkerchief around Sarah’s arm. “You should probably return to the floor.”
Ty left the room again.
“Don’t take anything Ty says personally.” Samantha washed the cut on Sarah’s arm with the wet towel. The cut stung more than Sarah had expected. “He’s always in a bad mood.”
“Oh.” Sarah held Nate’s handkerchief edged with strawberries and now stained with blood. She’d have to wash it again before returning it. “Does my arm need stitches?”
“No.”
Thank goodness. “Didn’t you tell me two weeks ago that you’re dating a man named Pete? Would that be the gym’s Pete?”
Samantha’s smile transformed her face. “Yes. Pete and I met at the club. I was…am…a cocktail waitress there.”
“Club?”
Samantha found a tube of antibiotic ointment in the kit and used a Q-tip to apply a small amount to Sarah’s arm. “Rage of Angels.”
“Down by the river?” Sarah didn’t want to say strip club or that dump, but she was pretty sure that place was both. “I thought the club closed.”
“It’s reopening tonight.” Samantha wrapped the Q-tip in a tissue she found on the desk and tossed them in the nearby garbage can. “I’m torn about it though. I hated working there, yet I could use the money. And the time is flexible, so I can keep my other jobs.”
“How many do you have?”
“Three.” Samantha squinted at the wound. “Juliet’s Lily, the club, and I give ghost tours.”
“Really?” Sarah tried not to wince as Samantha applied a Band-Aid to her arm. “I’ve always wanted to go on one of those.” She hadn’t because she’d always been afraid of correcting the tour guide. No one liked a know-it-all.
“Anytime you want, I’ll take you.” Samantha yanked off the gloves and smiled again. “Keep an eye out for infection. You never know.”
Sarah shoved the handkerchief into her straw bag and slipped on her sweater. “Thank you.”
Samantha started putting away the bandages and ointment and rearranging the other things in the metal first aid box. “Sarah? How much do you know about Nate and his men?”
“Not much.” Sarah picked up the photo on the desk of Nate in front of a Quonset hut. “I know they were Green Berets and now they work in a gym.”
“You know you have to keep their backgrounds secret, right?”
Nate had implied that. “Why?”
“Because”—Samantha pointed to the map of Afghanistan on the wall—“bad things happened to them.”
Sarah placed the photo on the desk. “Is that why Nate always seems…worried?”
“Nate suffers.” Samantha stared out the window, as if thinking of something else. “They all do, but Nate most of all. And he’d kill me for telling you this.”
“He mentioned his migraines.”
Samantha stood and closed the first aid box. “He also has seizures.”
“Which is why he can’t drive?”
“Partly.” Samantha smoothed down her lace top a few times. Her fidgeting continued until she whispered, “Their lives depend on our discretion.”
“What do you know about a man named Remiel?”
“He’s a monster who hates Kells and all of his men. Pete told me Remiel is their greatest enemy.”
“Even more than the Fianna?”
Samantha whispered, “We’re not supposed to talk about them.”
Sarah nodded and sighed. She would’ve liked to learn more about this Remiel who held her father’s life hostage, but based on Samantha’s frown, that info would have to come from someplace else.
Sarah stood and met Samantha’s concerned gaze. “I have no one to tell and no reason to hurt Nate and his men. Not even Ty.”
Samantha grimaced, then smiled. “Yeah, Ty is interesting. They all are. Luke is the sweetest. Vane is the most annoying. And Zack is the most unreadable. He’s nice, but I think there’s a temper there that can be volatile.”
“And Nate? Juliet said he was a man worth loving.”
“Nate carries everyone’s burdens. And it’s killing him.”
“What about his boss, Kells? He’s been having me and Nate followed.” Sarah quickly told Samantha about the photos taken of the two of them, leaving out everything else.
Samantha’s exhale sounded like a teenaged eye roll. “Kells is an ass.”
Sarah tried not to laugh. “Have you known Kells and his men long?”
“I’ve known Pete and Nate for six weeks, the others, including Kells, two weeks.”
“And you’re confident in your assessment of Nate’s boss and friends?”
Samantha chuckled and moved the first aid box from the desk to the floor. “I’m a cocktail waitress in the sleaziest club in town. I’m an expert in sorting the goods from the bads.”
Sarah nodded, not wanting to admit she was relieved. “Thanks.”
A knock sounded, and both women turned to find Detective Garza opening the door. “Do either of you know where Nate is?”
Pete appeared behind Garza and said, “Nate will be here soon. What’s up?”
“Gather your men in a training room. Calum is on his way.” Garza’s voice dropped to what seemed like a dangerous level, and he looked at Sarah and Samantha. “I’d like you both there was well.”
“What for?” Pete asked.
“We have a problem.”
* * *
Etienne stood on the Brigid’s deck, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles. A stalling tactic because he didn’t know how to tell his coz what had happened. He also wasn’t sure what to do with the info about the historian that he’d just learned from Cassio.
That intel was explosive. Just a thing Remiel would want to know. But also a thing, if kept to oneself, that meant leverage.
A crew member appeared. “He’s waiting.”
Etienne pushed his breath in and out a few times before heading to his cousin’s office.
Remiel had changed into black dress pants, black silk shirt, and tie. His hair was wet, as if he’d just showered. He stood by a window, arms crossed. A gold ring glinted on his left middle finger. Stuart was gone, along with the chair. And the strawberry bowl was empty. “Our last mercenary is taking Stuart Pinckney to Charleston.”
“Will Stuart give you what you need?”
“Yes. For his wife’s sake.” Remiel used a finger to draw the letter B in the window’s condensation. The script was oddly elegant until he wiped it off with his fist. “Now. Tell me how another one of our men not only is dead but was killed by a Fianna warrior?”
“Did you have the Warden follow me?”
“Yes.” Remiel glanced at Etienne with those blue eyes framed by freakishly long lashes. “Apparently you saw Walker and ran out of the house like your ass was on fire.”
“That’s not what happened.” Etienne flexed and curled his fingers in an ongoing rhythmic motion that kept his temper under control. He’d proven his worth so many times there was no reason for anyone to question his commitment to his coz. “Why did you send the Warden?”
“We have work to do, yet you’re focused on revenge.”
“Because Walker killed my nephew Eddie.” Etienne pointed at Remiel. “Your cousin.”
“Reminders aren’t necessary. I can assure you I’ve kept track of every wrong done to our family. Done to you. Done to me. But work comes before revenge.” Remiel waved to a chair in front of the desk. “Tell me what happened.”
Etienne refused to sit. Instead, he paced the room. “I told Sarah the deal. Solve the cipher or see her father die in the psych ward. Then Walker appeared. As the merc and I were getting down to business with Walker, a Fianna warrior appeared and killed the merc.”
“But not you.”
“No. Cassio wouldn’t let Walker touch me.”
“Cassio?” Remiel stared out the window at the river beyond the yacht’s moorings. “Othello.”
Whatever. “Cassio said that the Prince won’t allow Miss Munro to solve the cipher.”
Remiel laughed softly. “Of course not.”
“To ensure Walker prevents Miss Munro from solving the cipher, the Prince put a price on one of Walker’s men.” Etienne swallowed and was about to say more when Remiel held out his left hand to study his palm. An ordinary gesture, except Etienne knew it was a tic. A thing his coz did before striking.
“The Prince has pitted the lovers against each other,” Remiel whispered. “How very clever. How very Shakespearean.”
The yacht rocked, and Etienne grabbed a bookcase. “Will Walker care more about his man than his girl?”
“Depends on the man.” Remiel sat behind his desk and began writing on a piece of paper with a dip pen he’d lowered into an inkwell. “Right now the Prince’s leverage is bigger than our leverage. That means I need to offer Walker a reason to betray his men and side with the girl.”
“Then I kill Walker, right?” Etienne moved toward the desk. “Walker needs to die for what he did to Eddie before the Prince recruits him.”
“Excuse me?” Remiel lifted his head, his pupils two pinpoints in a blue sea. Deep, dank, and dead.
Etienne retreated two steps. “Didn’t the Warden tell you? The Prince wants to recruit Walker. Although I’m not sure how killing one of Walker’s men will make him want to join the Fianna.”
Remiel dipped the pen into the inkwell, clicked the nib on the glass, and wrote again. “Because you don’t understand the Prince at all.”
“I know he and his men are psychotic freaks.”
“Hmm,” Remiel muttered under his breath. “Since you let one merc die and the other is in Charleston, you’ll have to deal with Leroy alone.”
That crazy-as-fuck Russian? Etienne swallowed, but his throat was so dry his spit got stuck. “Okay.”
“After seeing Leroy, return here.” Remiel used a metal shaker to sprinkle sand over the inked paper. Then he blew off the excess. “And for fuck’s sake, stay away from men who bow.”
“And the incoming shipment? We only have one hide site online. The other is flooding.”
Remiel handed the page to Etienne. “Here’s a temporary site. It should appease Leroy’s worries.”
Etienne folded it and shoved it in his pocket. He’d manage the Russian. But his patience had worn thin with waiting to kill Walker. He wanted eventually to be now.
When Remiel waved a hand in dismissal, Etienne went up on the deck and heard a moan. A man lay near the stern beneath a thin blanket, his hands cuffed to the railing.
Etienne lifted the blanket and gagged at the stench coming from Fletcher Ames. The man who’d once been Remiel’s trusted head of security and lead torturer. Fletcher raised his head, and a tear trailed down his cheek. The scars around his eyes had scabbed over but gave him the appearance of someone who’d almost had their eyes dug out with broken beer bottles. A bloody bandage had been wrapped around his head, covering where his ear had been cut off. “Kill me.”
Etienne didn’t answer. They all knew the consequences of working for Remiel. Great rewards came with great personal risk. And only God knew why Fletcher, one of the top guys in the org, had betrayed Remiel.
Etienne dropped the blanket and went for the ladder. Right now, he wasn’t concerned with rewards. Right now he was only concerned with revenge.
Once in his johnboat, he patted the pocket with the paper. Twice. Then slipped his hand in just to make sure and checked all of his other pockets. His heart thumped so loudly he was convinced Remiel could hear it, could know it, and would kill him for it. Etienne’s cell phone, and the only way to reach Leroy the Russian, was gone.