Angie had never seen Denny so unglued.
And she had once watched him attempt to draw and quarter a man with his bare hands.
“I want the bitch dead,” he said. He sat in his study, fists gripping a heavy paperweight that Angie had reason to believe would be lobbed at her before she would be allowed to leave. While technically not Angie’s fault that the Yank bitch had murdered Gil, stolen a gun and escaped from Denny’s bedroom, the fact that she had brought her in—what was supposed to be her great achievement—perversely made her the one responsible. Angie only hoped Denny wouldn’t try to use her as a temporary substitute for whatever he was thinking of for the Yank.
Goddam her! If I catch her first, Denny better hope there’s something left for him to murder.
“Angie? May I hear your plan, please, of how you intend to correct this cock-up?”
Angie knew the reasonable tone hid a malicious intent. She had heard him speak in that same voice on occasions when a knife to the kidney was his next move.
“She’ll try to head back to Ireland,” Angie said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. “We’ll have the main roads covered. I am confident we’ll pick her up by lunchtime.”
“Really? Lunchtime? So should I save my appetite for dessert? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, Denny.”
“Because I have to tell you, Angie, that regardless of how I may look to you, I am really, very upset.”
Don’t speak. He wants you to respond. Don’t do it.
Four men stood with her in the library. She tried to imagine the kind of person who had lived in this house before Denny took it over. There were so many books lining the shelves, it seemed incredible to believe one person, or even one family, could read them all. Likely they were just for show. She wondered how Denny had taken possession of the place. Did the original owners leave of their own accord, or had Denny helped them along?
She turned to the men, two of who, Jeff and Aidan, had been with her on the trip to Ireland. “We’ll need five horses. Make sure you’ve got enough rounds for your weapons.”
“I don’t want her dead.”
Angie nodded and then dismissed the men with a hand gesture. When the door closed behind them, she braced herself. She knew she couldn’t go until he released her. She’d learned that the hard way. Today, that release could be anything from demanding she get on her knees in front of him to a beating that would prohibit her from getting out of bed for a week.
Or anything in between.
On impulse, she cleared her throat. She knew she was taking a chance, but what did she have to lose? As soon as the thought came to her head, she banished it.
Dana.
She had everything to lose.
“Got something to say, Angie?”
“The bitch has a kid.”
“So you’ve said.”
“At the compound near where she was taken. After we get her, I was thinking we might go and get him.” She lifted her eyes from the carpet to see the effect of her words and was rewarded by what looked to be a genuine smile.
“Angie, my girl,” Denny said, standing up and tossing the paperweight onto the floor, where it hit with a thud and rolled impotently across the room to thump against the couch leg. “You are a feckin’ genius.” He turned from her and went to look out the window.
It was a cold day, but sunny. Not bad for a picnic by the river or a walk in the park, Angie thought. But not good at all for running barefoot and practically bare-assed though the woods and the highways.
“Now go get her.”