Don’t say it, don’t say it.
“That’s if you get the go-ahead, Mr Cole. I did hear quite a few were objecting to your plans. I know Katrina was against it before she was killed.” My response was more brisk than polite, but not as forceful as, ‘Did you kill the Tolles, you bastard?’
The man seated with Cole, dark, cropped hair, crisp white shirt—a businessman—turned to look at us. In the booth behind them, was a man so huge his muscles looked like they were carved of stone. He watched us closely. Cole’s bodyguard, I presumed.
Cole frowned, slipped his wallet back in his jacket, then put his hand in the pocket of his trousers. “Terrible accident,” he corrected, “a real tragedy, we only met briefly but she was a lovely woman.” His voice was appropriate to his words, but his eyes lacked empathy to the point of stone.
Ethan wound up beside me like a spring loaded shot gun.
“She was supposed to be meeting with us for lunch the next day to discuss the development.” He shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor, seemingly genuinely upset.
Ethan and I exchanged glances, his blue eyes were as dark and as sharp as night blades. He vibrated with fury.
Adrenaline spiked in my veins. Perhaps it was because Ethan made me feel safe. I always felt safe when he was around. But my bravado was not lacking today.
“I read about your wife’s death, Mr Cole, I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure whoever did that will pay the price eventually. I’m a big believer in what goes around, comes around.”
“Thank you.” He shifted on his feet. His demeanour changed subtly from polite to guarded. He cocked his head, trying to work out if my words had hidden meaning or were genuine.
“I heard about your plans to re-establish wolves into the area, I think that’s a wonderful idea. There is something special about wolves isn’t there?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, there is.”
“I have a friend, Andy Gibbs, he’s a journalist, heard of him?” Andy was well known nationwide, he was a crack investigative journalist. He had a huge following, he’d written articles that’d brought down powerful factions.
“Yes, of course,” he answered, smiling pleasantly.
“How about I call him and tell him the rest of your plans? I can just see the headlines now. ‘Cole set to demolish pristine wilderness and activities include hunting parties for endangered species; opponents to the venture killed in freak accidents’, or something similar. I’m no journalist, after all, Mr Cole.”
A flash of anger crossed his face, the muscles in his jaw clenched and when he pulled his hand out from his pocket, his fingers were curled. I doubt I’d get the job now.
“Sound okay to you?” I asked with a smug arrogance that would rival Karson.
He drew in an audible breath and recovered. “I think someone has given you the wrong information and there is such a thing as defamation,” he said crisply, “you would be well advised to remember that.”
“I’m aware of that, but for it to be defamation, first, it must be untrue. Have a nice day, Mr Cole, won’t you,” I said, moving off.
“Mark my words, Cole, the person who hurt the Tolles . . . There’s nowhere on this earth that they can run that I won’t hunt them down.” Ethan leaned into Cole and spoke in a low, ferocious whisper, sending the hairs on my neck to the ceiling. “And if ever you touch Amy again, I will rip your fingers off. One at a time.”
Cole blinked and took a step back.
The giant stood up.
Ethan squared to face him. I glanced from Ethan to the bodyguard. The bodyguard’s fists were clenched by his sides and his shoulders near filled the room.
The whole diner stilled and seemed not to breathe. A mother in the booth behind tucked her child into her body. Keith Urban crooned softy in the background. The news reporter on the TV jabbered on about a truck overturning and road closures in Two Peaks.
Cole raised a hand in a stop signal and shook his head. The bodyguard hesitated and then sat slowly back down. Cole smirked at Ethan in an unconvincing attempt to show he was unconcerned and walked stiffly back to his booth.
Ethan’s eyes brewed with a dark storm. I placed my hand on his arm. It was hard as rock and trembled with fury. He looked like he was going to tear Coles head off.
Caught in his rage, my blood rushed and my heart raced.
“Breathe,” I whispered so quietly no-one else could hear it. “Just breathe.”
He glanced at the mother with the child. They bundled nervously against the windowpane.
He grimaced and moved away.
