Chapter 4
Rock Road, Southbound…
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, whathappenedback there?” Ben asked as they followed far behind the rattling, green farm truck.
They’d been tailing the vehicle for over an hour on old country roads with high hedgerows and the occasional bucolic-looking cottage, but this was the first time Ben had spoken. Perhaps he had been in shock. Or perhaps he’dsimply been mulling the events over for that long.
No one would ever accuse Ben of being the sharpest knife in the drawer. Lawrence couldn’t help but think that if it weren’t for his and their older brother’s influence, Ben would likely be working at the local fry shop instead of the local police station.
Lawrence glanced over at his younger brother, not attempting to hide the derisionon his face. “Please tell me you know a distraction when you see one.”
They had barely had time to park on the seafront road behind the reporter-clogged cottage before a great explosion rocked the little village of Port Isaac. As a constable, and lacking a good deal of common sense, Ben’s first instinct had been to run and investigate. But Lawrence had stayed him with a hand and kept his eyesglued to the cottage’s garden door.
Lawrence’s instincts had proved correct. Not two minutes after the initial blast, the door opened and four people made their way down the gravel path toward where Lawrence and Ben were parked. Lawrence hadn’t paid three of them any mind. All his attention had been focused on Christian Watson.
He might have ducked down, had he not had the windows on hisnew Peugeot SUV deeply tinted. Instead, he had watched, heart thundering, blood boiling, while the foursome loaded into the truck to join a fifth.
“What are you doing?” Ben had asked, slouched low in the passenger seat despite the blacked-out windows. “Aren’t you gonna go out to confront him? Isn’t that why we came here?”
“You mean, aren’twegonna go out to confront him?” Lawrence hadcorrected.
That explosion had hit a nerve. Made Lawrence think he might not need to confront Watson. He might need to follow the wanker to find out what nefarious doings Watson had going. Then, once Lawrence hadconfirmedthose nefarious doings, he’d be within his right to arrest the murderous tosser. Or to slot him.
Lawrence really wanted an excuse to kill the bastard. Had dreamed ofit for years, in fact. A few times, those dreams had gotten him in trouble. All his unquenched rage tended to rear its ugly head when his adrenaline started pumping. He had been called on the floor twice for using excessive force on someone he’d arrested. Three times, he’d started a brawl at his local pub—always taunting his victim so that the bugger would toss the first fist and Lawrence could claimself-defense, but still.
Now, Christian Watson had fallen into his lap, and the taste of bloodlust on Lawrence’s tongue was as tart and as coppery as a new penny.
Watsonwasresponsible for what had happened to the Michelson family. With each furtive swivel of Watson’s head or covert dart of his eyes, Lawrence’s certainty—and hisfury—had grown.
Innocent men didn’t blow shit up toescape the press. They didn’t move the way Watson moved. They didn’t have that odd, dark knowledge in their eyes.
And speaking of Watson’s eyes…
They were strange. Too light for his coloring. Made him look feral. Like a jungle cat waiting for some unsuspecting prey to stumble across his path.
The idea of finding a reason—not an excuse, areason—to end the bastard was enough to havethe skin on Lawrence’s scalp itching with anticipation.
He could see the headline now. “Local Constable Takes Out Undesirable and Finds Justice for His Murdered Brother.”
It had a certain ring to it. And even though Lawrence’s older brother had talked loftily about them choosing lives of service for the guts and not the glory, Lawrence couldn’t help but think there was nothing wrong withgrabbing a bit of glory too. Especially if it was handed to him on a silver platter.
“You think that’s what it was?” Ben asked now. “A distraction?”
Lawrence grunted. “What else would it have been?”
“Don’t know.” Ben shook his head.
Lawrence noticed Ben’s eyes were too wide. His face too pale. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“No.” Ben seemed to cave in on himself.Since Ben was built like a stevedore—thanks to the good genetics their pop had passed down to all the Michelson boys—he resembled an old, worn-down mountain in the passenger seat. “I just…I just don’t know what the hell we’re doing, Lawrence. We had a chance to confront him, and we didn’t. Now, we’re ghosting him all over bloody Cornwall.Why?”
“Because we might catch him doing something heshouldn’t be doing,” Lawrence snarled. “Because if he really is the one responsible, I don’t wanna confront him, I wanna make sure hepays. Because I bloody welldeserveto make him pay, and so do you. Or have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Ben’s jaw sawed back and forth. “But we might have trouble making him pay. At least if he’s headed where I think he’s headed.”
“And where’sthat, pray tell?”
Ben pointed out the windscreen at the sign directing motorists toward the local airport.
