Who Needs Enemies

“That’s true.” I opened the car, threw the money bag onto the back seat, then got in.



“And if that is the case, it might just be worthwhile to keep an eye on him. Maybe he’s intending to go after everyone who was involved with Mona.”



“Presuming it was a client who killed Mona, and not a random event.”



“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”



“No.” And yet, who had? Not Gilroy, I was sure of that. My father was certainly capable, and yet he wouldn’t have paid her if murder was his intention. Which again left me with Lyle. And yet, I couldn’t believe he would have inflicted such violence on her—murder her, yes. But rape? Strangulation? That didn’t seem right.



“I agree that a tail might be a good idea, but I can’t do it myself right now. And I can’t afford to hire you—but there is a large bag filled with money sitting in the back of the car. Would you have the time to do it?”



“Sure. I’d do it for nothing, but hey, seeing it’s drug money.” He twisted around, and helped himself to one thick stack of bills. “I’ll have to go home to change first. I’m a bit obvious in these bike shorts.



I grinned. “Obvious is certainly a good way to describe them.”



“Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” He tucked the money into the gym bag at his feet. “It’ll take about half an hour to shower and change before I could head anywhere though.”



I grabbed a bit of paper rubbish sitting in the cup holder and scrawled Lyle’s address on the back of it. “He seems intent on drinking himself into oblivion of late, so I shouldn’t imagine he’d be up and about too early.”



“Elves do a lot of things they shouldn’t be able to,” he said, voice holding the slightest trace of bitterness.



I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Obviously, elves and he did not have a happy past, but I knew better than to question him. Besides the fact I sensed he wouldn’t answer, it wasn’t the time or place to satisfy curiosity.



I started the car then said, “Where do you staying at the moment?”



“Not far from the gym. Just drop me off there, and I’ll jog there.”



I did that, but as he opened the door to get out, he paused, and glanced back at me. “Remember, no matter who is behind her murder, if you go after them, I want a part of it.”



“No worries. But if you want to do something for her, then make sure she gets a proper burial.”



“I will. She deserves that, after everything she’s gone through.”



Yes, she did. Especially if the man she was going to stop her song for was also the man behind her murder.



I pushed the thought from my mind and swung back into the traffic. I didn’t head home, though, but rather to Lyle’s.



We needed answers and we needed them fast, and that meant I had to do the one thing I really didn’t want to do.



I had to poke the snake.



Chapter Twelve



I parked just down the road from Lyle’s apartment building, then locked up and walked back. It was after eight on a Monday morning, so there were plenty of people coming and going. My gaze rose. The penthouse’s blinds were closed. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he was still sitting in the dark, brooding and plotting.



Trepidation shivered through me. I flexed my fingers, then walked up the steps and pressed the penthouse’s intercom button. He didn’t respond. I kept pressing, because if he was there, sooner or later he’d answer. He knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t give up—and if he was up there, I had no doubt he’d know it was me at the end of the buzzer.



But after five minutes, there was still no response. I punched the intercom in frustration, then made my way back to the car. But as I took a final glance up at the penthouse, trepidation stirred anew. Something was wrong. Very wrong.



Acting on instinct rather than any logical reasoning, I dug out my cell phone and dialed my father. Jose answered the call and put me through again.



“Why the hell are you calling? To gloat?” Bramwell said, without preamble. “If so, enjoy it while you can. Gilroy will neither be charged with this crime nor destroyed by it.”



Why the hell did I bother? It was tempting, very tempting, to just hang up on the bastard, but I’d never be able to look my mother in the eye again if I did. I might not care for him, but she still did.



“If you value the life of your precious son, you might want to shut up and listen to what I have to say.”



He snorted. “And why would think you have anything I might want to hear?”



Well, he was still on the phone, for a start. “Listen, father of mine, I believe Gilroy was set up and I don’t think the person who did it is finished with either of you yet.”



“Considering you’re the one most likely to be behind it, I’m taking that as a threat.”



“Neither you nor Gilroy are so important to me that I’d go to such lengths to destroy you both. I don’t need revenge when the mere fact I exist is more than enough to blight your precious little world.”



That was one statement he didn’t bother refuting.



“The problem is,” I continued, voice not as cool and controlled as I would have liked. “That I think the person behind the set-up is the one person we would never normally suspect.”



“And just who might that be, given we walk in very different worlds?”



I snorted. “Don’t play dumb, father. There’s only one person who fits that particular description, and you know it.”



“Lyle is my brother. He may be not be all that we might wish, but he would not do this to Gilroy. You, on the other hand-”



“Think about what I’m saying rather than reacting for a change, asshole,” I cut in, more heatedly than was probably wise. “Lyle isn’t in a stable frame of mind at the moment—you must have seen that yourself. And we both know he’s more than capable of setting something like this up—he’s a Phillecky, after all.”



Bramwell was silent for a moment, then said, “And what proof do you have of this?”



“Nothing concrete.” I hesitated, but decided against telling him what I’d learned from Greg. “It’s more things he’s said.”



“I will not dishonor my brother with questions on this matter based on little more than your suspicions and a few unguarded comments he might have made.”



And yet he was willing to believe me capable of doing this based on a whole lot less. “Fine. I’ve done what my mother would have expected of me, and given you the information. What you do with it is your problem.”



“Your mother understands the bond of blood. She would never have accused Lyle of such deeds.”



“Mom might understand the bond of blood, but she’s also under no illusions as to what answering a siren’s call long term can do to some men.”



She’d lived long enough to see the madness take hold on more than one occasion. And maybe, if she’d been down here, she would have been able to tell me if such madness had taken Lyle.



But she wasn’t, and I could only go on intuition. However much I might not want to believe it, I also could not ignore it.



And neither should my father.



“Lyle would not do such a thing to family. Blood is all.”



“Except when it comes to me,” I retorted. “Fine, then. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you if the shit hits the fan.”



“You can be assured of that,” he said, voice like ice. “And would you kindly refrain from ringing me in the future?”



“Believe me, I’m only ringing now because it’s what mom would have wanted.”



“Goodbye, Harriet,” he said, and hung up.



I snorted and barely resisted the temptation to throw the goddamn phone across the road. Only the knowledge that I couldn’t afford to replace it if I damaged it stopped me—although I did have a bag filled with cash sitting in the back seat, so technically I guess I could afford to replace it.



I threw it on the passenger seat instead, then started up the car and headed home, returning the keys to Delilah before sneaking back into my house via the back door.



Keale, Guy, and Moe were sitting in the living room watching Get Smart repeats, all three laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces. I shook my head in amusement and closed the door before retreating to my bedroom. After hiding the bag amongst the mess at the bottom of my closet, I stripped off and climbed into bed.



Dusk had invaded the room by the time I woke. I stretched, remembered the sore side when the men with pokers got busy again, and carefully climbed out of bed. A hot shower and fresh clothes didn’t do a whole lot to make me feel better, and I was feeling a little less than pleasant as I made my way down to the kitchen, my footsteps echoing in the silence.



“Harri my friend,” Guy said, from the bowels of the living room. “Ten minutes later and you would have missed the food.”



I paused in the doorway. Half a dozen pizza boxes had been piled haphazardly onto the coffee table, and he, Keale and Moe were making serious inroads into demolishing the lot. No wonder the house had been silent.



Then I took one look at all the muck on the top of the pizzas and shuddered. When an ogre asked for a pizza with the lot, they meant the lot. I didn’t mind seafood, but certainly not when it was combined with ham, pepperoni, salami, chicken, egg, pineapple, peppers, spinach and tomatoes, as well as a wild assortment of cheese.



“Thanks, but I’ll think I’ll have something a little more sedate.”



“Hey, this pizza covers all the basic food groups—meat, dairy, and grain. What more could you want?”



“Good taste,” I muttered, and continued on into the kitchen.



Guy snorted. “There’s nothing finer than pizza. Except maybe your lasagna.” He followed me into the kitchen. “Asked around about that truck today.”



“And?” I opened the fridge door to see what had escaped the ogre raids. I discovered some tuna that smelled reasonably fresh, and decided that would do.