Who Needs Enemies

Lyle didn’t answer. He just strode forward, and let loose with the best right hook I’d ever seen.

So much for hoping Lyle would behave himself.

I jumped forward, grabbed the collar of Lyle’s jacket, and hauled him back before he could unleash another blow. Lyle turned, fist swinging wildly, one blow barely missing my chin and the other hitting my arm. I swore and kicked him hard in the shin. He bellowed and went down.

“Enough, Lyle,” I snapped. “That’s not what we’re here for.”

He blinked and glared up at me. He was still very angry, but at least the unthinking glow of rage was leaving his eyes. “There was no need for that, Harriet.”

“You said you’d behave.”

“I said no such thing.” He winced as he climbed slowly to his feet. Good, I thought uncharitably.

Bramwell picked himself off the floor and moved across to his desk, pressing the intercom. “Jose, call the police.”

“Yes, Jose, please do,” I said, imitating Bramwell’s cool indifference perfectly. “Perhaps Mr. Phillecky would care to explain to them why he was so desperate to gain possession of certain photos that he employed not one, but two sets of thieves to get them. Unsuccessfully, as he is no doubt aware.”

Bramwell contemplated me for several seconds, then said, “Jose, forget that order.”

“Wise move,” I commented.

“Do not think I was swayed by your threat.” He sat down and regarded me with some amusement. “I merely wish to understand why you would be under such an impression.”

“Stuff the goddamn photos-”

I gave Lyle a quick, somewhat fierce look, and he stopped, surprise flitting across his expression.

“It’s no impression,” I said to Bramwell. “I have photos of the trolls exchanging items stolen from my place with person or persons within a black Mercedes. I also have photos of the same black Mercedes pulling into your drive, the occupants getting out and carrying said items into your house. At the very least, that suggests collusion in a crime.”

He leaned back in his chair. “It seems I underestimated your resourcefulness.”

It seems he did. “And you might also want to know that the second troll is currently in police custody.”

Bramwell waved the comment away. “That is of no concern to me. He won’t talk. What do you want, Harriet?”

“What I wanted yesterday—an explanation.”

Bramwell sniffed. “The mere fact I was seen outside a missing siren’s apartment doesn’t mean I had anything to do with either her or her disappearance. In fact, I did some checking, and she disappeared long after I left.”

“What about Gilroy?”

Lyle gave me a sharp glance. “What do you mean, Gilroy?”

Bramwell didn’t even blink. The Elven shutters were well and truly up. “Yes, what do you mean, Gilroy?”

I smiled without amusement and kept my gaze centered solely on my father. “Seems he was following Phillecky tradition and sowing some wild oats down in the siren district before settling down to a career and family. Only for Gilroy, that could prove disastrous for his prime ministerial aspirations if ever discovered.”

Bramwell’s answering smile edged towards condescending. “Gilroy has nothing to do with any siren, I can assure you of that.”

“Really?” I pulled Val’s sketches out of my back pocket. “Then you won't mind if I hand these sketches over to the police? They were produced by a witness who can place him and a second man—who just happens to resemble one of the Logan brothers—arguing outside her apartment five nights before she disappeared. The same man will also testify that one of those men was more than likely arguing with her the day after you were spotted in the government car.”

Lyle snatched the drawings from me and studied them. “It’s James Logan,” he said, after a moment. “You can tell by the mole near his mouth. Frank doesn’t have one.”

Bramwell held out an imperious hand. “May I?”

Lyle threw more than handed the copies to him. I half expected him to follow them with another wild punch, but he spun around to face me instead.

“You knew all this, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I needed to be sure before I made accusations-”

“Don’t lie to me, Harriet. You were protecting him, despite the fact he’s done nothing for you.”

“No,” I said. “I’m merely doing what my mother would wish.”

He snorted. He didn’t understand, and I didn’t expect him to. Elves didn’t rate emotions very highly, even if they were as every bit susceptible to them as the rest of us.

I glanced back to Bramwell. He placed the copies on the desk and leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Where are the originals?”

“Somewhere safe from whatever thieves you might think of employing next. Like the photographs, really.”

He contemplated me for several seconds, then said, “What is it you wish to know?”

“I want to know what you and James were doing at Mona’s place.”

“Do you think that is wise with my brother here? It’s is obvious he was emotionally involved with the siren.” His distaste came through so clearly it was almost amusing—especially given I was testimony to what he obviously now considered his own unpleasant encounter. “He might not be too pleased with the sordid details.”

I glanced at Lyle. There was little emotion to be seen on the old elf’s face, but his fists were clenched, knuckles white. He was still a firecracker ready to explode. Yet I knew there was nothing I could do or say to get him out of this room—and really, I could understand that. Could understand the need for answers, even when the answers might hurt.

“We both want the truth,” I said.

“Very well.” He steepled his fingers and regarded us for several seconds. “Gilroy had apparently been seeing the siren in question for several months.”

“She told me she that no new men had answered her song recently,” Lyle growled.

“Never trust the word of a siren.” Bramwell’s gaze met mine. “They tell you only what you want to hear. It is a game they play.”

I clenched my fists then forced myself to relax. “Funny, my mother says the same thing about elves.”

A cool smile touched Bramwell’s lips. “A week ago, she told Gilroy she was giving up the song. She didn’t say why or for who, but she wanted Gilroy to provide stake money for a new start.”

“And threatened to expose him if he didn’t?” I asked.

Bramwell nodded. “That’s when I got involved, of course.”

Of course. Couldn’t have the pride and joy wrecking his political career now, could we? “What did you do?”

“Paid her the money.”

“In return for the memory card?”

His dark brows furrowed slightly. “What memory card are you talking about now?”

His confusion seemed genuine, and suggested he hadn’t known about Mona’s collecting habit. But if Bramwell didn’t have the card, who did? “Mona apparently had a penchant for taking photographs of all the men who answered her call. She kept them in a book I now have, but there’s one missing.”

“Neither Gilroy nor Mona mentioned photos or memory cards.”

And Gilroy would have, had he known. Maybe Mona had been keeping them as insurance. Maybe someone else had taken them—perhaps whoever had been arguing with her the day after.

“What were James and Gilroy arguing about that night?”

“Gilroy walked in on James arguing with the siren.”

“Did he happen to mention what they were arguing about?”

Bramwell gave a cool smile. “He didn’t, but I was reliably informed after the event that he was reacting to her very recent blackmail threat.”

I wondered if the reliable source was Frank. “So, you and James were both there to pay her money?”

“Yes.”

Which made me wonder just how many other clients Mona was blackmailing.

“Where did James get the money from? I thought he had a serious cash flow problem thanks to excessive gambling.”

“He has. I presume Frank provided the cash.”

I studied him for a moment, then said, “Why did you go with James? I would have thought you’d prefer to keep this sort of activity off the radar, and James is something of a loose cannon, isn’t he?”

Bramwell smile was both cool and calculating. “Which is why he was the perfect cover. The car was in his name and I never stepped inside that building.”

I considered what he hadn’t said. “Which doesn’t mean you didn’t go in.”

“No.” He paused. “That was a good catch, Harriet.”

Be still my heart. A compliment. “You used some form of magic to get in?”

“A minor transport spell. Easy enough to acquire if you have the right contacts.”

The right contacts and cash. Transport spells weren’t cheap. “If both you and James paid her, why did Gilroy go back the next day?”

Bramwell frowned. “He didn’t. She called him and said it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.”

Then who’d been arguing with Mona? James? And why was she so desperate to get her hands on all that cash? Lyle had more than enough money to keep them both comfortable for the rest of their lives—even if his wife got her mitts on half of it. “What was Gilroy’s response?”

“That she’d had all she was going to get, and he wasn’t going to be blackmailed the rest of his life.”

“And that’s what she intended?”

Bramwell’s nod was almost imperceptible.

“She wouldn’t,” Lyle growled. “She didn’t have any reason to do any of this. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Sirens are capricious creatures even at the best of times.” His gaze was once again on mine. Pushing. Judging. “It is never wise to plan anything more than a good time with them, as it is not within their nature to offer anything else.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">