Who Needs Enemies

He probably had by now. Ten years was a long time to be without anyone special in your life. Hell, I should know.

The familiar crash of waves upon a shore began to flow across the night, and it was soon followed by a soft whirring noise. We walked for another five minutes or so, and came out onto the beach. The helicopter sat on the sand like some gigantic metal blackbird, it’s rotor blades picking up speed as we approached. I climbed in, buckled up, and put on the head set.

“Ready?” the pilot asked, his voice loud in my ear as he glanced around.

Kaij gave him the thumbs up. I gripped the sides of the seat tightly, my stomach somewhere in my throat. I’d never been in one of these things before and, to be honest, I think I would have preferred to be on Maggie’s broom or even dragon back. Helicopters had never seemed particularly safe to me.

We lifted skyward and banked to the right, heading for the bright glow of city lights. We’d barely seemed to be in the air for five minutes before we were descending again. A yellow cab waited to the right of the helipad, its headlights washing brightness across the luminous X in the middle of the pad.

Once we’d landed, Kaij opened the door, helped me out, then touched his fingers to my back, guiding me across to the car.

“Everything set, Sam?”

Sam—a big man with arms the size of tree trunks and a hint of tusk-like teeth—nodded. “We have six in place. Infra-red says there’s four inside the house.”

“Lyle Phillecky one of them?”

He handed Kaij what looked like a sports watch. “From what we can ascertain, yes.”

“Good. Tell the team we’re on our way.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kaij glanced at me. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” I climbed in and buckled up. Once we were underway, I added, “Why a taxi?”

“Because we couldn’t get a car to match yours at such short notice. A taxi will raise less eyebrows than you arriving in an unknown car.”

“Lyle’s not likely to be hanging around a window to see what I arrive in.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Actually, neither would I. He might have gone bat-shit crazy, but his brain seemed to be working just fine. I rubbed my arms to ward off an increasing chill that had nothing to do with the cold of the night, and stared out the window. The shops and houses were little more than a blur as we sped past, though I doubted that would have changed even if we had been going slowly.

All too quickly, we were nearing my father’s. Kaij slowed, then pulled into the nearest empty parking spot, a couple of houses down from my father’s.

“This,” he said, holding up the watch he’d been given earlier. “Is what we call the Enforcer. It looks like a regular watch, but it’s capable of recording several hours of conversation and is sensitive enough to pick up phone conversations.”

“I doubt that’s going to be an issue inside.”

“No.” He paused, and strapped the watch onto my left wrist, his touch light but warm against my skin. He pressed two of the buttons, then said, “Okay, it’s now recording.”

I frowned. “How will you hear what’s going on if this just records our conversation?”

“We have long distance devices in place but this recording will be clearer when the case goes to trial. We can’t risk placing a wire on you, because Lyle might just be on the look out for it.”

Maybe. Maybe not. He’d remarked often enough on my loyalty to my father to believe that I wouldn’t do anything now to jeopardize him in any way. “Won’t Lyle recognize it if it’s something you lot use all the time?”

“No, because we don’t use it all the time and certainly not on the sorts of cases he’s been involved with lately.”

I hoped like hell he was right. “How much to you need me to get?”

“Everything you can without endangering yourself.”

No mention of endangering my Elven kin, I noticed. “Will recording it on the watch hold up in court?”

“Yes. We don’t have to advise suspects they’re being recorded if it’s a private conversation.”

I knew that already, but I just wanted confirmation. Wanted to delay what was coming.

“Is that it?” My gaze met his, searching for reassurance, searching for strength. I found the latter, not the former.

“Just be careful.” He touched another button on the other side of the watch. “If it looks as if it’s about to go pear shaped, press this. We’ll be in there in seconds.”

I swallowed heavily and gripped the door handle. “Don’t kill him.”

“No. He has to pay for what he has done, Harri. Killing him is too soft an option.”

I nodded, then threw the door open. Once I was out, he added softly, “And Harri?”

I bent, meeting his gaze again. “What?”

His green glinted with cool gold fire in the shadows of the cab. “You were never a Phillecky in my eyes.”

You were better than that. Better than all of them combined. Once again, he never said the words, but they echoed deep inside of me all the same. I blinked back the sudden sting of tears, then nodded, slammed the door shut, and walked quickly back up the street to my father’s.

Damn him, I thought. Damn him to hell for saying that, and for coming back into my life and raising memories and emotions that should have been little more than dust.

Although maybe I should be damning myself for not being able to control myself a little more tightly around him.

The large, wrought iron gates into my father’s house were open, an invitation I wished I didn’t have to accept. As I walked up the driveway, my footsteps echoing lightly on the smooth concrete, I glanced up and studied the windows. There were no lights on up there, no shadows lurking at the side of the drapery. Which didn’t mean Lyle wasn’t aware of my arrival. I had a feeling he was aware of everything that had gone on—except, perhaps, for his part in Mona’s death.

And maybe that should be the angle I take. If Ceri was right, and he had blanked out just what he’d done, then I had to make him see. Make him remember.

I took a slow deep breath that did little to calm the churning in my stomach, then stepped up to the front door and pressed the intercom.

“How may I help you?” came Jose’s polished response.

“It’s Harri. Here to see Bramwell.”

“I believe he is expecting you. Please proceed upstairs as before, Ms. Harriet.”

The door clicked open. I blinked at the sudden brightness of the interior, then headed inside as ordered, the bright pink of my slip-ons the only cheery spot in this otherwise austere white world.

My steps became slower as I climbed the stairs, and my heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to tear out of my chest. I paused at the top, my gaze on the study door, trying to gain some measure of calm before I entered. I might as well have tried to hold back the tide.

I walked down and knocked.

“Come on in, Harriet, and join the party,” Lyle said, his voice close and practically jovial.

I opened the door and went in.

And found myself eyeballing the wrong end of a gun.

Chapter Fourteen

Lyle pressed the barrel lightly to my forehead, the metal cold against my skin. I didn’t move, didn’t react in anyway. Simply stared at the only elf I’d ever really trusted or liked.

“So is this how it ends?” I asked softly. “You shooting me in cold blood?”

He blinked, and the bright edge of madness in his eyes retreated a little. “No, this isn’t how it ends. I merely wish to check that you’ve done as I asked. Raise your arms, Harriet.”

I did. He lowered the gun and patted me down quickly and efficiently, then grunted and stepped back. “Okay, please have a seat.”

I walked forward and, for the first time, saw my father and Gilroy. “How the hell did you get out, Gilroy? I thought the cops had arrested you?”

Gilroy looked me up and down, and sniffed. It was a disdainful sound. Neither he nor my father looked overly worried about the current situation. Obviously neither of them were aware just how far over the edge Lyle had jumped.

“They held me for questioning, nothing more.”

“I thought they had your fingerprint on the murder weapon?”

“They did, simply because I picked up the thing. I did not, however, fire it. Nor did I kill Frank.”

“Officially,” Lyle snapped, “Gilroy has been released on his own recognizance, pending further investigation.”

I sat down on the arm of the sofa. The sofa itself looked too low and soft—I doubted I’d be able to get out of it in a hurry if I needed to.

“So where was Rebecca meant to take me, Lyle?”

“A little place I have up in East Warburton.”

Bramwell’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “You were taking her onto ancestral land?”

“Not only that,” I said, somewhat cheerfully, “He’d invited a couple of thugs onto it to keep me hostage while he came here to kill you both.”

Bramwell’s gaze ran from me to Lyle and back again. He still wasn’t seeing the true gravity of the situation. “Lyle knows better-”

“Lyle,” he said heavily. “Is getting mighty sick of the ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude of the Phillecky’s.”

“You’re a Phillecky,” Bramwell said, voice cold. “Now enough of this-”

Lyle took two steps, raised the gun, and smashed it across my father’s face. His head snapped sideways, and blood flew.

“Enough, brother dearest,” Lyle said, his face so close to Bramwell’s that spittle sprayed across my father’s bloodied mouth. “You will speak when I tell you to, not before.”

For the first time, I saw understanding flare in Bramwell’s eyes. He saw the madness. Saw how deep it was.

When it was all too damn late, I thought bitterly.

“Why decide to bring me here, then, Lyle,” I said, keeping my voice conversational. “I mean, you could have disappeared the minute Rebecca snatched me. Why do this? Why risk this?” 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">