"What exactly did you tell him?"
"Everything they needed to know. The warehouses, Lee Harper, Ryder, all the way back to the explosives theft. He already figured out who you and Brendan were because he knew I was working with you."
"What the hell is going on?" Cam asks Harry.
"Let's step into the hall," Harry says to Cam. "I'll fill you in."
Cam glances at Lexie before departing to pow-wow, leaving me with a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't know what else to do. Harry already pieced it together. He probably won't be the only one. It's only a matter--"
"Shut up," she hisses. "Shut the fuck up you stupid bitch." All of a sudden my friend leaps up, bridging the gap between us, the menace on her face intensifying with each step. "How did he know? How did he know, Joanna? Years. The three of us have been together for years. We were careful. He never figured it out until today. Until you. I know it wasn't in the computer. Couple minutes with you then a few hours later my husband's dead? Brendan Darby is dead, not King Tempest. So how long did it take for you to give us up? One minute? Two?"
"You think I told him? He didn't even ask me about the two of you. And even if he did, I wouldn't say shit. I don't know how he knew, but it didn't come from me."
"Yeah. Right." She sneers at me before turning her back and stalking out of the room. Just as she reaches the door, she spins back around. "Oh, and when you see Jem, tell him I told him so. Tell him next time he's face to face with his brother, he damn well better make sure that fucker stays dead, or I'll kill them. Both." She walks out without looking back.
As I stare at the spot she inhabited, I slowly lower myself onto the couch, clutching my clenched, churning stomach. I think Cain just succeeded in tearing apart the Royal Triumvirate right when we need them most. I'll bet wherever that son of a bitch is he's popping the champagne, toasting to his victory. I hope the bastard chokes on it. And he will when I get my hands on him.
He may have drawn first blood, but I won't settle for anything but a bucketful.
*
Lizard can't come over for a few days to fix Doris but walks me through the virus scanners and firewalls over the phone. There was one Trojan horse and a worm, whatever those are, but I killed them with Lizard's help. Still, I'm hesitant to use her. Besides those treats, I find that Cain deleted all the files on himself, the explosives case, and cut the feed to the warehouses. Back to square one in that regard, but in the grand scheme of things he did minimal damage. That worries me.
The police and CSI techs still work out front three hours later with the press clamoring at the gate, recording every second. My PR machine is grinding overtime with my hospitalization and the blown up footballer in my driveway. For my part I don't intend to leave the house or speak to anyone until the funeral. If I'm even invited. I texted Lexie half a dozen times but no reply. If anyone knows what she's going through, it's me. I can actually help in this situation. If she'll let me.
I used up my remaining brain cells working on Doris so complex thought is hard. Every time I try to figure out why he came here, how he knew about Brendan, it's like I'm banging into a glass door. I can see the answer but can't quite reach it. I should just crawl into bed and watch shit TV until I fall asleep, but I can't bring myself to leave this room. It'd be as if I'd given up. Two crimes in less than twenty-four hours against a specific group, obviously related, but did the first spurn the second? Had to. Too big a coincidence otherwise. Was there a clue to his real identity in Doris I never saw? Did he already suspect and Brendan showing up just pushed those suspicions over the edge? Hell, does it fucking matter anymore?
Yes. I'm still in danger. Lexie too. I just have the distinct feeling that if I crack this, I'll finally be on the right path to--
Footsteps. Beach entrance. Just as I turn, the exact person I want to see steps into the room. Dear God, he looks terrible, even worse than last night with hair a rat's nest, cheeks ruddy from the cold, and plaid shirt untucked. I didn't think he'd ever set foot in here again. I was worried he'd receive the news and just fly, away never to be heard from again. Or dive off the hospital roof. I tried texting and leaving messages with no reply. I didn't realize how petrified I really was something happened to him until just now when I know he's okay. The knot in my stomach dissolves. "Jem," I say, almost breathless.
"I-I was in my lab. I-I-I just heard. What--"
"Oh, Jem," I say, voice cracking. I stand and rush over, throwing my arms around him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He doesn't hug me back, doesn't move at all until he pulls me off him and takes a step away. "What happened?"