Edward said, “I think it would be best if you went home, Mrs. Crosby. Unless the inspector needs to speak to you.”
“No,” Mila said softly. “That won’t be necessary.” It was as if they were in agreement: no noncombatants on the field.
Edward took a step closer to Mila. She made herself not look at the question-mark scar.
Mrs. Crosby nodded and left.
Yasmin didn’t smile. She didn’t speak. She didn’t watch the woman leave.
Mila waited until she heard the soft jingling of the housekeeper getting her keys and a back door shutting. “So. Mr. Zaid’s computer.”
Edward’s tone chilled. “I’m afraid that I can’t let you have access to Mr. Zaid’s systems. There is confidential information on them regarding Militronics business.”
“I understand, sir, but I do have a warrant.” Mila reached inside her purse.
I pulled the cap over my head and turned into the gate. I waved the key card over the pass.
The gate didn’t open. Maybe because people up at the house were busy dealing with Mila, confirming her story. Or fighting with her.
A voice squawked from the speaker by the card reader. “Yeah, who are you?”
I put on my best English accent. “Alec at Blue Lion Horse sent me. He didn’t have some of the horse feed in this week’s delivery for Mr. Zaid and I’m bringing it now.” I didn’t look directly at the camera; I looked at a notepad, checking the details of the delivery. What I was delivering wasn’t horse feed but a story to a guard who was probably already nervous, given that his boss had just died. But it is the nature of underlings to trust their eyes and I wore the cap, I drove the truck bearing the Blue Lion logo and name on the door, I lobbed the right name.
Silence for ten seconds. “Someone will meet you at the stable. Wait there.”
“It won’t take long, will it? Because I’ve got other deliveries, mate.”
“I’ll see you there.”
“Thanks.” I rolled up the window.
The gates opened and I drove through.
85
MILA’S HAND CLOSED OVER HER PISTOL. But she sensed Edward take a step forward. She looked up and Edward held a gun on her.
“You,” he ordered Mila. “Drop the purse. You’re not Scotland Yard. Honestly, couldn’t they find a British bird to play a British bird?”
“No.”
“Edward…” Yasmin started.
“Just a moment, love,” he said to her. His gaze bore into Mila. “Who are you with? Sam Capra’s bunch?”
“Yes.” Very carefully, her fingers pressed a button on a small device next to the gun in her purse. In her head she started a slow, measured countdown.
“And who exactly are they?”
“We work for Mr. Zaid.”
“Ah. Clear your hands from the purse. Then drop it on the floor.”
Slowly, Mila made a show of sliding the purse off her shoulder. Her gaze locked on Edward’s and the only time her glance wandered was to evaluate where she would strike him: the throat, the eyes, the base of his nose where the bone would spear into the brain if you hit it just right.
“Yasmin, get the guards on the radio.”
Yasmin stumbled toward the hallway.
“I told you to drop the purse, bitch,” he said to Mila.
Her purse hit the floor. Edward leaned down, keeping the gun fixed on Mila, dragging the purse toward him, and five seconds later its zippered opening exploded in a blast of dazzling light.
* * *
No welcoming committee was waiting at the stable when I parked the truck. I didn’t see a soul.
I grabbed my bag and got out, then dropped the gate of the pickup, took a bag of feed and half dragged another bag off the edge of the pickup’s rear gate; I needed to look like either an eager-to-please deliveryman or a deliveryman hurrying to finish one job and get to the next. I stepped inside the stable, slung the bag over my shoulder and waited. Zaid’s beautiful horses nickered, perhaps anticipating a run or an exercise. I was sorry to disappoint them.
Three minutes later, a truck topped the rise of the hill. Three men inside. An awful lot to receive a delivery. Either Mila had already failed, or they were cautious.
Three against one, and me already coping with injuries. I hurried to each of the stalls and opened the doors, led the Arab horses out via the back gate. I swatted them gently on the sides to urge them to run. Two broke and bolted past the corral, the others cantered. They were such beauties. I remembered my dad teaching me and my brother to ride,