Boston Cream Killer: Book 8 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series (14 page)

“So no one who works for Beckett Holdings had anything to do with the death of Hannah Folsom?” he persisted.

“Most certainly not, sir. We own some of the most powerful companies in the world, and we’ve gotten to where we are today by remaining upstanding and above reproach. Those standards will never change, so long as I’m alive,” Chalmers promised.

“Which brings me to another point— do you think that the attempt on your life, the drug smuggling, and the death of Hannah Folsom are all related?”

“So it would seem,” he nodded.

“Who’s behind all of this?”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine, Master Charles. Whoever is responsible for the drug smuggling quite obviously thought that if they eliminated me, they’d be able to take charge of Beckett Holdings, most likely through blackmail. Such a thing wouldn’t be possible if the unfortunate reporter had been able to break a story alleging corruption. There would have been an investigation, and the allegations alone would’ve left an indelible mark upon the Beckett name. I won’t stand for that, Master Charles, I just won’t have it.”

“So you think that whoever killed Hannah did it not only to try to set me up, but so that they could keep the drug smuggling a secret?” Chas summed it up.

“Indeed, sir. If you went to prison for murder, the only story that would break would be that you were the fallen heir. The business would be protected, so they’d have their avenue through which to transport drugs. Our companies have impeccable reputations, so no one would ever think to look for suspicious activity here. Now the challenge will be to catch the dastardly lowlifes before they can get to me again, or you, for that matter.”

“What about Missy? Is she in danger? Or Spencer?”

“Sir, until these cockroaches are exterminated, we’re all in danger.”

“Chalmers… we’re not in the extermination business, are we?”

“Not officially, no, sir.”

“That’s not very comforting, Chalmers.”

“No, sir.”

“Hey, did you ever hear back from Izzy?” Missy asked Echo.

“Hmm— no, I never did,” she replied with a frown.

“She must be in the writing zone,” Missy shrugged. “She’ll come out of seclusion when she’s ready.”

“Don’t you think that it’s a little weird that when Spencer disappeared, she disappeared too?” Echo mused.

“No, it’s probably just a coincidence. I mean, I know that they like each other, but I don’t know that they’re… involved.”

“Hmm… Joyce will be glad to hear that,” Echo chuckled.

“Have you heard anything from Kel? He’s usually so good at uncovering clues when he talks to people.”

Echo sighed. “Unfortunately, no. The only thing that the guy at the Thai place saw was a tall, dark-haired, muscular guy who walked beside the building while Hannah was placing her order,” she bit the inside of her cheek, knowing how bad that sounded.

“So he, too, essentially described seeing Spencer,” Missy said sadly.

Her friend nodded.

“Echo… I know that Spencer has some issues with PTSD since he came back from Afghanistan… you don’t think…” Missy’s voice trailed off. She was unable to articulate the unthinkable.

“I certainly hope not,” Echo replied as Missy dropped her head into her hands. “I know that he loves you and Chas and the rest of us like family, and he seems like the type of man who’d do anything to protect his family, but… no, I just don’t see it. Spencer isn’t a killer,” she shook her head vehemently.

“I hope you’re right,” Missy said softly.

***

Spencer Bengal contemplated his next move, hoping that he could incapacitate his large captor without having to resort to lethal measures. He’d been offered no food or water since Kosta had tried to drown him, but his mind was crystal clear and he’d made a plan. His captor had a routine. He’d sit and guard the trussed-up Marine for a few hours, disappear, then return a short time later. Spencer assumed that he was taking meal breaks, not for himself, but so that he could attend to the earl.

Kosta always entered from the same door, and always took the same path around Spencer’s body to get to his chair. The next time that he passed through the room, the Marine planned to suddenly whip his feet around in a semi-circle, causing his captor to tumble and fall. Once the man was on the ground, he would incapacitate him, and use the knife that he carried on his belt to cut through his bonds.

Hearing the dull thudding of large, worn boots on the stairs, Spencer focused every bit of his energy. In order to pull off this maneuver, his timing had to be perfect, he couldn’t afford to be even a fraction of a second too early or too late. The Marine’s training kicked in, and he took shallow breaths, conserving his energy. He listened as the footsteps grew closer… closer. When he gauged that Kosta was close enough for him to reach, he swiftly jackknifed his body from the waist down to the left, making perfect contact with his captor’s calves. The strength of his motion caused his legs to continue moving forward, just as he had planned, while Kosta tumbled over backwards.

The instant that the large man hit the ground hard, Spencer flexed his legs at a 90 degree angle, and brought his heels down hard, squarely into his captor’s stomach. There was an audible “OOF!” as the air rushed from Kosta’s lungs, and the large man was stunned just long enough for Spencer to swing his legs underneath his own body, rising to his knees and planting the entire weight of his body on the gasping man’s throat. Kosta flailed and thrashed, but Spencer, veins bulging, was immovable, his forearms becoming one with his captor’s throat while he stared him down with cold, fierce eyes.

Days without food and water had taken their toll, and the Marine shook with the effort of preventing Kosta from breathing. The large man rained blows down on his face, back and neck, but Spencer shrugged them off, jaw clenched with determination. His body trembled, but his resolve never wavered, and finally, Kosta succumbed, his body going slack. When he had determined that the man was truly unconscious, Spencer shifted his body, and slipped Kosta’s knife from the holster on his belt. As he grabbed the knife, he felt another bulge under the man’s shirt and lifted a pistol away as well.

Going to work on his bonds, the Marine freed his hands first, then went to work on his feet, having moved the gun to his lap, just in case. He was nearly completely freed when he heard someone approaching from the rear. Grabbing the pistol, he whipped his head toward the sound and saw the earl approaching with yet another gun trained on him.

“Well, aren’t you the clever lad?” he mocked Spencer, moving slowly toward him, gun raised. “Somehow I knew that Kosta would screw this up eventually,” Wendell made a face. “Put the gun down, there’s a good lad,” he gestured with the pistol.

Spencer did as he asked, wanting him to move closer.

“Well, isn’t this quite the turn of events? Chas Beckett’s bad boy bodyguard is now my prisoner, what fun,” he sneered.

One foot closer, two feet closer. It was time for Spencer to make his move, before Kosta regained consciousness. He bent over at the waist, crying out as though he was in pain.

“Oh please,” Wendell Shropshire said, most derisively, moving closer and raising the gun.

He was prepared to bring the butt of the gun down on the back of the Marine’s head, when Spencer shot out a hand, grabbed him by the ankle, and pulled him from his feet, causing him to slam into the ground. He secured his gun hand, disarming the earl in seconds, and reached for the gun that he had dropped. The earl sat on the cold stone floor, rubbing the elbow that he had landed on, glaring up at Spencer, who had finished ripping through his bindings, and now stood towering over the two men who had been foolish enough to think that they could capture him.

“I’m going to tie him up first, then you, and you’re going to stay put and wait your turn,” the Marine instructed.

“I’ll do no such thing,” the pompous, pouting man snapped.

“Then I’ll shoot you,” Spencer replied reasonably.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wendell Shropshire, Earl of Halsbury, glared at the Marine, stood up and brushed off his trousers, then rubbed his head.

“Last chance,” Spencer blinked at him matter-of-factly.

“Naff off,” the earl snarled contemptuously.

The Marine sighed, aimed, fired, and winced a bit at Wendell’s piercing scream as he went down, clutching at the wound in his thigh.

“You bloody well shot me,” the earl shrieked, lower lip trembling.

“Gonna do what you’re told now?” Spencer asked mildly, disappointed that the petulant nobleman had forced him to inflict harm.

Wendell was curled up in a writhing ball, hands wrapped around his thigh. He gave the Marine a dark look and said nothing.

“Well good, that’s settled then. Just realize, I won’t hesitate to shoot you in the other leg if you get in my way,” he warned. The earl turned his head away, white-faced and shaking.

Spencer moved quickly to Kosta, and trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, securing his arms behind him, wrists and feet bound. Once the big man was taken care of, he performed the same task, though more gingerly, on Wendell, who shook the whole time and glared at him with pain-glazed eyes. Just as Spencer finished up with the earl, Kosta began to stir. Perfect timing. He dragged Wendell across the room with him, the poor chap howling and wailing, and sat in the chair that the big man had occupied while he was standing guard.

Kosta opened his eyes, found himself bound, and glanced around the room, eyes dark with anger.

“Morning, sunshine,” Spencer said pithily.

His former captor glared at him, saying nothing.

“I’m so glad that you could join us,” the Marine continued conversationally. “I want to know everything that you know about Hannah Folsom and Beckett Holdings’ unusual transactions over the last couple of months,” he locked eyes with Kosta.

“Untie me and we’ll have a little chat,” he challenged, unsmiling.

“Start talking or your boss gets it,” Spencer said quietly, grabbing a handful of Wendell’s hair. The man writhed at his feet, crying out in pain when the Marine pulled.

“Go ahead, save me the trouble,” Kosta surprised him by saying.

Spencer raised an eyebrow, and placed the gun to the earl’s temple, holding the gaze of the bound man in front of him. “You’re planning to kill your boss?”

“He’s of no use to me anymore. I scraped and served the weasel for years until I could use his contacts to set myself up. I don’t need him now. Kill him, I don’t care,” Kosta growled.

“You traitorous wretch,” Wendell blubbered, glaring at his servant.

“You’re pathetic,” Kosta snarled, glaring at the earl and ignoring Spencer completely. “You gambled away and spent the entire fortune that your father left. You destroyed the institutions that your family built centuries ago, and you tarnished the Shropshire legacy. You’re weak and worthless, and I lost all respect for you a long time ago. If you’d just kept the family businesses going…. Your father took care of my family, and he would’ve taken care of me, too, put me in charge of something important… but instead I got stuck with you—a pathetic, spineless, irresponsible excuse for a human being.”

“You won’t survive without me,” Wendell shot back, teeth gritted against the pain.

Spencer, watching the exchange, fully realized that the Earl of Shropshire had nothing to do with whatever was going on with Beckett Holdings and the death of Hannah Folsom. He released the gummy strands of the earl’s nearly colorless hair and trained the gun on Kosta.

“Start talking,” he cocked the pistol, his eyes dead serious.

“Go ahead, kill me you fool. You’re too late. Right now the same man who killed the nosy reporter is holding Chas Beckett as a hostage. That rich cop will be giving us all of his money, or he’ll die and I’ll get it from the old man. My guy didn’t get him last time, but he won’t make that mistake again,” Kosta smirked.

Several things dawned on Spencer simultaneously. First, the man in front of him was lying about having Chas as a hostage, his body language and eye movements were a dead giveaway, but more importantly, he was not lying about Chalmers. Kosta’s associate in the US had poisoned the elderly man. His chest tightened as he realized that he was face to face with the man who ordered the attempt on the overseer’s life, and would most likely be trying to kill Chas as well.

“Who is it?” Spencer asked, his voice calm, despite the storm that raged within. “And where is he?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kosta didn’t flinch.

“How fond are you… of your kneecaps?” the Marine asked, taking aim.

“Go ahead,” there was that smirk again. “The kind of money that I’ll be making once the drug trade can be expanded within Beckett Holdings, will buy a whole lot of knee replacements.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened and the earl screamed.

“No! I know he deserves it, but stop with the shooting. I can’t take it,” he wailed, putting his hands over his ears. “The guy he’s talking about is named Sepian. I saw it when I scrolled through his phone. All the information that you need is in there,” he blurted, hysterical. “And please, won’t you let me go, now that you know what you need to know? I didn’t do anything… he’s the evil one, the traitor. I’m innocent,” he begged.