Capture Me (Royals Saga: Smith and Belle Book 3) (15 page)

I
took
the Bugatti for sentimentality’s sake. If I was going to murder someone, I figured I might as well do it in style. It would be one less joyride without the joy. The press would be camped out at his private residence, likely buying that Hammond was actually on house arrest. That wasn’t a delusion I suffered from. He’d managed to be released before his treason indictment had been officially dropped. The press had bought the story the special council had concocted regarding a conspiracy. I hadn’t. Mostly because I knew Hammond was guilty of every crime that had been listed against him and then some.

He had friends in powerful positions. I wouldn’t find him at his home. That's where he'd want everyone to think he was. Instead, he’d go to a place he felt comfortable—the nondescript office he kept above his jewelry shop.

My key still worked in the lock. I didn’t even bother removing it. I would leave it in the door. Tonight I would dispose of every remnant of my ties to Hammond.

I found him sitting in a chair looking out his office window at the street below. Christmas lights began to turn on as I stood there silently, watching him. The days were as short as the rest of his life.

“I was wondering when you would join me,” he said, not bothering to turn to face me. “I thought perhaps you’d miss this Christmas given your marriage.”

“I didn’t bring any presents,” I said dryly as he swiveled around. I took the chair opposite his. Right now the desk between us was his only protection.

“I know what you brought,” he said in a thoughtful tone.

“You must have known this was coming after you tried to kill Georgia and me. How could you have expected us to overlook that?”

Hammond’s fist smashed onto the table. “You honestly believe I would order either of you killed?”

“Perhaps it was the hitman you sent to my hotel that gave me that impression.” I slid on a glove. There would be no mercy. Not for a man like him. “I’m afraid your argument is unconvincing. You might have considered your plea-bargaining skills before you pissed off your lead counsel.”

“I don’t care if you kill me.”

That gave me pause, but I slipped on the second glove anyway.

He gestured to the other chair. “Care for a drink?”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust you.” I took the seat, tapping my leather-shod fingers.

“I’ve already told you I don’t wish you dead, but if you need further proof, I’m drinking the Glenfiddich.”

My mouth twisted into a knowing smirk. “Pour me a glass.”

Hammond had bought the bottle when his doctor suggested he was showing early signs of Parkinson’s. No diagnosis had materialized, but he kept the bottle anyway. He’d had it on a shelf for nearly seven years, thumbing his nose at death. But he’d taken it down tonight.

“There’s something you don’t understand about your situation,” he explained. “I’m already a dead man.”

“You will be soon,” I promised as I took the rocks glass he offered me. I no longer had sympathy for him. The strings that once attached him to me no longer existed, which meant he could no longer pull them. I’d made my decision the moment I’d received word of his release.

“I know, but not at your hands, son. Don’t burden yourself with my blood.”

“I don’t consider it a burden,” I snarled. The Scotch splashed over the edge of my glass as I leaned toward him. “I consider it a privilege.”

“You may not see it, but I’ve always protected you,” he continued, “and I won’t be able to any longer. Someone must always be ready to take the fall. My turn has come.”

“I’m not interested in riddles.” My patience with his games had evaporated long before I’d stopped playing. “You went after her. That is unforgivable.”

“Loose ends must be tied. You know that better than anyone.” He swigged from his glass, draining it to the very last drop. “You can find religion but you can’t erase your sins.”

“I’m no expert, but I think that’s actually the whole point of faith.” I had found something to believe in. I believed in
her
. It was through her love that I’d found absolution. I could never take back the crimes I had committed, but I could forgive myself for them. I had learned to worship her and I would fight for her, even give my life if necessary. It was such a simple decision when it came down to it. I’d chosen her in life and in death. I’d placed her life above my own because she had a light I couldn’t bear to see extinguished from the world.

“There are circumstances out of my control,” he admitted, pouring himself another drink. He held out the bottle, but I shook my head.

I’d allow him to get drunk. One small concession on my part. I didn’t care if he suffered. It wasn’t done out of mercy. His death was a means to an end. The safety of my wife. Nothing more. I didn’t care about his role in King Albert’s death or his attacks on Alexander and his family. I cared that a man as twisted and morally corrupt as him continued to breathe, continued to threaten Belle. It was an oversight I meant to rectify. He needed to die, but I could let him finish his Scotch.

“I’m sorry about Margot.” Apparently with each drink he took, Hammond planned to confess all his sins. I’d suspected she’d been unfaithful to me, even that she’d been a manipulation, but somehow having it confirmed brought an anger I thought I’d left behind.

“Did she ever love me?” I asked. It didn’t matter. Not since I had found love with Belle, but I’d cared for Margot. The idea that it had all been a scheme weighed heavily on me.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he admitted.

I dropped my head, taking a deep breath. My whole life had been an unnatural progression of events orchestrated by this man. Even meeting Belle.

“You have to understand,” he continued, his speech beginning to slur, “not all decisions are up to me. I can’t control everything.”

“That’s not what you led me to believe my whole life,” I snarled. My hand lashed out, knocking my glass over in the process. Good Scotch wasn’t the only thing that would be spilled here tonight.

“Do you want the truth?” he asked. “I’ll tell you as much as I can. Even now my loyalties lie with powers above me.”

“Why cling to that when you know you’ll draw your last breath tonight?”

“Call me old-fashioned.” He poured more into his glass with a shaky hand. “Your father came to me looking for work. He knew what I did. He wanted the money, and like most good men, he believed himself above corruption. Like you, he assumed that he would be the mediator between the law and my crimes. At first that was all he was, but your father liked money, Smith.”

I picked my glass up off the rug and poured a new drink for myself. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

My father had always cared more about money than me or my mother. He’d spent every moment at his employer’s side. He’d left birthday parties and Christmas mornings to attend to Hammond's needs before mine. I'd always known where I stood in my father’s priority list.

“Unfortunately, like all good men, he began to grow a conscience.”

“And that isn’t a problem that you’ve ever experienced personally?”

Hammond tilted his head. The barb stuck. “I’ve never been burdened with a conscience and having watched other men suffer from it, I can’t say I’m sorry for it.”

And yet he sat here apologizing to me for the injuries he’d inflicted upon my life. His morality was complicated but not altogether absent.

Stop it
, I ordered myself. I refused to see things from his perspective.

“At first, more money soothed his anxieties,” Hammond continued, “but I knew that wouldn’t last long. In the end, I gave him a choice. Remove himself from the situation without a fight or lose everything he held dear.”

“He can’t possibly have chosen death,” I scoffed. “He didn’t care about anything but his house and his cars.”

“He cared about you,” Hammond corrected me, “and your mother. It was as simple as that. He could choose his death or yours. It was a relatively simple decision.”

“And you want me to believe you didn’t order Georgia and me killed?” The simmering anger I’d felt since my arrival erupted into a full boil. “Try again.”

“I had no emotional attachment to your father,” Hammond said flatly. “I respected him. I may have even liked him.”

“I thought you were his best friend.” Confusion was beginning to muddle my rage. My world had been turned upside down, and I didn’t know if I wanted it righted. Was it better to believe my father had died a good man? A martyr? That in the end I had meant more to him than the life he’d always chosen over me? It wouldn’t bring him back if I chose to believe Hammond’s version of events, and there was a danger to trusting anything the man claimed. I’d learned that the hard way.

“He was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a friend. I can understand how that might be confusing. Men like me have many allies and many enemies. We don’t have friends.” Hammond’s eyes turned glassy, lost in memories.

“Why Margot?” I demanded.

“I never wanted to murder another friend,” Hammond said. “Somehow over the years, I’d grown to look at you as a son.”

I laughed. “That I knew. What a fucked up father figure you were.”

“Most young men would love to get a free pass to fuck and drink,” he said.

“That’s exactly why you’ve never been my father.” When I was younger, I’d thought that was normal, but as I’d grown older, I began to see the situation for what it was: a perversion. Hammond had twisted me, just as he twisted Georgia, in an attempt to make puppets of us. “You made a mistake bringing us into the scene.”

“Why is that, son?”

My hands clenched. I wasn’t his son. I never had been. But after all these years, he still didn’t see that. “BDSM is about power. The control of it. The gift of it. It taught me to use my power carefully. It taught Georgia the same. It taught us to distrust men like you.”

“Since I discovered your betrayal, I’ve wondered where I went wrong. Thank you for telling me, even if it’s too late to rectify.”

“Thank you for fucking up,” I said coldly. “You allowed me to see through you. It’s the only reason I’m here tonight.”

“To protect your wife?” he guessed. “There’s no need. No one will touch you now.”

“Not after I kill you.” I felt no emotion as I said it, just a serene blankness.

“Unnecessary, but it may as well be you. Death seems kinder coming from a familiar face. That's why I'm here and not at home, you know. They want it this way. You didn’t come of your own volition, Smith. You were moved into place. Don’t you see that you’re still a pawn in their game?”

He’d had most of the bottle now, which accounted for how little sense he was making. “It won’t be kind, Hammond.”

“I suppose it never is.” He raised his glass. “A toast to our freedom.”

But I didn’t raise mine. I would have a drink with him, but there would be no celebration between the two of us. “You could have liberated yourself a long time ago.”

“Don’t be stupid. If you thought this ended with me, then…”

But he trailed away at a knock on the door.

“Expecting company?” I asked him coolly.

“All the ghosts of Christmas owe me a visit today.”

There would be no escaping consequences now. If I opened that door, I might lose my chance at catching him alone. I tugged my gloves, securing them more tightly. Not that it mattered. Too many people knew where I had gone; even Alexander couldn’t cover this up for me. The press would be all over the story as soon as it broke, and undoubtedly the House of Commons would be more fanatical in their pursuit of Hammond’s killer than they were of him.

In the end, I didn’t have to make a choice. The door opened, and Belle stepped inside. It took a moment to process that she was here. I’d spent the last hour trapped with Hammond in my past, and my future had just walked through the door. In the dimly lit room, her hair glowed, making it seem as if an angel had descended to save me from the darkness. But this was one hell I couldn’t escape—not until its gatekeeper was dead.

Her bright eyes flickered to my hands, widening when she saw my leather gloves. If she’d had any doubt about what I was doing here, she didn’t now. “You don’t have to do this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, beautiful,” I said softly, sadness filtering into my blood. I wished there was another way to protect her, but there wasn’t. “You should leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared me down. “Whatever you’re planning, I'm part of it, too. I suppose it's not worth it to kill in order to protect me if I end up in jail, too.” She pressed her lips into a thin line that dared me to challenge her on this.

“If I might interrupt,” Hammond said.

For a moment I’d forgotten all about him.

“I don’t really give a damn what you have to say,” Belle told him. “I’m not here to save your life. I’m here to save his.”

“You really chose an exceptional woman,” he said to me.

An exceptionally headstrong one
. How she’d managed to stay out of trouble before we met was beyond me.

“Could you shut up?” she snapped.

I probably should have set Belle on him months ago. He would never have stood a chance against her.

She crossed the room and dropped to my side. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a small object and set it on the desk.

The copper bullet.

All our eyes focused in on it.

“I found that in your trousers,” she whispered. “I knew why you had it.”

It had been a symbol. Nothing more. In our haste to leave Stuart Hall, I’d left behind the hunting rifle. But I’d kept the bullet—as a reminder that I’d made my choice.

“Do you know what that means to me?” I asked her. “It was a decision I made, to leave Stuart Hall and find Hammond.”

I had no doubt she could fill in the rest of my plan.

“It’s not that simple, Price. Wouldn’t it be easier if it was?”

But it was that simple. “I would commit any crime to secure your safety. That’s my choice.”

“And you think I wouldn’t do the same?” She grabbed my hands, squeezing them. “If you’re in, I am, too.”

“No.” I closed my eyes and wrenched my hands from her grasp. Protecting her wasn’t just a matter of security, it was about keeping her pure. In my world of sin, she’d been the only innocent person in my life. I refused to compromise that.