Lanyon, Josh - Adrien English 04 - Death of a Pirate King (29 page)

Paul said, “Porter couldn’t -- or refused to -- understand
that there was as much danger to me now as there ever had been should the truth
of Langley’s death come out.”

I said, “So you poisoned the friend who had helped you when
you needed it most --”

He interrupted, “Porter was dying. He had pancreatic cancer.
Have you any idea of how painful a death that is?”

“
Oh
,” I said. “You
did him a favor.”

His eyes narrowed. “I did, actually. It was fast, relatively painless,
and he had no idea it was coming. Not a bad death, frankly. Believe me, losing
Porter as a friend and a business partner gained me nothing.”

I could pretty well see the way this was going to play out. I
just hoped Kane was speaking loudly enough for the tiny recording device taped
beneath my shirt.

“So why drag me into it?” I asked. “Optioning my book -- what
was that about?”

He lowered his lashes and then suddenly opened his eyes and
smiled at me. The beauty of that smile took me slightly aback. “I’ve always
been curious about you: my unknown rival for Jake’s affections.” His smile was
self-mocking. “But then he married and broke it off with you.”

“But not with you?”

“Not for long.” He watched my face. “After he married we grew
closer. Much closer. One night he had a few drinks and he started talking about
you. And I decided I would arrange a meeting with you by optioning your book. I
do like the book, by the way, but I don’t think it’s particularly commercial.”

The unkindest cut of all.

“So why the hell drag me into the murder investigation?”

“Didn’t you enjoy it?”

I opened my mouth -- and then closed it. He chuckled. “Of
course you did. And I enjoyed watching you enormously -- and watching Jake.”

If I’d had any doubts before, that cleared them up. He could
talk about accidents and panic and doing favors for old friends, but he was
cold and calculating and cruel. A sociopath. No conscience, no remorse, no
empathy. In fact, I thought it possible he might have drowned his own kid. I
wondered if anyone had looked into that accident.

“And Al January?” I asked carefully.

“You can take responsibility for that one,” he said. “Why the
fuck you had to drag Al into it, I don’t know. What did you think would happen
when you started asking him about Langley and Porter’s memoirs?”

He had me there. I hated thinking I might be responsible for
Al’s death. If I managed to get out of this alive, I was going to make damned
sure I never got involved in another criminal investigation. I said, “So Al
called you and told you I’d been asking questions about Porter’s memoirs, which
started him thinking -- because the truth is only one person could have easily
poisoned Porter’s drink, and that was you. That was a nice little touch having
me hand Porter his glass.”

“I thought so. I didn’t plan it, though,” he admitted. “It
just happened. I thought you might drink it, actually. It stood beside your own
glass for what felt like an eternity.” He smiled. “But you were quite careful
not to touch it, and I really couldn’t afford to let Porter go on bitching
about his lost masterpiece.”

A funny little chill went down my spine as I realized how
close I’d been to dying that afternoon. It could have all ended right there --
and Jake would have shown up and found me as his homicide case.

And Kane would have got away with it.

I said, “So you raced over to Al’s, bashed him over the head
--”

“Not hard enough apparently, but even if Al makes it, after
traumatic head injuries the victim often doesn’t remember the hours previous --
he might lose the whole day.”

“Well, we can only hope!” I said, unable to stop myself from
copying his cheerful tone. His smile was odd.

“Any other questions? You’re probably
dying
to know where I came up with the digitoxin, aren’t you?”

“Nina left an old bottle around after the last party she
catered for you?”

He looked pained. “Of course not. What a strange idea. No. A
former lover left them. As a matter of fact, I hung onto those pills for nearly
three years. I had a feeling they would come in useful at some point.” And the
look in his eyes sent another of those slithers down my spine. “Any other
questions?” he asked gently.

“Just wondering where we go from here.”

He drawled, “You mean you’ve no notion at all? Not a one?
You’re not wearing a wire under that sweater of yours? You’re not carrying your
grandmother’s Webley tucked in the back band of your jeans?”

I didn’t move a muscle.

High above us a gull swooped low, squawking. I thought that I
would never forget the bright heat of the sun and the smell of salt in the air:
the sound and the taste of betrayal.

Kane laughed. “Of course you are. Well, that narrows our
options a bit. If you were willing to play…but you’re not. You’re bound and
determined to see me brought to justice, aren’t you? Regardless of the cost
to…anyone. Yourself included.”

I don’t think I could have moved if my life had depended on
it -- and it probably did.

“So let me tell you what
I
have planned for
you
. I’m going to
settle one final curiosity, the curiosity of what the attraction is between men
like myself and Jake. You’ve always wondered about that, haven’t you?”

He raised his brows at my lack of response.

“Of course you are. Anyone would be. It’s another mystery,
and you love mysteries. You’ve wondered about this secret world, the world of
exquisite pain shared between men who trust each other -- trust each other
beyond what any outsider can possibly understand. Men who share…everything.”

“Including consecutive prison terms,” I managed.

He smiled and, oddly enough, that suave smile reminded me of
the illustration of Foxy Loxy in my childhood copy of
Chicken Little
-- and why the hell that thought was in my mind,
beat me. I was probably in shock.

“Don’t be so bloody ungrateful, Adrien. I’m offering to
initiate you into such pleasures of the flesh as you can’t possibly imagine.
There’s a room below deck.” He glanced down at the teak deck beneath our feet.
“A very special room for very special guests. We’re going to spend hours down
there, you and I, and I’ll show you everything -- teach you everything -- or as
much as your heart can stand.”

“I’ll pass,” I said. It seemed like an unfortunate turn of
phrase, once the words were out.

“You won’t want to pass. Not when you learn who’s waiting
below deck for us.”

I swallowed. “How many guesses do I get?” I asked. I was
amazed at how calm I sounded. I didn’t feel calm. I felt dead. I probably was
dead -- even if I got off this boat alive. Something had died inside me the
instant I realized Jake had told Paul Kane what I planned.

I thought of that painstaking letter I had written to my
lawyer -- doing my very best to keep Jake out of it as much as possible. That
was actually kind of funny.

“Well, it was going to be a surprise,” Paul said regretfully,
“but I can see you’re going to need a little persuasion.”

He rose in a graceful, lithe movement and rang the brass
ship’s bell hanging behind us. There was motion above. I looked up. The captain
appeared on the bridge above us. Paul waved him the all clear and he ducked
away again.

I wondered idly how much Paul Kane paid him; how desperately
did he want to keep his job?

There were footsteps behind us; the deck boards vibrated. I
turned and watched Jake step onto the deck.

“I’m afraid the joke’s on you,” Paul said, watching my face.
“Jake rang me last night after you called him with your wild scheme to entrap
me. You do have a taste for the dramatic, Adrien. I give you credit.”

I made myself look at Jake. His face was…harrowed. He glanced
at me briefly, looked away. All his focus was on Paul Kane.

“I do have to say though, that although this kind of thing
works in books or on the small screen, I’d never in reality have confided a
single word to you if Jake and I hadn’t worked it all out ahead of time. As it
was, I admit, I did enjoy playing out this little scene. You were being
so
clever. It was sheer delight to watch
you in action.”

I said, “
My
scheme
is unrealistic? You honest to God think you’re going to sail into port with yet
another victim of a fatal accide --”

“Shut up, Adrien,” Jake said flatly.

“Fuck. You,” I said.

A muscle moved in his cheek.

“You’re missing the point,” Paul informed me. “We’re going to
fuck
you
. We’re going to take turns
over and over and over again. I think with a bit of cooperation from you we’ll
be able to present the authorities with a perfectly legitimate case of heart
failure. It’s going to be rather a scandal, but I like scandal.” He winked at
Jake. “And I have a friend on the force who’ll help me navigate the legal
waters, as it were.”

My heart was pounding so hard I wasn’t sure I could get the
words out. I said, “If that’s your plan, then you’re a total lunatic. Did you
ever hear of DNA? Did you ever hear of --” I broke off as Jake pulled out a
pair of handcuffs. I stood up, rocking against the battened-down table. “Jake,”
I said, and to my horror my voice shook. Not with fear -- with grief, with
disbelief. I was beyond anger. I think I felt something close to horror for
what he had come to.

He never looked at me. He said in a dead, mechanical voice,
“Paul Kane, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, attempted rape, attempted
murder --”

Paul laughed.

And something seemed to snap inside Jake. He said, “For
Christ’s sake, Paul! Did you honest to God think I would be okay with murder?
I’m a
cop
. I’ve spent my entire adult
life upholding and enforcing the law.”

Into the silence that followed those anguished words, another
gull swooped down, jeering.

“You’re not…serious.” Paul looked stricken. “James…”

“I didn’t want to believe it,” Jake said. “I couldn’t believe
it. But it’s true. Every goddamn thing he accused you of is true.”

“My darling --” Paul reached out a shaking hand. It was stagy
and melodramatic -- and yet I thought it was absolutely genuine. He had been
struck to the heart. Or whatever he used for that organ.

Jake grabbed him, turned him, preparing to snap the cuffs on.
“Don’t say anything else, Paul. Wait for your lawyer.”

Paul ducked away, sliding out from under Jake’s hand. He
turned and he was holding something small and metallic, glinting wickedly in
the moody sunshine. A gun. Like a toy. A derringer.

He pointed it straight at me and fired.

And at the same moment Jake stepped in front of me. I felt
him rock back as the bullet hit him, a tiny metal projectile burrowing into
warm living flesh, heard the shot -- like a clap of doom -- and something
kicked me hard in the left shoulder. My left arm went heavy and numb.

Fast. So fast. Bang and it was done.

Paul Kane stood there gaping at us, and the astonished horror
on his face would have been comical in other circumstances. “James,” he
whispered.

“Jake!” I said. There was blood soaking his back.
“Jake?”

He lunged forward, knocked the gun out of Paul’s motionless
hand. It skittered across the deck and fell with a clatter down the stairway.
Jake shoved Paul back into one of the deck chairs. Paul collapsed without a
struggle. Jake bent over him, handcuffed him. Stood up. There was blood
staining the front of his shirt, spilling sluggishly from a singed hole in the
fabric over his right shoulder.

The deck tilted beneath my feet and I reached out for the
gunwale. Jake reached for me.

“Take it easy,” he said. He sounded very calm.

“He shot you,” I said.

“It’s okay. He shot you too.”

I looked down and was amazed to see that there was blood
welling out of a hole high in my shoulder, soaking the tweed of my sweater.

“Wow. He did.”

Jake looked behind me, and I tried to look too. “Hold still.”
He felt gently over my back. “The bullet’s in your shoulder.”

“Really?” The whole thing seemed unbelievable. I stared at
his face, trying to understand. He seemed very calm. Grim, but calm. And calm
was probably good, although I wouldn’t have minded a little emotion from him
about then.

He eased me down into one of the deck chairs, pulled his
shirt off, wincing, and shoved it against my shoulder. Taking my right hand, he
pressed it against the wadded cloth. “Keep the pressure on this.”

There was blood on his hand -- his own blood streaming from
his wound. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his gory shoulder. “You’re losing
a lot of blood. How badly are you hit?” I asked faintly.

“I’ll live.” His eyes met mine. They looked black in his
white face. “I’m okay.”

I nodded.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” he said.

“Please don’t let your final words to me be
I told you so
,” I said.

He said shortly, “You’re not dying.”

He left us then, going up to the bridge. He seemed to be gone
a long time.

Paul said bitterly, “You did this. You brought this on.”

I closed my eyes. I could hear the gulls and the waves and
the rumble of the ship’s engines. After a bit I thought we might be turning
about.

I heard footsteps on the deck, but I was very tired.

Even without opening my eyes I felt the shadow fall across
me. The scent of Le Male aftershave mingled with the smell of ocean and diesel.
Warm fingers pressed against my throat.

“Listen to me. There’s still a chance for us,” Paul said
urgently. “It’s not too late to salvage this. If we keep our heads. If we stick
together.”

No response.

“
Think
about what you’re
doing,” Paul tried again. “This is a gift from the gods. To
both
of us.”