Page 20 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“You still want a lockable weapons cabinet in there?”

“Absolutely. Has Katrina ordered one?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll check.” Evan scribbled on the paper notepad beside him. Something his London counterpart would have considered sacrilege when there was a computer right in front of him.

Rochelle walked into the room, drawing their attention. She held her phone to her ear and had a frown on her face.

“No,” she said. “She isn’t awake yet. She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past two days. I told you I would call your office as soon as she’s coherent.” She paused, listening to what had to be the ADA. The woman had called several times a day for updates on her witness. “Yes, we have a nurse coming in each day to give her pain meds and fluids. She’s improving, but she isn’t well yet.” Another pause, during which Rochelle’s lips thinned. “I understand that you’ve hired us to do a job, and we’re doing it. Your witness is safe. I’ll call you when she wakes.” She ended the call.

“The ADA wants you to wake Annabelle?” Noah asked as Rochelle wandered over to the whiteboard he’d filled with information on the Demon Brothers.

Rochelle scoffed. “She wants her to be medicated so she’s aware enough to talk to the ADA. I keep telling her that Annabelle’s illness needs to run its course. She isn’t listening. The trial is in two weeks, and she wants to prep her witness. How is she today anyway?”

“Better.” Noah joined her at the whiteboard. “She managed some chicken soup last night, and I think the fever’s passed. She was more coherent the last time we helped her to the bathroom. I suspect it’s just exhaustion that’s making her sleep now.”

“Good. That’s good.” She pointed to the photos of Eddie Hanson, the leader of the Demon Brothers motorcycle gang. “The ADA still has eyes on him. He isn’t lying low, which makes it easy to keep tabs on his activities. Eddie’s well aware there’s a team following him, though. He laughs and waves in their direction.”

“Mocking them.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like that he’s out on bail,” Noah said. “But honestly, a guy like him could organize a hit from prison anyway. Weird that he didn’t do the job himself last time.”

“He’s too smart for that.” Rochelle sat at her desk, her attention still on the board. “He doesn’t think like your usual gang leader. When he was in high school, they tested his IQ, and he scored in the MENSA range. I read his file. He was on track for a full scholarship to an Ivy League school if he wanted it. Instead, he joined the local branch of the Demons and rose straight to the top. There’s a reason they haven’t been able to take him down until now. Not only does he rule with violence and fear. He’s also too smart to get caught red-handed.”

“Except for the hit Annabelle witnessed,” Noah reminded her.

Rochelle glanced into her empty coffee mug before getting up to refill it from the pot on the table behind her. “It’s a miracle Annabelle saw anything. I had Violet and Rodrigo canvas the immediate area. This is the only residential building within a four-block radius. All the businesses on these two streets”—she gestured to the streets that made up the corner where the warehouse sat—”keep regular hours. A lot of them start workeven earlier than that and close by midafternoon. This area’s a graveyard by early evening. There’s no reason for anyone to be here after that. The nearest evening activity is three blocks away, where that little nightclub and the bowling alley sit. The chances of anyone seeing the Demon Brothers execute a man around here must be about one in a billion.” With her mug refilled, she returned to her desk.

“And Annabelle didn’t just see it.” Noah pulled up a chair near her. “She took photos. Bad luck for the Demon Brothers.”

Rochelle sipped her coffee and grimaced. “Did we buy the cheapest beans possible? This tastes like coffee-flavored dirt.”

Noah grinned. “You sent the Scots shopping. They’re big tea drinkers in Scotland, not coffee. Last time I was in Glasgow, they were drinking instant coffee.”

“That’s just wrong.” Rochelle put down her mug. “Next time, I send an American.” She leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees as she considered what they’d learned about the gang. “Even if we get Annabelle through the trial, I’m not sure she’ll be safe afterward. Eddie Hanson’s an evil son of a bitch who delights in revenge. He’d take her out just for the pleasure of knowing she’d paid for putting him in prison.”

Noah’s stomach lurched as his gaze shot to the storage room where Annabelle slept. The urge to jump up and stand over her, gun ready to deal with the threat, was almost too overwhelming to resist. He tore his eyes away and looked back at Rochelle.

“Witness protection program?” Even he knew it was a foolish suggestion. There was no way they’d convince Annabelle to move from her comfort zone to somewhere she wasn’t familiar with, purely to be safe.

Rochelle shook her head. “All we can do is ensure this place is as secure as it can be. We can’t watch over her forever.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest. “Then we hope he loses interest in her. He’ll have enough to deal with fighting forhimself. This is a death penalty state. There’s a good chance the ADA will request it.”

“You could sit around hoping things go your way,” an English-accented voice said from the doorway, making them spin toward the speaker. Noah had his gun drawn and pointed at the newcomer before he realized who stood there. Abasi Otieno, the final member of their team, looked amused to see Noah armed. “Just put a bullet in his head and be done with it,” he said.

Rochelle got to her feet, frowning as Noah put away his weapon. “That’s not how we do things around here, Mr. Otieno. Nice of you to join us. You’re over a week late.”

If Abasi was bothered by her reprimand, it didn’t show. Dressed in a bespoke suit, the elegant black man sauntered into the room, his eyes scanning the space as though assessing every weak point and exit possibility. His every movement spoke of a man used to action. One who was fit, capable, and could take care of himself. From his shaven head to his thousand-dollar shoes, Abasi exuded danger.

Flashing a charming smile, he held out a hand to Rochelle. “Ms. Davis,” he said, “I’m afraid business delayed me.”

“In a place where there were no phones?” Rochelle shook his hand, showing no sign of intimidation.

“None that I wanted to use.” Abasi shrugged before nodding at Noah. “Good to see a familiar face. Not sure about the setup, though. I liked the London office better. Chelsea was a classier area, and the townhouse had charm.”

“This is temporary,” Rochelle said before Noah could reply. “We’re protecting a witness.”