The Hard Way Duncan Brockwell (romance book recommendations .TXT) 📖

“Remember what we said,” the guard said in the doorway.

When the guard stood to his left, two muscular prisoners stepped inside his cell, both had bald heads, and nothing by way of necks to speak of. Their prison-issue shirts were unbuttoned because they were too small for them. “No! Guard, you can’t leave me in here with them, please.” His plea was ignored.

The door slammed shut, the guard locked him in. “Good luck, Fisher. You’re going to need it.” His laugh ricocheted around the small cell. “He’s all yours, boys!”

He had nowhere to go. Richard backed up against the wall, his eyes darting from left to right. He couldn’t have been more afraid if he tried. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s nothing personal, old man. Stand still, and this will be over quick. If you fight us, we’ll make sure it hurts, bad.” The taller of the prisoners was convincing.

Colin once told him, when outnumbered in a fight, go for the biggest one first, that way, if you were lucky enough to knock him out, the others would back off. When they were within arm’s width, he lunged at the taller meathead, his fist connecting with the guy’s already-broken nose. “Ow!” He hurt his hand.

The shorter of the intruders grabbed him and put him on his front. Richard lay with the muscular prisoner’s full weight on top of him. “Please, we can talk about this.”

“Grab the sheet!”

The prisoner whose nose he’d hit whipped the sheet from his bed, scrunched it into a long thin rope and handed it to his partner in crime.

Richard felt the sheet around his neck, as his attacker – his murderer – twisted the sheet, which squeezed his neck. He couldn’t breathe. The pressure inside his head unbearable, Richard flapped his arms in the air, trying to find the sheet.

The prisoner kept winding the sheet, the tougher it became, the harder he wound it. Richard tried screaming, but nothing came out. The pain in his neck grew to such intensity that he wished he were dead. Please let it be over!

“One last twist,” said the prisoner on his back.

The last thing Richard Fisher heard was the prisoner mopping up his own blood, laughing. It was a sinister, deep, bragging laugh. At the next suicide watch, the guard who’d let his killers in would find his body attached to the sheet, which would in turn be tied to the door handle. It didn’t matter, though, his death would never be investigated, or even called into question. His suicide would be seen as admission of guilt, that Richard Fisher, the scientist, inventor, engineer, liked the company of little children.

59

Miller awoke to Luke’s comforting arm around her. She lay on her side, her arm draped over his chest. When she looked up to see his handsome face, he was awake, his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. “Hi!” She put her palm to his cheek.

When he failed to reciprocate her smile, she sat up and stared down at him, his eyes avoiding hers. A single tear rolled down his cheek, which he wiped away, as though the act itself might erase it from her memory. “Luke, baby, what’s wrong?”

Luke sat up quicker than she could pull him back. He turned away from her, bent over, and picked up his artificial toes. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed the side of his neck. “Baby, please tell me what’s the matter? Is it something I’ve done?”

He turned to her, his eyes sad. “It could never be you. You’re perfect.”

Perfect wasn’t a word she would use to describe herself, but who was she to argue? “What then? Tell me. I might be able to help.”

Turning his back on her again, he sniffed. “We’re done for, all of us.”

She didn’t like the sound of his voice, the tone. “What do you mean? Who’s done for? Why?” Did she want to know?

He whirled round, faced her, took her hands in his. “It’s so unfair, after we’ve just met. Babe, I’m going to be going away, soon, and for a long time. I’m so sorry!”

“Luke, I‘m confused. Going where? Why? With who? Who’s we? Talk to me, please. I’m a great listener.” She could tell he wanted to tell her.

“I can’t tell you, I’m sorry. They’ll kill us both.”

“Now you have to tell me.” She put both palms on his cheeks. “Something happened earlier, didn’t it? That’s why you were late. Just tell me, Luke, I can help.”

“How? Nobody can help me? We killed three people tonight.”

Miller felt her mouth open. “Huh? What do you mean? How? Did a job go wrong? If it did, the inquest will exonerate you, surely? You’ll be suspended until then, but–”

Luke stood up. “No, you don’t get it. My team, we executed three people tonight, in cold blood. They were tied to chairs, for fuck’s sake; they had no way of defending themselves. Zuccari just let the first have it, shot him in his forehead.”

Not knowing how to react, Miller recoiled at this fantasy. “What? No, this is some sort of bad joke, right? Haha, Luke. Very funny. Your sarge, your friends, they wouldn’t risk their jobs by executing people. Good one, you almost had me.”

“It’s the truth, Rachel, believe me. Zuccari shot one of the Inan brothers. Then Vodicka shot the other brother, and the Sarge tried to force me to shoot Melodi Demirci, but I couldn’t do it. I dropped my gun, and Zuccari did it for me. Then Voddy threw me a shovel and I dug a grave big enough for all three of them.”

Stood on the other side of the bed, Miller felt like she’d been punched in the gut. Her boyfriend was an accomplice, a complicit participant in a triple murder. If he wasn’t joking, she had a murderer in her flat.

“Rachel, what’re you doing?” He rushed around the bed towards her. “Baby, don’t run off, I need your help. I’m in deep shit.” He grabbed her