Stephen Leather - Tango One

"How much?"

Sharkey shrugged.

"A few million. It's not important."

"How much is a few?"

"Oh, come on, Vicky. This was never about money. You know that." He took her hand and toyed with her wedding ring.

"I love you. You know I love you. The money's just a way of keeping Den in check. As soon as he's calmed down, we'll give it back. I promise. I've got more than enough to take care of you."

"You promise?"

"What? That I've got enough money?"

"That you'll pay Den back? Once we've sorted out Robbie and everything."

Sharkey nodded.

"I promise."

"I mean it, Stewart. It's one thing to walk out on him. It's another to steal from him."

"You're not stealing. You're entitled. You had signing rights to all those accounts."

Vicky shook her head.

"That was just to keep the money safe. He never gave me the money, it was just in my name."

Sharkey put his hands on her knees.

"Love, we're not stealing from Den. A bit of leverage, that's all I wanted." Vicky bit down on her lower lip. She looked as if she was about to cry again. Sharkey pinched her chin gently.

"Come on, we've got champagne, we've got the sun, we've got a million-dollar view. Let's at least try to enjoy it."

Vicky nodded and forced a smile. Sharkey stood up and kissed the top of her head. She reached up for him and her lips moved to find his. He kissed her and slipped his hand down her bikini top, cupping her breast and feeling her nipple stiffen. She moaned and lay back and Sharkey rolled over on top of her, pushing her bikini bottoms down. She opened her legs wide for him and he entered her quickly, covering her mouth with his to stifle her moans.

She scratched her nails down his shirt and clasped her ankles behind his waist as he pounded into her. Vicky's eyes were closed, but Sharkey stared down at her as he thrust back and forth, his face a tight mask even when he came inside her. His mind wasn't on what he was doing. He was thinking about what he was going to do next.

Considering his options. It was starting to look as if he was going to have to choose between Den Donovan's millions and Den Donovan's wife.

He'd always planned to have both, and the way things stood at the moment, he wasn't sure which he wanted most.

Vicky opened her eyes and Sharkey smiled down at her.

"I love you," he said, and sounded as if he meant it.

"I love you too," she said, and closed her eyes again.

The taxi pulled up in front of Laura's house. Robbie gave his father a black look and made no move to get out.

"Look, we can't stay in our house," said Donovan.

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I told you why not."

"It's our home, Dad."

The driver twisted around in his seat and slid back the glass partition.

"Are you getting out here or not?" he asked in a voice that suggested he couldn't care less either way.

"Give us a minute, yeah?" said Donovan.

"I've got a living to earn, you know."

Donovan's eyes hardened. He stared at the driver.

"The meter's running, so you just turn around and mind your own business, okay?"

The driver hesitated. He tried to meet Donovan's stare but after a few seconds he averted his eyes, mumbled something and then closed the glass partition. Donovan continued to stare at the back of the man's head.

"Dad!" hissed Robbie.

"Stop it."

Donovan turned to look at him.

"What?"

"Don't do that. He's only doing his job."

"He's a prick."

"You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Lose your temper. It's like you want to start a fight." Robbie nodded at the house.

"I don't want to stay here."

"Aunty Laura takes good care of you, doesn't she?"

"That's not the point."

"What is the point, Robbie?"

Robbie brushed tears from his eyes. He turned his face away so that Donovan couldn't see him cry. Donovan put his arm around his son.

Robbie tried to shake him away but Donovan hugged him tightly.

"Just a few days, okay?"

Robbie sniffed.

"Then we can go home?"

"Maybe."

Robbie turned and looked at Donovan accusingly.

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"Are you sure you want to stay in the house?" asked Donovan.

"Wouldn't you prefer to go to Anguilla?"

"No!" said Robbie quickly.

"No way!"

Donovan was surprised by the vehemence in his son's voice.

"I thought you liked the Caribbean?" he said.

"For holidays, yeah. I don't want to live there."

"Come on, Robbie. It's got the sun, the beach. You can go swimming every day. You love it there."

"My friends are here. My school's here."

"Robbie "No!" Robbie shouted.

"I'm staying here! You're not taking me with you!" He fumbled for the door handle and rushed out of the taxi.

Donovan watched him run up to the front door of Laura's house. He started to go after Robbie, but then hesitated and pulled the taxi door shut. He told the driver to go to Sussex Gardens and settled back in the seat.

He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the palms of his hands.

Assuming he could sell his paintings and sell them quickly, he'd be able to pay off Carlos Rodriguez, but with the Colombian dealing direct with Macfadyen and Jordan, Donovan had no imminent source of income.

And until he tracked down Sharkey and Vicky, he had virtually no assets, either.

Losing the cocaine deal was a major blow, but Donovan had been planning to end his relationship with Macfadyen and Jordan for some time. The money had started to go to their heads in recent months, and the fact that they'd turned up to a meet in a brand new Ferrari and wearing designer gear suggested that they were losing their grip.

The only good news was that Juan Rojas had taken care of Marty Clare.

With Clare out of the equation, the authorities had no evidence against him.

Donovan had known Clare for almost fifteen years, and for the past ten he'd considered him a close friend. They'd been drunk together, they'd partied together, and they'd done business together. Clare had concentrated on cannabis and had refused whenever Donovan had offered to cut him in on cocaine or heroin deals. He'd always protested that the risk reward ratio made hard drugs a dangerous proposition, even though the profits were that much higher. Donovan had always insisted that the risk reward ratio only mattered if you got caught, and Donovan had never come close to being caught.

The fact that Clare had agreed to co-operate with the DEA came as no surprise to Donovan. The DEA were masters at the art of turning players around. They'd spend years gathering evidence and putting together a watertight case, then they'd move in. More often than not, however, they would offer a deal, smaller fishes giving up bigger fishes until they got to the men at the top, the men like Donovan, who were untouchable by conventional means. When it came to facing a twenty-year sentence in a Federal prison, honour among thieves went out of the window pretty damn quickly. Donovan liked to think that he was made of sterner stuff, but he'd never know for certain how he'd react until it happened to him.

Donovan had had no hesitation in ordering Marty Clare's death. He knew that if their positions were reversed, Clare would have done the same.

That was how the game was played. You stood by your friends until they betrayed you, then you made sure that retribution was decisive and swift. Clare knew the rules, and he would have known that the minute he started to talk his life would be on the line. He'd have taken that into consideration, factored it into the equation, risk and reward. The reward a life in a witness protection programme, but at least there'd be no bars on the windows and no tattooed men wanting to play pick-up-the-soap in the showers. The risk -retribution from Den Donovan. Donovan smiled to himself. He wondered if Sharkey had run the risk reward calculation for his own situation. He must have done, he must have known how he'd react. Perhaps he'd assumed that his Tango One status would keep him confined to the Caribbean; perhaps he'd assumed that Carlos Rodriguez would do his dirty work for him.