Page 47 of The Devil's Pawn

Even though I’ve barely spoken to the guy, I pick up on the rebellious note in his voice, the slight derision as he calls mesir. Maybe it was there on the previous occasions our paths crossed, although I can’t recall. He’s guessing he’s been rumbled, but he’s playing the part until he knows for sure.

“Cut the shit, Edgerton. Or should I say Barrett.”

In an instant, the walls come tumbling down, and his hatred glows brightly. “I wondered how long it would bebefore you found out.” Planting his legs wide, he faces me head on. “Good. I’ve had enough of this bullshit.”

He takes a swing, but I’m faster and far better trained. I duck, lunge, and get him in a headlock. “Was this your plan?” I snort. “Pitiful.”

His elbow shoots back. Easily avoided for someone like me who’s proficient in martial arts. I spin him around and clamp my hand around his throat, slamming him against the side of his car.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit. If you come near me, near this estate, near myfucking wifeever again, I will put you in the ground right beside to your brother. You get me?”

He stares at me, belligerent. Silent. I squeeze harder. Removing my gun with my free hand, I jam it to his temple. “Or, if you prefer, I can reunite you with him right fucking now.” I cock the weapon.

“Okay, okay.” He brings his hands up in a show of defeat.

I keep the gun pressed to his head. “Did you really think you could hurt me? You’re nothing. You’re no one. You’re fucking powerless.” I shove him. He loses his balance and falls to the ground. I point my weapon at his face. “If I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to act. Get up. Get in your car, and go. Before I change my fucking mind.”

Edgerton scrambles to his feet, dusts grit and dirt from his hands, and climbs into his car. I keep my gun trained on him as I return to the gatehouse and raise the barrier, only putting the safety back on when his taillights disappear.

An uncomfortable feeling pulls my stomach tight. Edgerton was a nothing, a nobody, yet he managed to fool our processes and gain access—albeit restricted access—to the estate, to my family. To Imogen. Ever since Annabel and I were kidnapped, security has been a top priority for us, yet alone man with a grudge has been working here for months, waiting for his chance to strike.

A flush of anger raises the heckles on the back of my neck. For all I know, there could be others. The men I kill have families and friends, like anyone else. Edgerton might not be the only mole working on the estate.

I send a text to Richard with two demands: revoke Edgerton’s access to the estate and ensure Osborne is aware I have fired him, then send me a full report on every single employee who has started working here within the last five years. People who are looking for revenge usually have a lot of patience. If my subsidiary activities have brought trouble to my family’s door, I need to know.

There is no hiding place, no lengths I won’t go to protect those I love.

If there are more Edgerton’s hiding in plain sight, I will find them, and next time, they might not get off as lightly.

Chapter Eighteen

IMOGEN

Since moving to England, I’ve become partial to a boiled egg, with the bread cut into strips the English call “Soldiers”. The name is odd, but the taste is delicious. I’m on my third dunk into the yolk when Alexander enters the dining room.

It’s been three days since I saw him after what I’ve called “The Towel Incident,” and I’ve been dreading coming face to face with him ever since. The look he gave me when he saw me standing butt naked at the window reminded me of how a predator might look when deciding how quickly to kill their prey.

He sits down in his usual chair, but instead of getting out his phone like he normally does, or picking up the newspaper folded neatly next to his glass of iced water, his eyes land on me. Pressing his fingertips together, he steeples them underneath his chin. It’s a struggle, but I hold my tongue. I break far too often at this game Alexander plays, and I’m sick of being on the losing side.

“Did you ever buy that chess for beginners book?”

It’s not at all what I expected him to say, and I must wear my surprise on my face, because he almost smiles. Almost.

“Yes. It arrived ages ago.”

“Have you studied it?”

“A little.” I should have studied harder, but since Alexander hadn’t brought up playing again, I assumed he’d either forgotten or hadn’t been interested in a rematch.

“Good. I have an hour after breakfast. Want to play?”

The stubborn side of me wants to tell him I’m busy. Playing chess, a game Alexander clearly loves, and I think, in time, I could love, too, doesn’t align with my plan to piss him off enough that he can’t have divorce papers drawn up fast enough. Yet I’m so lonely, even the idea of spending time with my husband is better than rattling around on my own.

Besides, playing chess could help me to the end game. I’m not sure how, but just watching him play, how he strategizes, how he thinks… it can’t hurt.

“Sure, if you have the patience to play with a novice.”

“I have the patience.” He sits back as an omelet is placed in front of him. Picking up his knife and fork, he cuts into it. “Eat, then we play.”

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