Reign of Evil

He guided his MC-6 in the proper direction. “Course corrected,” he said, then nothing more.

If there was a heaven then he had time to get there. Time probably moved a lot differently in such a place. It might only be a moment for Jen. Then a voice reminded him that it could also be an eternity, but he ignored it. What had initially seemed a comparison of love and revenge and a question of which was stronger had been reconciled. Love was revenge’s fuel and by god he’d loved Jen like no one else. He pictured her waiting for him by the famous San Diego statue of a sailor kissing a nurse. The way Jen’s red hair had lain against the white nurse’s uniform she’d rented from a costume store. The way she and Jack had kissed, mimicking the statue. That had been a hell of a day.

By the time he hit 10,000 feet he knew what had to be done. By hook or by crook he was going to find out who killed his fiancée and when he did he’d do the same to them and everyone else involved.

He’d do it or die trying.

CHAPTER 2

BROMLEY, ENGLAND. MORNING.

Member of Parliament Gordon Miller felt like his head had been stoved in and his brains replaced with porridge. He and that sweet little waitress from Lions Head had drunk enough G&Ts to fill a water tank last night. Now, waking up to the frigid morning and an even more frigid realization that he’d failed to respond to not one but twenty-seven texts from his dear wife, especially the last one, which said: You might as well go fuck yourself because you’re never going to fuck me again, made his morning complete.

Sigh.

She’d said the same thing twice before and it had proven expensive to get back in her good graces. Real fucking expensive. He’d have to test his mettle and see if her golden triangle was worth it this time.

The bathroom door opened and Veronica stepped out naked, her raven hair still dripping. She held a towel to it as she regarded him, already in his suit, chewing breath mints and guzzling water.

“You gonna run out on me, governor?”

He shook his head. She had the dark skin of a Gypsy and the night moves of an alley cat. He wanted nothing more than to have another go at it, except for the fact he was fresh out of little blue pills. What’s a fifty-five-year-old overweight MP to do? Plus, he needed to get home and not with the smell of strange on him.

“Sorry, luv. Mother called and wants me home.”

She gave him a smile much like the one she’d offered him in the pub. It promised absolutely everything. “We going to do this again soon?”

Gordon couldn’t help but smile. “I hope so. Just need to figure it out.”

“Don’t leave me hanging, governor. A girl loves to be treated like a woman by a rich man. Especially a rich man who’s on television as much as you.”

So she knew. So much for his pretense of being a simple businessman. And the damn girl was smiling again. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She turned and went back into the bathroom. He couldn’t help but watch. Even if his body wouldn’t cooperate, his mind was creative enough to fill in the blanks.

His cell phone buzzed. He checked it. Wifey.

Your shit is on the back porch.

His fingers hovered over the phone as he prepared to answer her. But then it buzzed again. His secretary had sent the schedule for the morning, including an updated time for his conference with the Muslim League about increased funding for their defense account. What another pain in the ass. Not that he didn’t mind their considerable support to his campaigns, but they insisted on taking an incredible amount of his time. Still, if he wanted to remain in office this was something that had his full support, which also meant he couldn’t afford to miss the appointment.

He texted his secretary to confirm. He also asked that she text his wife and tell her that he’d worked late and stayed at the office. Roxy was a good secretary and would do it with no questions asked. Of course, she’d expect a significant holiday bonus.

Damn but this was proving to be one of his more expensive days. It was barely dawn and he already owed three women. He couldn’t help but chuckle. Of course he could have it the other way. No job. No women. No sex.

He took one more gulp of water, then stood. He straightened his tie in the mirror by the door, then grabbed the keys from his overcoat pocket. He left the room and entered the cold Bromley morning. The wind whipped the fog in the parking lot, making it move as if great objects were passing through. A ship’s horn broke the early morning. So did the barking of a dog.