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“Going through my stuff, Scarlett,” I say in dangerous tones. “Not very nice.”
“You left the door open, and that’s the part you’re choosing to focus on, Malone, or whoever you are? I don’t think you’re the criminal you claim to be. So who the fuck are you?”
I know exactly what she’s asking. Not just my name, but who I am, what I do. What I want. She already knows my name as James Malone, but I give her the Malone, like she calls me. Scarlett’s smart enough to get it, though.
“It’s Malone.”
“Last name?”
I look at her, leaning in, pressing in against her. “Does it matter?”
Her lips part and I’m hit with the urge to kiss her, seduce her down to this filthy ground in this filthy place where depraved things have no doubt happened. But I don’t.
“Probably not, but I think I deserve to know.”
“Wrong thing to focus on here, Baby Red.”
Her eyes narrow. “Where’s Amelia? What did you do with her?” she asks. “What is this place?”
Wait, she thinks I…? I stare at her, mouth grim.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask. “I didn’t do anything with Amelia.”
“You took her. You’re here, after all. I know you took her.” Her words come at me like bullets.
And they fucking hurt.
They shouldn’t, but they do. I’m a prick, but I’d never take a fucking kid. Jesus. And… and I need to step away. Take a moment.
“Scarlett, I’m going to let you go, but if you fucking take a swing at me, I’ll put you down.”
She gapes. “Put me down? Like… kill me?”
“What the actual fuck?” Fury rises in my chest, fast and hot and taking no prisoners. “No, but I’ll knock you to the ground, tie you up in a non-kinky way if you don’t relax and listen.”
Taking that gamble, I let her go, stepping back. “Amelia called that number I left her.” I look around. It’s pretty fucking obvious what this place has been used as. I can see the marks where someone set up mounted cameras in the dirt on the floor.
But everything in here’s been here a while.
Except the backpack.
“This place,” I say, “looks like a setup. How did you know to come here?”
“How did you?”
“I followed you.”
She stares at me, anger and accusation bright in her eyes. Then she glances at the mattresses and shudders. “There was a call that came in on Dad’s work phone.” She swallows, lip trembling. “I went to Sugar Hill to look for him. He’s missing. I found his phone. Did you?—?”
“No. I didn’t do anything to your fucking father. According to your uncle, who got in just after we got to the building?—”
“We?”
I ignore her. “Your father’s away on business.” I reach for the backpack and open it. Schoolbooks, a lunch. My teeth clench. Amelia’s. I show it to Scarlett but leave it on the floor. “I didn’t hang around talking to Grant. What did the person on the phone say?”
“The voice was male but distorted. And he wanted bank account details and the list. I just grabbed some things because they said an hour or she dies. No police.”
And still the accusation’s there. But I’ve got more problems than that. An hour? Time’s most definitely ticking, and it’s got to be close to the deadline.
