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I bite my lip. “The shipment… why?—?”
He holds up a hand to stop me from talking. And I do, grudgingly. “I met with the so-called messenger who took the girl. There was a whole setup in Brooklyn.” He rattles off the address. “Send someone to go over it. See if there’s anything.” He pauses. “They left the girl’s backpack.”
Smith answers him. “We can jump on this. Blow the whole thing open.”
“We need subtle right now. I don’t think they’ll touch her. They want something. They tried to scare Scarlett, but they were hoping to scare her father.”
“Scare?”
“Yup.” He outlines what was said to me, what I told him.
“Yeah, they fucking want something. Now we just need to work out who the fuck they are,” says Smith.
“The messenger Scarlett hit over the head?—”
“Fuck, Malone, you took her?”
“No, Smith. I fucking followed her. She went off on her own. Didn’t you, Scarlett?”
“Screw you,” I say.
And Malone smiles, making my stomach warm and wobbly.
“I like her,” says this Smith.
“Hands off.”
“I’m not a piece of property. You’re still an ass, and I still don’t know if I trust you.”
The smile grows, even as those green eyes remain serious. “She went on her own, Smith. She’s lucky I saw on the feed she went to fucking Sugar Hill and I got there in time to follow her. But yeah, the messenger wasn’t overly shocked to see me. They’re going to go through me.”
“We have to find the client list. I can pressure Hanlon.”
“I’ll talk to him. Maybe this’ll light the fire we need. See what you can do about the office on the dock.” He nods at me. “Red, is there a chance anything’s in there?”
“I don’t know. I’m not really involved in the day-to-day. But it’s really just an office to keep an eye on everything. So many people pass through. Maybe the foreman will know what files are kept there.”
“Maybe.” Malone looks at his phone. “We can check it out. See what’s what. Sounds like just a holdover for paperwork of what comes in and out on a given day or week. Nothing sensitive.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Smith says.
“Thanks.” Malone ends the call and stuffs the phone in his pocket. “It’s not enough to just say you’ll trust me for now. It’s a big ask. I lied. I lit a fire under your family so I could find certain information.”
“To steal from them.”
“I’m looking for information,” he says, sidestepping what I said. “Not anything to hurt them. And now? It just might keep your cousin from harm. If I can find it with your help.”
Ice spreads through me. “Do… do you really think we can get her back?”
Those words are easier to say without the words ‘alive’ or ‘unharmed’ after the last one.
“Yes,” he says softly. “I do. Look, I’m not a gunrunner, I’m not looking to become the most feared in New York’s underground. But I’ve spent a while building that. Laying pieces in place so anyone looking into James Malone will find a history to be scared of. It’s what I do.”
“You sound like a spy.”
“Scarlett?”
“Yes?” Oh God, he’s going to tell me he’s CIA or some kind of Black Ops, isn’t he? Are there independent spies for hire? Jesus, how the hell did I let myself get caught up with this guy?
