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“I want more,” Scarlett says, slurring her words.
“You’re in luck because I’ve got something in mind to keep you busy until I get it up again.”
THIRTY-TWO
scarlett
“Fuck!” Malone’s definitely not happy.
Neither am I.
We’re in Queens, at the dock. We got here just as dawn broke, and we’ve been searching for this mythical client list ever since. I know it’s not mythical, but it feels like that considering the fact that Dad and Uncle Grant seem to hold it closer to them than sacred text.
“Did you tell Grant for sure that’s what they want?” I ask.
He gives me a hard look. “Your uncle and father don’t want to give it up, and your father’s not around. Your uncle claims it’s split up, so… I need to find at least one half. Or fucking fake it.” Then he pauses. “Or maybe he does know where the other half is. Scarlett, they’re your family. What do you think? And drop loyalty for a second.”
I stare at him and bite my lip. “I… I don’t know.”
I look around the office and pick up a file folder. There’s nothing much in it. It’s receipts and notes about lunches and other things for tax time.
“Malone, you told me you didn’t think anything would be in here,” I say, “so…”
“Don’t get fucking frustrated?” He peers at me. “Why aren’t you?”
He sweeps papers off the messy desk in the office.
“I’m scared shitless. But you didn’t think there’d be anything here.”
“I said it was a long shot. I hoped we’d find something.”
There’s someone in the front on the phone, but it’s one of the rotating staff who just answers phones and takes notes and makes sure things are handled.
“Well, long shot makes sense, Malone. Mostly the workers use this office to rest or have lunch,” I say, looking around. “The place is open most of the time. Nothing important kept in here.”
He pushes a hand through his hair. “It’s still fucking frustrating. Whoever has your cousin hasn’t turned up. I don’t know where your fucking father is, and your uncle’s?—”
“Lost his daughter.”
Malone cuts me a look, one I can’t read.
“Yeah,” he mutters, distracted.
I’ve never seen him like this. And it scares me because he’s my one big hope for Amelia.
“I just hoped. Fuck… I don’t know. The foreman’s notebook is just his damn gambling stats.”
“What if we can’t find the client list?” I whisper, heart squeezing tight. “What if?—?”
“Hey, I’m just in a mood, that’s all. Fuck, we’ve still got forty-eight hours. The kidnappers haven’t called. I just told you I need the list, too. I need to have enough time to make a copy.”
I want to ask if it’ll get Dad in trouble, but there’s also a part of me that whispers if he did something wrong, then trouble’s deserved. But I don’t think Malone would do that. Would he? He’d protect them. Right?
“C’mon, let’s go,” he says. “I’ll come back and rip apart everything down to the floorboards if I need to.”
He smiles, almost as if to calm me down. Except it doesn’t reach his green eyes. Those are hard, glittering, but… it’s a smile, so I take it. What else can I do?
Then he plucks the file from my hand, but I snatch it back.
