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Her dry humor despite the fear underneath it is something I’ll always love her for.
“For now, yes. I can’t explain everything, but do you have a pen and paper?”
“Yes.”
My vision blurs as everything in me veers suddenly.
I remember the voice.
“I need you to call this number. Or text it. His name’s Malone.” I rattle off his number.
“And you can’t call because?”
“He’ll stop me from doing this. Someone’s taken Amelia and I can get her back, but I need you to let him know the address when I get it.”
As I say that, my phone pings.
“This is crazy, I’m calling the cops.”
“Then she’s dead. Uncle Grant knows. Please, listen, when you get to him, tell him that man who spoke to him when we got to the club the other night was the guy at the poker game. And he was also at Uncle Grant’s for the engagement party.”
As words tumble from my lips at breakneck speed, I get my handbag and stuff it with whatever I can find. Then I put in the gun underneath it all. I don’t know where the bullets are, but maybe just having it will work to buy time. I don’t know. It’s worth the gamble.
“What the fuck, Scarlett?”
“Please?”
She takes a beat. “Against my better judgment, I will, but I’m coming to you.”
“I won’t be here,” I say. “Just please do this.”
“Wait for me. I’m in the West Village, it won’t take long.”
She might still call the cops, but I need her help, so I have to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I… okay. I’m in SoHo. I’ll meet you on the corner of Greene and Spring.”
“Gotcha.”
I hang up, grab my bag, and jump in the elevator. I send the address to Lacey, and when the elevator door opens, my head is bent over my phone to call for a car.
I didn’t look around before walking out of the building.
A strong hand clamps down on my shoulder and pulls me backward into the small alleyway between buildings. He pushes me against the brick wall, his lips curled into a murderous smirk.
“Hello, Scarlett. Remember me?”
THIRTY-THREE
malone
Fucking Dale Hanlon, prick of the century, rapist, and general dickbag being missing isn’t actually a good thing.
Because I don’t think Grant has the client list. At least not past the basic names that I already know about. He doesn’t even have the key to the safe.
There was panic in his eyes, but I saw something else, too. Something I hadn’t picked up on before, but this time, with his kid missing, I saw it.
Resentment… for his brother.
From what I can work out, Dale seems to control most of the clientele, and therefore, most of the business.
