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“Dad.” I don’t even frame it as a question.
He sighs. “You should move back in.”
“I’m not moving anywhere. I have a job and an apartment. I already do part-time admin for you. I’m not?—”
“Christ, you take after your mother,” he says. “Both of you, so strong-willed.”
“Dad, I know something’s going on?—”
“Which is why I want you back here, Scarlett,” he says, conveniently forgetting he’s trying to pretend things are fine and he wasn’t attacked.
I bite back the frustration because getting into the wrong argument won’t help. We both know him asking me to move back in, even temporarily, is a sign that he’s worried.
“Besides,” he adds, “this is closer to your job than Brooklyn is.”
“Considering I work in SoHo…” I stop. The Wellness Gardens isn’t what I want to talk about. “Dad, you can tell me if you and Uncle Grant did something.”
He swirls his wine around the glass and puts his other hand in his pocket. I’m sure he’s doing both to hide the shaking. “We don’t need to do something illegal to make money. We make money legitimately. And Hanlon Shipping’s a way to give back to the community, to create jobs. What’s being transported isn’t our business. It never has been. We provide the service, that’s all.”
“That sounds like you know it’s not on the up-and-up.”
“Shipping, Scarlett. I don’t ask or look and…” He sighs. “There have been threats, you know that. You’re a smart girl. Which is why, until we know who’s behind it all, we should pull our wagons in close.”
“We’re in the Wild West now?”
“Go check on your cousin. We’ll handle this, but I don’t want her traumatized. As I said, head injuries bleed. And Scarlett?”
“Yes?” I pause at the door, wanting to get this damn red dress off, wanting to wash Malone’s touch from my body.
“Send Grant in? We have a big shipment tomorrow to discuss…”
“Uncle Grant?” I stop at the door to the small living room he has attached to his old bedroom.
His head snaps up from the back of the couch. His feet are on the coffee table in front of him and his laptop and phone are on the cushion next to him.
He looks at me, a startled expression on his face.
“I went to see JM.”
Grant frowns. “How…?”
“What kind of trouble are you and Dad in?”
“What did he say?” He rubs a hand over his short salt-and-pepper beard.
I take in his expression. It’s interesting. He’s not shocked or horrified that I went to find this guy. But he looks damn curious. “Uncle Grant?”
“I tried to reach out to him myself, but I didn’t get a response.” He blows out a breath, then picks up his rum. “What did he say?”
“He said he might help.”
“Then tell him we’ll do anything.” He glances past me into the hallway. “Some of our clients, they— There’s a reason your father won’t pry, a reason we keep things discreet and the client list secret. Small businesses like ours attract all types, you understand, and sometimes…” He sighs. “I don’t think this is a threat from a client. But we don’t have anything to go on and it needs to be handled.”
There’s something else there, I can feel it. I don’t know if it’s because he’s lying or because I’m so wound up after meeting Malone and that moment outside the bar, but I grasp on to it like there’s something in his words I need to unwrap that’ll get us out of this without involving that dangerous man.
Whatever this is.
“How do you not know where the threat is coming from?”
