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“We’re rich, multimillionaires. This is New York. There’s always someone looking for the fast track. I don’t know. Maybe your father did something he doesn’t remember. Shit, Scarlett, maybe I did. But if so, it was a long time ago. Everything’s vague. Except the danger. Which is why?—”
He stops and scrubs a hand down the front of his face.
“Why did you want this JM guy?”
“He’s not affiliated, and he’s new to New York. All the people I’ve asked said the same thing; he can protect us and find the threat. And if there’s protection, we’d be left alone. The right protection.”
It doesn’t make sense. This is a part of the world I know nothing about. A part I don’t understand. Who goes around making vague threats rooted in nothing?
“Have they asked for money? Warned you and Dad off from anything? Any shipments?”
“No, and that makes it worse. Like someone’s biding their time.”
Watch your step. Your daughter’s life depends on it.
I remember that one.
Play by the rules or I’ll make you.
That one, too.
There were more and they were all so vague that… I stop my mind from spinning. There are more. I know it. And Dad and Uncle Grant aren’t telling me about them. They have to know what these threats are all about or at least suspect the reason for them. Because, otherwise, they’d take everything to the cops.
“Then it’ll blow over,” I say, feeling absolutely zero confidence in my words because I know they’re total bullshit.
So does Uncle Grant. He slams the glass down and rises from the couch. “Did you see your father, Scarlett? I’m not about to let you and my daughter be put in jeopardy, too. The police can’t do a damn thing with any of this. All I need is a meeting with Malone. I know I can convince him to help.”
Horror creeps up my back to the nape of my neck, an icy tingle stabbing at my skin.
Because his pointed look clearly says he expects me to deal with Malone for them.
“Dad wants to discuss work with you. If I hear back from Malone, I’ll let you know.”
And with that, I turn on my heel and walk out of the room.
I don’t stay the night on principle, even though it’s late when I get home to my Park Slope apartment.
Inside the wide, old one-bedroom apartment near the park, I stand for a long moment in the silence. Nothing seems out of place and yet… I can’t shake the feeling someone’s been in here, going through my things.
It’s an unsettling feeling I can’t shake, like sticky fingers on my skin. I check every window and then triple-check the locks on the door.
Sleep is a hard thing to find. When I wake up the next morning, I feel like I pulled an all-nighter. Nightmares I don’t quite remember leave a veil of soot over me, and with a sense of unease that I can’t squelch, I get ready and head to work.
It doesn’t help that my phone’s silent.
No missed calls. No texts.
There’s no word from Malone.
It doesn’t matter I never gave him my number. He strikes me as the sort of man who can find out anything, and I’m so jumpy that Felice, the director at The Wellness Gardens, sends me home early.
I need a distraction from all of the horrible scenarios looping through my mind. I’m itching to experiment with a new cupcake recipe I’ve been working on because baking’s my happy place and cupcakes doubly so. But instead, I take the train uptown. If Dad and Uncle Grant have a busy day, then I’m sure there’s admin work to be done at the townhouse.
Plus, maybe I’ll see if Grant has any more ways to reach Malone.
If I decide to help.
If I go that route.
