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The raised voices assault my ears when I let myself in. Dad and Uncle Grant. It’s coming from the second floor, so I quietly tiptoe up the stairs.
“…another threat against Amelia,” says Grant. “I won’t have it. Bishop isn’t someone to be ignored.”
“We don’t know if it’s him. And even if it was, that was thirty years ago. Forgotten.”
“I remember,” my uncle says.
Dad sighs. “Yet he’s tried to use us for shipping.”
“We turned him down, Dale.”
“It’s probably a competitor wanting to muscle their way in. Someone who wants to get into organized money, make a name,” Dad says. “Which isn’t how you do it. And Bishop was told the truth. We were booked up with clients. We gave him other names he could use. We’ve had threats before, and we’ve dealt with them. Hired extra security.”
“This is different. You know it, Dale.”
“I don’t?—”
“And if this escalates?” Grant’s voice thunders. “Someone pulled a fucking gun on Amelia yesterday, and today another threat came in against her. Just because she brushed it off doesn’t mean shit. She’s fifteen, thinks she’s thirty and invincible?—”
I turn and hurry back down the stairs and out the front door. My face is lava hot and my chest tight. So tight it’s hard to breathe. I press a hand against my heart, the ache quaking my shoulders, terror commanding every cell of my body.
My vision blurs when I pull out my phone. I blink rapidly and my thumb hovers over Amelia’s number.
“What the fuck are you going to do?” I mutter to myself. “Just call her and ask what happened?”
She didn’t mention it last night so… I know her. And this is exactly what my little cousin would do. Act like nothing matters and get furious and clam up if I probe.
It’s not like I’m not going to do that.
But I need to give her a day.
Besides, she’s involved in so many after-school clubs and programs, she won’t even be able to take the call.
I hope Uncle Grant gets her out of here and puts her somewhere safe. I?—
I stop the thought before finishing it, then get an Uber headed to Alphabet City.
I don’t even try to call the number I took from the office.
The man said he doesn’t need or want money, but there has to be something that will entice him to help us. I’ll offer him whatever it takes. Someone to run his dirty, filthy errands, even. Right now, if he can help find who pulled a gun on a fifteen-year-old, then I’ll be his gofer. I’ll pay him to work for his corrupt ass.
When the Uber finally arrives at Orchid Lane, I realize my mistake.
It’s four o’clock in the afternoon.
I grit my teeth and get out of the car. Staring at the building, I figure what the hell? I’m already here, so I grab the door handle. Shockingly, it opens.
I walk inside.
“We’re closed,” says a man who’s polishing the bar.
I look around, trying to work out where the office would be. “Good. I’m here to see Malone.”
“You and about half the women in Manhattan. Come back when we’re open.”
“Tell him,” I say, in my best effort at a take-no-prisoners voice, “that Scarlett Hanlon is here.”
“Look, kid,” the guy says. “I don’t care if you’re queen of the fuckin’ world?—”
