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“He’ll help if you need it,” I say, sidestepping her question. “And you’re not the type to overreact.”
“I…” Amelia sighs. She sits back against the cushions and tugs on her messy ponytail. She fidgets for a few seconds and plucks at the flowers on her blue socks. “He was creepy, the guy. He got too close a few times, and then at the edge of the street, he said, ‘Watch your back, bitch.’”
I let out a breath, take her hand, and squeeze it again. “Where’s your dad?”
“I’m not his keeper.”
“Maybe he’s working?” Weird. My uncle is a total helicopter parent.
But she just shrugs. “He’s busy these days.”
I look up as Malone comes back in.
“Does he do this often?” he asks. “Get too busy to come home?”
“I’m old enough to be on my own,” she says.
“Oh, Christ, there are two of you, Red,” Malone says to me.
I lift an eyebrow. “Two women who think for themselves. Shocking.”
“Can you both stay a while?” She bites her lip and looks from him to me. “I’d feel better. I know it’s stupid. I mean, there’s a doorman and lots of locks on our apartment door but…”
“Of course we’ll stay. We’ll wait until your father gets home,” Malone says.
“Good.” Amelia sighs. “Sometimes I… I hear things, like someone’s here. Or at the door, and when I look, there’s no one.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Malone says. “Get some rest.”
Amelia smiles. Then she rises. “Okay. It’s getting late. I have school tomorrow.”
Then she goes to her room. Malone waits a second to speak as he sends a text. Finally, he looks over at me. “Your uncle isn’t at the dock or at the office, and your father hasn’t returned. Why the fuck is he leaving his fifteen-year-old kid alone?”
“I don’t know, maybe he thinks she’s mature enough.”
Even to my ears it sounds wrong, and I don’t believe it, anyway. Uncle Grant’s the type of man to make sure his kid’s safe. It’s not something I’ve ever had to think about. Not until recently, but now? It doesn’t make sense. He’s been talking about her safety. He worries about her, and the look on Malone’s face reflects my thoughts.
He moves past me to a side table and idly goes through the papers there.
“Malone?”
“If we can find something…” But he stops as he looks around. “Does he have an office here?”
“Through there.” I nod toward the hallway.
But he doesn’t move. “You know it’s odd, right?”
“Of course I do.” And it’s odd he’s being so nice. I frown. “You don’t mind waiting around?”
“Fuck no.”
“Because you want to go through things here?” I’m not sure why it suddenly bothers me, but it does. Just like it suddenly bothers me that he’s more concerned with helping make sure a teenager is safe over his precious club.
It’s not that I think he’ll do something to her. But it doesn’t fit his selfish, criminal persona. And maybe it makes me think I read him wrong.
“If I can find anything to help lead me to who’s making these threats, I’ll rip apart everything I can.”
“What about your job?” I ask.
