Page 61 of No Lies No Promises

Thank God for Dante and Daed. If not for them, Sean might’ve left me in Teaneck.

On the Triborough Bridge, tired of the silent treatment, I poke his arm. “I need to stop at home. Check on Buddy. Grab clean clothes. Could you puh-lease stop?”

“No.” Face forward, his neck muscles pulse.

Why can’t he look at me? “My father wants grandchildren. He won’t hurt me.”

As the blinker clicks, he enters the right lane to exit the highway. “I told Dante I wouldn’t stop.”

Crossing my arms, I pout. “I don’t like being bossed around.”

“I don’t like liars, but here we are.” Dark, angry eyes meet mine for the first time today.

Wow. Tears well. It’s not fair. If he had some government secret he couldn’t share, I wouldn’t press. This is entirely the same thing.

Sort of.

Fine. I can move forward without his help. Back in the warehouse, I call Mr. Antinori to ask for a favor. God knows what he’ll want in return.

Soon, a bicycle courier arrives. In the nearest closet, I hold my breath, open the package, and send a text to my sister’s special burner phone—the one we’ve had since kids.

Me: You safe?

No answer.

Shit! This is bad. Real bad.

Already late, I run down the stairs to face the angry trio of Sean, Dante, and Mace in the conference room. When Daedalus’s head pops up on the wall, it makes four.

After a brief recap, a video plays on the monitor. It stars Grams and Becks disappearing into the L train.

“It’s almost as if they had this all planned out. Knew exactly where to go.” Dante pauses, giving everyone plenty of time to scowl in my direction.

Unjustly targeted, I cross my arms. “Rebecca would never have left the safe house unless Ruthie insisted.”

“Did either of them receive a text message?” Sean’s question catches me off guard. Is he agreeing with me?

Yawning, Dante scratches his chin stubble as he leans back in his chair. “I pulled the SIM cards from their phones. Too easy to track.”

“What about emails?” I ask. There must be a hint somewhere.

A second later, Daed hisses. “Well, fuck me dead. There’s one from a lawyer. Says Ruthanne Clark has been declared incompetent by a judge. She’s to pack her things by end of day.”

“Dante, toss me a burner.” Hand outstretched, face grim, Mr. Bossy Balls stands.

My arms ache to comfort him, but we’re fighting. Instead, I try to swallow my coffee, but the lump in my throat won’t let me.

When Dante throws a device across the room, Sean catches it mid-air, opens it, and dials.

After placing it in the middle of the table, he says, “Hey, Dad. It’s your son. Where’s Grams?”

“How the fuck would I know? Don’t tell me you lost her.” Roger’s angry, loud volume gives me goosebumps, but not Sean.

His cold tone could freeze hell. “If you touch her, I’ll make sure everyone knows how much money you stole from your clients.”

“Nothing will hold up in court.” The older Clark’s confidence falters beneath his forced laugh. “And by the way, you’re not using my name anymore for whatever crap you and your wannabes are up to.”

“I’ll use your name for however long I want. By the way, you pissed off the wrong people. Hire a bodyguard. Oh, and tell your expensive lawyers to work on your defense instead of threatening your mother.”